Suicide...

I wrote this last year after the deaths of #ChrisCornell and #ChesterBennington. I'd repost it every single day if I felt it would help people. But hopefully the occasional repost reaches those who need it. Remember when things are bad, there is always someone out there who will happily lend an ear or even a shoulder to cry on.

#RaiseYourHorns #SuicidePrevention #MentalHealthAwareness #YouAreNotAlone
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I am so sick and tired of hearing people mock suicide victims (yes, I said victims) and call them pathetic, cowardly, and selfish. If you really believe that to be true of somebody who makes the choice to take their own life, it just proves that you don't know a damn thing about mental illness and depression. Suicide isn't about taking the easy way out. It's an impossibly hard decision made by somebody who has suffered internally more than you could ever know. Imagine living a life where your own brain is constantly telling you that you are worthless. Imagine feeling helpless, no matter what you do. Imagine a pain, so deep inside of you that you know will likely never go away. Now imagine how your friends and family, the people who love you the most feel, just seeing you in so much pain and knowing that they can't make you feel better. Imagine feeling like you are a burden on those loved ones, because if you weren't so sad, they wouldn't be so sad. IMAGINE THINKING ALL OF THAT, EVERY SINGLE DAY OF YOUR LIFE.

If you have never felt this way and if you don't have somebody important in your life who has ever felt this way, well then congratulations. You have no clue what mental illness and depression is about and therefore have no right in judging anybody who knows.

If you DO know this pain, remember that those friends and family members truly love you and are much happier having you around and sad than not around at all. Remember that I love you, because if you're reading this, then obviously we're friends and I enjoy having you in my life in whichever way you are in it. And also know that you no matter how little we may talk, you can always feel free contacting me if you need support.

Don't feel comfortable contacting me? Try the National Suicide Hotline US: 1-800-273-8255.
Canadian Crisis Support: yourlifecounts.org
National Trans Lifeline:  US: (877) 565-8860
National Trans Lifeline Canada: (877) 330-6366

Thank you for reading, and even more importantly, thank you for being a part of my life.

Reigniting the Educational Passion

A mysterious fire was lit inside of me recently, and it threw me through a giant loop and began a semi-obsession towards trying to find my true calling.

In order to fully detail this newfound passion, let me first give a little backstory on my most recent time as a student. After a few years in the liberal arts, I decided to switch up my major towards Psychology; I had always had an interest in the field, but never really considered it as a career. Due to my lifelong obsession with the macabre, that included a love for most things crime based, I decided to enroll in online classes with an emphasis on Forensic Psychology. I highly enjoyed the subjects, and did great in all of my classes, spending multiple semesters on the Dean's list.

Unfortunately, I started dealing with some health issues that forced me to put a halt on my studies and by the time I was healthy again, while the passion still existed, the aspirations had faded and I allowed myself to give in to laziness and complacency, therefore, I chose not to reenroll and condemn myself to potentially being stuck in the world of retail for the rest of my life. As the years passed, I occasionally considered going back to school, but I could never reignite the passion that once filled my heart. That is, until a recent event triggered a dream which would awaken the enthusiasm inside of me.

Recently I had attended a BBQ hosted by the wonderful family who run the Transgender support group that I am a part of. Anybody who knows me and my story, know how important this group and its members are to me, and more so, are aware of how they have continued to inspire me to be a better person and find the truest parts of myself. The women who run the group have aspirations to create a bigger project, a Resource Center that would help members of the local transgender community with anything they would need, whether medical necessities or even legal advice.

During the BBQ, a young trans girl and her family were in attendance, she was new to our community and it excited many of us to not only see a new member joining us, but of course, it's always heartwarming to see someone so young whose parents are supportive of their gender identity and willing to do whatever they need in order to be there for their child. While I don't know anything about this girl's story, I came to witness an event that took place during the party. Something happened that led to her becoming increasingly upset, and our group leader took this girl and her family into a separate room for what could only be described as a group counselling session. As time passed, it appeared that whatever was the matter had been resolved, at least temporarily, and the group rejoined the party without further incident.

Fast forward to that evening, long after the party had ended and I was back at home, comfortably asleep in my bed. Suddenly, I was back at the party, deep in conversation with a group of friends when our group's leader came out from the room where this counselling session was taking place. She approached me and asked me if I could assist her with a situation and led me into this room where the young girl and her family sat. The dream then faded out of this location and I suddenly found myself sitting in an office, small but comfortable, a modest desk sat in the corner, and a few cozy pieces of furniture rounded out the room. Not much happened during this portion of the dream, and soon the office faded away and I slowly awoke from this dream, back in my bed, arm draped over my wife and for a brief moment, it was as if I forgot who or where I was, the sleep clearing from my mind.

It was 3:00am, I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, but I felt like my mind was spinning at 100mph as the events of the dream lingered on my memory. I grabbed my phone and typed a few quick notes into my email before sending it to myself (I often due this whenever I need to later remind myself to research something) and feeling like I at least partly relieved the nagging feeling inside, I was able to drift back to sleep and finish the evening without interruption.

The next day, I awake with a determination to get myself moving in ways I hadn’t felt in years. I settled in at my computer and began my research into available online Bachelors programs with an emphasis on psychology and social work, I dug deeper into each program I found, looking for courses in gender studies and even found some that specifically referenced topics that included LGBT. I requested information about a few programs, and now, I wait for contact, desperately hoping that 1) I find the school with the course offerings that meet my new goals; 2) I can manage to afford any possible school enrollment that I may choose to proceed with; and 3) that at 35 years old, it's not too late for me, that I haven’t missed my opportunity to make something out of my life in a career that truly matters.

I guess now, only time will tell, hopefully soon I'll have a plan in place and can begin working my way towards becoming a gender therapist, working with members of the Transgender community, especially kids, helping them in ways that sadly, so few of us have been helped when we were those ages. Being a person of trust, an ally within the community, a mentor, and even a friend, as they find their identities and begin (or continue) their journey to becoming their true selves.

My First Pride Month

Back when I was a teenager in the late 90s/early 00s, I dabbled in crossdressing and very briefly contemplated if I was transgender. I dismissed the idea rather quickly and for a while, even successfully pushed all ideas of my dressing habits from my mind. In 2002, I came out to my family and close friends as bisexual and over the years prior to meeting Kerri; I had a few experiences with both men and women, although I never really had a strong interest in having a relationship with a man. Despite all of this, I never really felt like I was a member of the LGBT+ community until last year when Kerri and I found the Transgender Resource Center of Long Island.

In spite of my disassociation from being LGBT, I had always identified as an ally, and year after year, I had always tried to plan to attend either Long Island Pride or the big NYC Pride event. Unfortunately, for one reason or another, usually laziness, occasionally my work schedule, I continually failed to make it to view either event. But that finally changed in 2018 thanks to TRCLI, whose activism not only brought us into NYC Pride, but also created a new event this year, The Long Island Equality March & Pride Picnic.

It's hard to explain just how emotional it can be to attend an event such as Pride, to be surrounded by so many others who have had many of the same experiences as you; who have fought for their rights and for their identity, and in many cases, for their lives. The sound of spectators as they excitedly show their support from the sidewalks, telling you through their screams and applause that they respect you, that they sympathize with you, and that as an ally, they will fight with you. Just writing about it brings chills to my spine and fills me with a pure sense of emotion rivaled only so far by the day Kerri and I were married.

On June 16^th, our roughly 30 person group met at the Sayville train station and prepared to march for half a mile to the Common Ground at Rotary Park before having the Pride Picnic. I don't personally know how many marchers we had exactly, but I would estimate there may have been about a hundred and fifty people lined up with our little group that morning. A week earlier, Kerri had surgery to repair three torn ligaments in her right ankle, so we rented her a wheelchair and I stood behind her, ready to steer her down Railroad Ave.

We set off, and I successfully made it roughly half of the way through our journey when mild weakness began to take over from the extreme heat. I quickly passed the reigns over to one of our closest friends who was thankfully marching next to us. When we reached our destination and the picnic begun, I had a secondary task, as my company happened to be one of the sponsors for the afternoon. I met with my coworker who was gracious enough to come out on her day off and help me setup and run our booth where we gave away some toys, candy, and of course, information about our products.

The day was amazing, and as it wrapped up, we didn't want it to end. Hundreds of people came through the park that afternoon and showed their support for our little upstart group and for the entire Long Island LGBT community. Forgive me for sounding like a broken record, but there really is no appropriate way to best describe how incredible it is to witness such support.

The following week flew by, and before we knew it, June 24^th was among us and it was time to march once again, this time in Greenwich Village, NYC. Kerri and I took the train with 5 of our friends, steering her wheelchair along the Long Island Rail Road and the always insane NYC Subway system. When we found the rest of our friends from TRCLI, there seemed to be an unspoken feeling of wonder among everybody, a couple of which, like Kerri and myself, had never even attended NYC Pride as a spectator, never mind actually marching.

At about 1:15, we were finally given the go ahead, and the march was on… we began our trek, with other organizations about 5 feet in front of and behind us, keeping the pace with everyone, occasionally being forced to stop for a few moments, chanting in protest (Queers Don't Deny It; Stonewall Was a Riot) and working the crowd (Raise Your Hand If You Love Someone Who's Trans).

After my bout of dizziness the following week, I had enlisted a few friends to stay nearby in case I had a similar issue; with the NYC march being a little more than 4 times the length of Sayville, I wanted to be as prepared as possible for any setbacks. It turned out that it was my back which required me to stop pushing Kerri, but it wasn't long before the heat got to my head as well. I kept sipping away at my water bottle, but despite the hydration, about halfway through the march, I began to feel mild lightheartedness. I pushed on anyway, refusing to be forced the event early; I took a moment to alert a couple of friends as to how I was feeling, knowing it was important to have somebody keeping an eye on me in case matters got worse. I did however, mostly of a mixture of stubbornness, refuse to admit to Kerri just how bad I felt. She could sense the matter of course, in the way that only parents and soul mates can; and continually asked me if I was OK. Time and time again, I looked her in the eyes and with a smile on my face, told her I was fine, just warm.

At about 2:20, we reached the area we were all most excited for; passing the giant news booth setup by ABC/Eyewitness News. We cheered and chanted as we passed the cameras, hoping our friends and family at home would get the opportunity to see us for even a brief moment (they did), and moments later, we took the big turn onto Christopher Street and passed the famous Stonewall Inn where 49 years ago, a police raid led to the riots that directly launched the first Pride event.  It was amazing to walk this route, and I'm not the only one who could almost feel the spirit of our predecessors from 1969, amazing men and women who had had enough of the hatred towards our community. I thought of Marsha Johnson and Sylvia Rivera, the transgender women who according to many were among the first to fight back that fateful night.

Picture courtesy of ABC News

As the afternoon continued and inevitably came to a close, the term pride truly came to hold a brand new meaning in my heart. Of course, the core meaning is the one most directly implied with the event title of Pride Parade, as we stand strong and show not only our honor at being who we are despite the hatred that many tend to show towards our community, we also celebrate those that came before us and helped pave the way for us. Those who stood up and fought back when being LGBT was a crime, and would not rest until they had the same rights as everyone around them.

But it was a comment by my friend Mila that helped me think of a new meaning for the Pride event, and maybe it's been suggested previously by others before me, but it's a thought that gives me chills to think of. Mila told us that although Pride is a celebration, it is first and foremost a protest, and until every member of our community has equal rights, it will always be a protest. This got into my mind and I started thinking about the millions of people worldwide who fight for their rights, not just members of the LGBT community, but in all of the other communities that have been, and/or continue to be oppressed for no other reason than being themselves.

Picture courtesy of U.A. Nigro

For each of these groups, I think of a second definition of the word pride, which Google dictionary defines as "a group of lions forming a social unit." And I truly believe that this definition appropriately describes our community; we've come together and formed a family that goes far beyond blood, and together we fight besides each other, for our lives and for our freedoms… with our pride and most importantly, for our pride.

Putting A Pause On Transition

So it's been an interesting month and a half since I last updated all my loving readers on the state of things in my life; and I'll warn you all now, this may be my longest blog yet. As you all know, I started hormone replacement therapy on April  26th. That consisted of 2mg a day of Estradiol (aka Estrogen) and 50mg twice a day of Spironolactone which is used to reduce the body's testosterone creation.  I felt great, and I know some of the feeling was likely mental because in only a little over a month, the likelihood of it having a major effect on my body is very slim. 

Then on June 4, something really unexpected happened to me. I was at work that morning, doing my normal daily routine, when a semi-regular customer of ours came in with her 3 year old daughter. I was working the lobby and greeting customers, so I was in the perfect place within the bank to watch as this little girl explored the area a little, which she usually does when she comes in with her mom. But there was one strange difference on this occasion; as I watched this adorable little girl, I felt myself getting emotional. At first I couldn’t quite put a reason to it, but I suddenly started to feel my eyes well up and I quickly excused myself from my position and retreated to the bathroom just as the waterworks really began to come.

I stood there in the bathroom, not quite sure what the hell was causing this sudden rise in emotion when it hit my like a lightning strike... I wanted a baby. Now, I've wanted to be a parent for the better part of my adulthood, and my wife and I had talked about it since before we were even married. It was somewhere around May of 2015 when we last used any sort of protection in the bedroom, not so much actively trying to get pregnant, but more so not trying to not get pregnant.

By early 2016, we visited a gynecologist who did some standard tests and told us that there seemed to be no reason that my wife could not get pregnant, but of course, this could not be considered definitive without potentially expensive further testing. We continued along our path, and even started taking a Pre-Conception Vitamin pack that included a Pre-Natal vitamin for her, and a vitamin that was supposed to promote healthy sperm for me.  After several months of continued failure, I visited a urologist who sent me for bloodwork and suggested a semen analysis. The bloodwork showed a very low testosterone level, but I never went for the second test.

I was nervous; Kerri and I discussed the possibilities, and the potential delay that it would have on my starting hormones, something with my readers know I was dead set on starting for my birthday this year. My biggest fear was that the doctor would tell us that the only way in which we could get pregnant was if I started taking testosterone supplements. Something I knew deep down that I could not do to myself. So I pretty much closed the door on us having kids on our own and decided that if we were going to be parents, it would be through adoption.

So now here I was, a little over 5 weeks into my transition and feeling totally lost on where I was and what I should do. I washed my face quickly and left the bathroom, but my mind was spinning like never before. That afternoon on lunch, I started searching the internet about fertility specialists, knowing full well that such doctors can be ridiculously expensive and usually not covered by insurance, but I had to at least do some research. I found a practice not far away, where one of the primary doctors was responsible for one of the first successful in-vitro pregnancies. I read all about their programs, their doctors, and their financial assistance programs, because they posted that their primary belief is nobody should go bankrupt trying to have a family (why don’t more doctors believe in the patients wallets before their own.) 

Next, I decided to look into my benefits package; I wrote a message to the member services department for Aetna asking about such coverage and was told that 1) this practice participated with my benefits, and 2) my coverage was pretty extensive. As I continued to read, I found out that standard testing that would check both of us for any issues with starting a family are fully covered and in addition, advanced testing and procedures are also covered up to $30,000 lifetime benefit.

I was ecstatic; here I was thinking that we could never afford these types of services only to find out that I had this amazing benefits package that would possibly cost me next to nothing out of pocket. That night, I arrived home and Kerri and I sat down for a conversation about this all. I had messaged her earlier in the day about what happened and she was eagerly awaiting my arrival so we could discuss it at length and in person. We were both incredibly emotional, here she thought I had not only closed the door on us having biological children, but locked that door up tight. Now here I was, as she described it “bursting through the door like the Kool-Aid Man.”

The next day I made the appointment and two weeks later, we were at the office for our first appointment. We were both equally nervous and excited, who knew what would happen next, but all of our hopes and dreams about a family were suddenly becoming more than just a far off fantasy. We met with the doctor, who made us both very comfortable, he was accepting of my gender identity, went over some details with us and laid out the expectations. We were into another room to both get bloodwork; Kerri had a standard scan to check that everything internally looked healthy, and then I was given a little plastic cup and led into a private room.

I felt so uncomfortable; the idea of doing something so private in such a facility was incredibly awkward. I could hear people walking past in the hall, and then two people decided to stop and have a full conversation right outside the door. Eventually, I did what I had to do, and that was that. We left the office that day feeling good and excited for the next steps.

 A week later (today), we would return for Kerri to undergo a secondary scan that went into much greater detail and would tell us if everything inside was healthy , which thankfully it was, and then it came time for the doctor to give us any important results from the previous weeks tests… and it was here where my heart sunk. The doctor pulled up the report on his computer and very sympathetically told me that in my entire sample, there were only three sperm that could be found, and none of them could swim.

I almost burst into tears right then and there. Kerri was in the next room changing after her procedure and I could feel my legs almost turn to mush. How could I look her in the eyes and tell her that I was apparently infertile? Then the next thoughts came racing through my mind… was I always like that? Or did the 5 weeks of hormone therapy perform a mass genocide of my little swimmers?

Our appointment ended and we were recommended to schedule to see first a counselor and then the doctor again in order to go over everything and discuss our next steps. As the next few weeks come, we will have to discuss if there are ways in which we can still have a child that is biologically ours. Can something be done about my current lack of swimmers? Was it just a bad sample? Would a longer period of time off of hormones solve the problem?  And what if it can never be remedied? Do we want to consider using a donor that would allow Kerri to become pregnant and have the child who isn’t genetically mine? Or do we just move on from all of this return to considering adoption as our only remaining option at parenthood?

So now I do something I have never done in my writing before… I will end this post with a big, dramatic… To Be Continued.

Post-Op and On Hormones.

I'm going to start part of this story way back on New Year's Day… After a fun night eating tons of pizza and garlic bread with my amazing cousin and her friends, I officially started my diet on 1/1 weighing in at 325lbs. This was the heaviest I recall ever weighing and I felt like absolute garbage. On a good night, I slept maybe 4 hours tops; my back was always in pain from neck all the way down to my ass; I would get sick more often than I would like to admit, and I'm told that I snored so loud that my mother could hear me all the way upstairs.  With the plan of weight loss surgery ahead of me, I had to prove that I could lose some weight on my own before I could get approved for the operation; so I cut out about 90% of carbs from my diet. Sandwiches were now eaten rolled in themselves without bread, I stopped eating pasta (a feat which nobody in my household thought I would pull off), I cut out chips and candy bars, and started eating salads, grilled chicken, leaner cuts of meat, etc.  It was a hard task, but with the help of my wife and parents, I was able to get through it.

Fast forward to March 26^th… my surgery date came quicker then I imagined it would, and I was beyond excited. I was down to just over 280lbs, and the 45lbs loss was already improving my quality of life. I was starting to sleep better, my back issues were slowly easing down; and I could breathe clearly after walking up a flight of stairs. As I walked into Huntington Hospital, I could barely hide my excitement about the amazing next set of changes that were coming to my life.

The first few weeks after surgery were actually better than I expected they would be. I had mild pain here and there, mostly discomfort when trying to sleep as I'm typically a stomach sleeper and I find it extremely difficult to get comfortable enough to sleep on my back. However by two weeks post, I was able to sleep in just about any position I liked and found new comfort laying on my side.  As time continued, I suffered from some mild post-op effects that still occasionally cause me some issues with keeping certain foods down (I'll spare the details here because nobody wants to read about that.)

Long story short, as of this writing, 7 weeks post-op, I am down to 235lbs. Every time I get on the scale and see another drop of that middle digit, I get a little misty eyed, thinking of each major landmark weight. I think about the 90lbs that I've lost in just over 5 months and wonder how I ever let myself get into such bad shape.  I still have periodic back problems, but with herniated discs, scoliosis, and stenosis, that isn't an issue that's going to be resolved anytime soon. I have a ton more energy on a regular basis, and almost always sleep through the night with little help from sleep aids. And best of all, at least according to my wife, I apparently no longer snore (at least noticeably.) This week's scale update was especially meaningful to me, because at my height of 6'2", the body mass index considers anything over 233 as clinically obese. That means that for the first time since I don’t remember when (probably middle school if not earlier), I am only 2 pounds away from not being obese anymore.  I'll admit, I did slightly more then get misty eyed at that one.

A few quick extra updates on my numbers since weight loss… When I began this journey on January 1, most of my clothes were 3XL, my waist measured at 52", my neck at 20".  Just yesterday I purchased new undershirts in a XL; I'm wearing a dress shirt with an 18" neck, and a brand new suit in a 44 waist that actually has a little room in it. Part of me never thought I would see such sizes again, and I am overwhelmed by the fact that I will now be able to go clothes shopping in actual stores instead of having to buy everything from websites or overpriced big and tall shops.

Speaking of clothes and finding sizes that fit me nicely in a store. I suppose this is a good place to move into the subject that caused me to have such an emotional meltdown that I decided to pursue weight loss surgery.

As some may remember, back in November I attempted to go shopping with a friend for Crystal clothes. None of the stores we went into, which each cater to plus size girls, had a single thing in my size and I absolutely lost it. I was half tempted to purge everything I had purchased online and just bury Crystal once and for all; however with the support of my family and friends, I pushed on. Although, since the TRCLI party that weekend, I have only been out as my authentic self once.

Now that I'm down a significant amount of weight and inches, I'm ready to start trying to shop again and begin building Crystals wardrobe. Obviously this is a matter that I have to be slow with, as tempting as it is to go on a shopping spree and get everything I've ever wanted. With roughly 30-40 more pounds to lose before I hit my actual goal weight, I can't even allow myself to shop too much for Craig.  In addition, I did hit another major milestone in the last 2 months… on April 26^th; I was officially prescribed my hormones. I'm now 3 weeks in on standard low starter doses of Estrogen and androgenic blockers. So obviously it makes no sense to buy too much now, when in a few months, after some body fat and muscle mass have redistributed themselves, I'll likely need a whole new wardrobe again.  I'm hoping in the next few weeks to get out shopping for just a few basic necessities like jeans and a few tops. I am dead set against attending next month's LGBT Pride events as my old self… because after all, what's the point in attending Pride if you can't show that pride.

So I guess that's it… I didn’t expect when I sat down today to write quite so much… I originally saw this as a minor update since a lot of what I felt I had to share was a small rehash of my last post. But I guess I had more to share then I realized.  I hope I didn’t drag this out too long. Thanks for reading everyone; I hope to start posting more often soon

Countdown to the New Me

So I've been slacking a little over the last few months in writing.  My path to transition was forced into a temporary slowdown as I worked towards my weight loss surgery as posted about in my previous blog.

But things are picking up and my path is currently clear. Today is Thursday, March 15^th, and much like Caesar, I will not "beware the Ides of March." This past Monday, I began my 2 week liquid only diet that will bring me right to my surgery date. On March 26, I will go under the knife and have a portion of my stomach removed. Since January 1, I have lost nearly 30lbs… I am less than 300lbs for the first time in nearly a decade, I'm feeling stronger, my back hurts less than it has in years, and most importantly, I'm feeling GOOD. I am looking more forward to this surgery then I ever thought I would, when I first started seeing the surgeon in October, I was a bit nervous, slightly unsure of where the future would lead. But I've made it this far and the future is looking bright.

And now for the even better news, I learned last week that I will be able to begin taking hormones 2 weeks after surgery. So I looked over my calendar and decided that I'll wait 4 weeks to play it safe and, Happy Birthday to me… I made my next Endocrinologist appointment for April 26^th. I already know from my previous appointment with this doctor, that she is ready to prescribe hormones to me as soon as I'm ready after the surgery, so barring any unforeseen insurance issues or lack of inventory at my local pharmacy, I should be taking my first dose with a slice of birthday cake.

So that's about it for today, I will try to write a little more often as the next few weeks should be quite eventful. I am so excited I could cry. Life is finally working itself into a place that will be everything that I have always wanted it to be and I am about to become the person I have always secretly known I was.

Turning The Page On A New Year

I've never been the type to post the stereotypical "New Year New Me" bullshit when January 1 comes around. I've never made a New Year's Resolution that I know I'll never keep. I don't spend a ridiculous amount of money on a gym membership that will become dormant after three weeks. But this year is going to be different, because even though I won't actually say "New Year New Me," it is the year that this statement will be true in its most literal form.

            Late last year, I started doing a lot of soul searching, not just regarding my eventual transition, but in regards to my overall health and well-being. In a few months, I'm going to be 35 years old; I stand at Six-Foot-Two and weigh just over 320 pounds. I carry my weight well, and most people don't believe that I am quite so heavy, a fact that I am forever grateful for. However, most of the time, I feel like garbage. I rarely get a good night's sleep; I struggle sometimes to walk up a flight of stairs; and my back is always in pain. This last bit is thanks to several herniated disks in my back, I have stenosis of my lumbar, my sacroiliac joint is fused, and I have what one doctor referred to as "Impressive Scoliosis." And let's not forget my family history of heart disease and cancer, in fact, every male over the age of 50 in my family has had to deal with prostate cancer, so the odds of me facing the same eventual diagnosis are not one you would want to bet against.

            So what do I do about these health issues that are either building up or hiding around the corner like a mugger in Central Park? I've tried dieting more times than I can count (and I can count pretty damn high.) I've had enough of failing to make changes in my life, I'm done being in pain all the time. I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired. It's time to start looking at the other options. So in late November, I decided to look into Bariatric Surgery. There are several options, each with their own risks and rewards, and after careful consideration BEFORE my consultation with the doctor, I had an idea in mind of what I might want to do. I arrived to my appointment and met with the man who might finally take this excess weight from me and to my surprise; I left his office half an hour later seriously considering an option I formally said would never happen.  I went home and discussed all of the options with my parents and my wife, and together, we all agreed that the Gastric Sleeve might be the best thing for me to plan for.

            Don't get me wrong, the idea of surgery terrifies me, but after reading about all of the options, and hearing about people who've had not only the sleeve but some other options, it really did seem like the best and safest choice. So I set the plan in motion and made my next appointment.  My first step was to meet with a nutritionist, because in order for insurance to pay for the procedure, I need to undergo 4 months of supervised diet to prove that I can make the life changes that are necessary. Is it weird that this scared me more than the concept of having 70% of my stomach removed? Like I said, I've tried and failed at diets for most of my life. Isn't the entire point of bariatric surgery because I can't lose the weight from diet alone?

            So I meet with the doctor and she lays out this crazy diet plan that includes essentially NO CARBS. I was almost ready to cry right from the start, I don't remember the last day that I went without eating bread… when was the last time I went as long as a week without pasta. Next I'm told to eat plenty of vegetables, but nothing starchy such as potatoes, rice, or corn, (OK, I'm screwed,) and plenty of lean protein (that's doable.)  We made up a mini menu of what I should aim for each meal and I set off on my own to start planning. First thing I did was sit down with my parents and wife to discuss this meal plan, because there's no way I can make it without their help. Mom cooks dinner for us at least once or twice a week, usually fried chicken cutlets or some type of pasta. My wife works in a supermarket and loves to spoil me by bringing home my favorite chips or cookies. I know that if they can't change their habits, there's no way I'm succeeding on this diet, and I plan on trying harder than ever before.

            I decided that it would be best to wait until January 1, just because of the simple fact that I was planning on going to a New Year's party where the anticipated menu was frozen pizza and garlic bread.  So when that fateful day came, I was ready to give it the best try I could. I weighed in at 324 pounds and could not wait to see that number start with a 2 for the first time in almost 10 years.   I'm not going to drag out my daily routines, but after almost 3 weeks, I've lost almost 15 pounds, I haven’t had a single piece of bread or a noodle; I haven’t been tempted by a chocolate chip cookie or a bag of my favorite chips. I've spent just short of 3 weeks eating salads, grilled chicken, tuna fish, eggs and protein shakes. I've mixed up my salads by adding chicken and meatballs, I sometimes use buffalo sauce as a dressing to boost the flavors, and believe it or not, I'm actually enjoying things. It's thus far been easier than I ever imagined, and that's mostly been thanks to my amazing support, not only at home, but at work.

            I have so much to look forward to as 2018 continues, because in just 2 weeks, I have my first appointment with the endocrinologist, to start planning the next stage of my transition… HORMONES. While there is no set timeline until I will start taking them, it seems like it could happen really quick (although I don't plan on starting ASAP.) The people I've spoken to from the office are really nice, and they mailed me all of the new patient paperwork in order to get a head start on appointment preparation. Included in this paperwork, was the prescription to go for my blood work, and a request that I bring a letter from my therapist giving her recommendation that I begin my transition. From those I've spoken to previously, it seems like this could be a good sign for a quick start as apparently many others have to meet with their endo before being sent for blood work and bringing in the therapists note. So this office obviously stays a good step ahead of the game, and that could only be a good thing in my opinion.

            So as I wrap this post up, things really are taking a major turn in my life. I'm hoping that by the time my birthday comes around in April, I'll have started hormone therapy and have scheduled my bariatric surgery. 2018: The year that I finally start to love who I am and how I look, the year that Crystal becomes more than just the image in my mind.

Transgender Day of Remembrance

Last night was such a beautiful experience and we got to hear a few people share their stores. Some of these people Kerri and I have the pleasure of knowing personally, some we met for the first time.

It was a somber night as we paid tribute to the 25 transgender lives that were savagely taken from the world so far this year. There was then some mention the over 200 more worldwide who have been murdered, the estimated 40% of transgender deaths that are due to suicide, and finally those whose deaths have fallen below the radar due to misgendering in the news.

Towards the end of the night, some of us were asked to read from cards with a little bit of information regarding each of those 25 who were murdered this year. It was an incredibly moving experience that I'm grateful to have been a part of and I would like to share a little bit about the beautiful young woman who I was assigned. Because these stories need to be shared, these brothers and sisters of ours need to be remembered instead of being semi anonymous people who most will never know of.

Jojo Striker from Toledo Ohio was found dead in an empty garage on February 8th 2017. She was shot once in her torso and seemingly left to die by somebody whose identity has not and will likely never be discovered. Initial news reports continually misgendered Jojo and sadly, even her mother made reference to her "son" in a statement to police. Jojo was described as loving by all who knew her and her death had a lasting impact on her community.

This is only one out of well over 200 people worldwide. And sadly, as fear, hatred and bigotry are spread and government policies are continually brought to vote against our civil rights, who knows how high this list will be by the end of the calender year, or how high next years list will be, or the year after that. Many live in the closet for most of our lives because of the fear that we could end up on that list. Many turn to dangerous career choices because bigotry won't allow safer options.

I think of how lucky I am personally, I've been supported by my family, friends, and even my co-workers. And even though I haven't officially begun my transition yet, I feel safe in talking about my wants and needs as well as my hopeful plans with those in my life. With Turkey Day coming later this week, those people in my life who love and support me give me a thousand reasons to be thankful this year. And as 2017 comes to an end in just a few weeks, I hope that somehow, the world opens up their hearts and starts showing some love and acceptance to all those who haven't been as blessed as I have been. I hope that lives like JoJo Striker's are no longer taken so brutally just because somebody sees somebody different and feels nothing but hatred and disgust.

#TransRightsAreHumanRights
#TDOR2017
#TransIsBeautiful
#EndBigotry
#LoveOneAnother

Crystal Finally Gets Outside

It's been a long time coming, the feeling building up inside of me like a balloon with way too much air, so close to popping in a loud boom of dysphoria. This week, Crystal finally got to be more than an image inside my head.

It all started on Monday. Kerri and I were both off of work, and at a spur of the moment, I decided that I wanted to take my wig to a store and see if it could be fixed… or if I could get a better one. We ended up at a store about 15 minutes from home, called Wig Allure and met an amazing woman named Danielle who was so welcoming and made me feel incredibly comfortable. She didn't think that fixing the wig would be worth the money it would cost to fix, and while at first, part of me wondered if she was only saying that because she wanted to sell me something more expensive. Sadly, this is an issue that happens all the time for people. That feeling disappeared a few minutes later when I started trying on the new wigs. Danielle had me try on a few wigs of varying styles and color, some of which looked nice, but not really my style. Then she pulled out a wig that was very similar to my original, but in a lighter color. In her hand, I wasn't too sure about it, it was nice, but was it me? That question disappeared as soon as the hair was on my head and my face lit up. As soon as the smile hit my face, I could see Kerri's face doing the same. It was as if I was looking at an entirely different person in that mirror, and despite the 3 days of stubble on her cheeks, she was beautiful.

I didn’t walk out of that store as much as I floated out on cloud nine. I don't remember the last time I felt so good emotionally, and I wanted to keep riding that high as long as possible. So our next stop, despite the lack of funds for any purchases, was Sephora. I had been desperate to try their Color IQ scan, which promises to match the best foundation to your skin tone. I thought it would be cool, but was not prepared for the short interaction I was about to have. The employee scanned my neck and cheek, and put a dab of foundation on my face. She used so little of it, I almost didn’t think there was anything on the brush that was about to graze my face. But a moment later, there was a nickel sized gap in the middle of my beard. The result was so good that a random passerby would have thought that I had shaved a tiny hole in my face for no reason. The girl then gave me a small sample amount to take home for free and sent me on my way.

The next day, I started thinking about the upcoming Halloween party that the Transgender Resource Center of Long Island was hosting and decided that since I wear a costume 365 days a year, I would attend this party as the real me. I then made an appointment to return to Sephora before the party and have my makeup done professionally. As I thought about the amazing job I was hopefully going to get, I looked at my slightly bushy eyebrows and decided that after work, I was going to get them waxed. I made an appointment at Ulta and went on to meet another wonderful new friend named Kayla who not only did a great job on cleaning me up, but later in the week, she did a repeat performance for Kerri.

I couldn't have felt better, and as the week progressed, I couldn’t have imagined anything damaging my mood. But then Thursday came and almost ruined everything. I have a small collection of clothes, but I'm not fully confident in the sizing that I calculated on my own a few months ago. Most of all, I needed a good quality bra that would hold my forms in and not roll up on my chest causing discomfort. I turned to Mila, who runs TRCLI as well as the Transgender Universe web forum and we made a date to go shopping at the nearby Tanger outlets. We went into Torrid to start, I love their clothes… but apparently their physical store doesn't love me. Everything I liked, they only had up to the size right below what I needed. Being 6'2" and 315lbs is quite the curse when it comes to shopping. So we left disappointed and headed into Lane Bryant, another store that famously markets towards plus size ladies… we walked out empty handed less than 5 minutes later.

After 3 more stores and even less success, if there is such a thing as being less successful than nothing, we started heading back to Mila's house. I was on the verge of tears, calling myself a "fat fuck" and wanting to cancel my appointment for the next evening. But I knew I could not let the negativity win. So 24 hours later, I was sitting in Sephora, having my makeup done by a girl named Imani, who like Danielle and Kayla before her, could not have been friendlier and more excited to be helping me become me. When I walked out of the store an hour later, face made up and my new wig atop my head, I felt like the woman I had wanted to be for my entire life.

I had my makeup done in jeans and a t-shirt, so as soon as we arrived at the party, I practically sprinted to the bathroom to change into a beautiful, slightly sexy dress that I had got online months ago (I wish I remembered where). When Crystal emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, the reactions almost made me cry. My friends were practically bumping into each other as they all rushed to hug me and tell me how good I looked. And while part of me couldn’t help but think that they are just being supportive friends by saying that, I never really doubted any of them. I didn’t feel beautiful, I was beautiful. I struggled a little throughout the night, mostly due to my lack of experience with having hair. The bangs were constantly in my face and every bite of food I took came with a few strands. It took some major getting used to, but by the time we went home, I never wanted to take the wig off.

This last week has been the second greatest week of my life, beat only by the week that Kerri and I got married and went on our honeymoon in Niagara Falls. I can never thank all of those involved in helping me finally feel like Crystal in the truest sense. 

The Truth Shall Set Me Free

Sometimes the hardest things we have to do, is to discover the truth and tell the truth. We fight it, we lie to ourselves in order to try and deny the facts. We force ourselves to live with the lie because we force ourselves to believe that not only is the lie better, but it's so much better that it cannot possible be a lie.

But in the end, the truth will always come out... And as they say, "the truth shall set you free."

Ten months ago, I allowed myself to accept a truth about myself that I had hidden for the first almost 20 years of my life, and again for the better part of the following 14. But even in accepting part of my truth, I still refused to accept it all.

I was simply a crossdresser; I was non-binary, gender neutral, anything in the world but transgender. Even when I admitted that I was trans, I said there was no transition in my future. I promised my wife that there would be no permanent changes. (I don't remember making this promise but I also won't deny that it's something I likely would have said.) And while I still firmly state that I have no desire to undergo surgery, I desperately want to start hormones. (I sometimes wonder if my no surgery stance is the truth or another lie that I have yet to accept... I guess only time will tell.)

I go to support meetings and introduce myself by both names and state that any pronoun is fine by me. But it's not fine by me. I want to be Crystal. I want my sole identity to be this mystical side of me that I have refused to acknowledge for so long. I love hearing my friends refer to me as her; I fill with joy when I dress fem, and most importantly my heart melts when Kerri calls me her wife.

I don't think I will be the type who with shiver with dread upon hearing her "dead name." Craig has been a major part of me for almost 35 years and even when the time comes that he no longer exists in the here and now, his life and legacy can never be forgotten or ignored.

I was Craig. I am Crystal. My life can only be a perfect combination of ones memories and the others new experiences. Otherwise, I can I ever be whole?