In each of these three cases, I could feel emotionally distraught and tense, on edge,
nervous. Then the heightened state would occur. With the hormones, as soon as it reached
its peak I would cry uncontrollably - and I could not say why. I was just very sad, with a
sense of loss.
On the third occasion, I noticed an interesting after effect. I had been working for
three days on a particular problem in the story theory, trying to get my mind to grasp what was
happening in part of the model. Just before lunch on the third day, I finally arrived at a
view where I could clearly see the mechanisms. I went to lunch with the guys and the
heightened state began. I had to leave the table, ran past the hostess and began crying as
I left the building. I sobbed outside for 15 minutes. I finally returned and Steve asked
me what had happened. I told him I thought that each time this occurred, my mind, under
the influence of extended hormone use, was crumbling. What I meant was that a part of my
mind that was Dave was built upon processes that could no longer be supported by an
estrogen system. When the foundation had been eroded far enough, the system collapsed
under its own weight.
The result was that a whole piece of what I had called myself just a few moments
before, just wasn't there anymore. In fact, I couldn't even remember what it was that I
had lost, except that there was a hole in my mind where there shouldn't be. Fortunately, I
had found that within a few days, a new system based on estrogen would "grow" in
the vacant lot and do the job - just from a different perspective.
When I came back from lunch that day, I found that the work I had spent so long trying
to understand no longer made sense to me. That whole view point was gone! Boy, was I
pissed!!! It took me three MORE days to get back to the same place in the theory, but this
time from a different direction.
The first time I had an incident like that was the day I discovered the equation of
Mental Relativity. I couldn't eat or sleep for three days. I had the pressure on my
forehead and the same pressure in the small of my back. No position was comfortable. Chris
did not believe the equation was important, but gave me one week to try and find it. This
was the last day. It was 100 degrees in the back bedroom of my house, under a tin roof. I
went out there, lay down at noon and feel asleep. I had a weird dream, most of which
eludes my memory. But I do recall that as I slowly rose from sleep to wakefulness, I saw
the solution creating the equation. My hormones had been a testosterone system influenced
by estrogen, but as I slept, my system switched over to estrogen, influenced by
testosterone.
As I lay in that state between male and female, between conscious and subconscious, I
actually saw time and space as two separate entities, influencing each other, yet not
hardwired. And that is when the notion came to me that proved the key to Mental
Relativity: "One side multiplies; the other divides." That was the secret: the
secret nobody could see. Because you had to sit at the fulcrum of male and female minds
and half way between wakefulness and sleep, AND you had to be familiar enough with
revolutionary concepts about the mind and thinking about them at the moment all this came
into conjunction. In other words, it was the quintessential case of the right person in
the right place at the right time.
Fortunately, people do not have to go through all that to understand it - only to
discover it.
So, here I was at Andy's - feeling the same kind of pressure at the door. But this
time, it was a pressure not in me, but in the air in front of me, blocking the door. I
knew with utter certainty my mind and my life would be changed if I entered. I hesitated
while I considered my answer to the question posed by the force. Then, gritting my teeth,
I stepped boldly into the room. I knew I had crossed a threshold. I immediately went over
to the bed and sat down. I just sat and five seconds later, the tears came. I knew that
the last part of the old me had gone. There was no more of Dave in my head. What a
helpless feeling, being cast adrift from your own past. Becoming all woman fully and
irrevocably. What a sense of helplessness, vulnerability, a sense of losing power - losing
one's self worth.
Thank God women don't know what mental power they lack in not having testosterone -
they would feel completely deprived of control. Thank God men don't know what true
emotional freedom is - they would kill themselves for living flat lives.
That night, Andy and I shared through touching. It was the most sensual and romantic
experience I ever had: slowly moving our hands over one another in parallel, in
counterpoint, in harmony. All in candlelight with the sounds of soft music and waves on a
New Age CD.
The next night I broke up with him as has been noted.
But now, I feel like a little girl. I cannot tear myself away. I am entrapped by him,
spun in a web that began four years ago when I went to Andy for electrolysis. Even over
the phone the first time we talked, I sensed there was some cosmic bond between us. I
never believed in past lives, but with Andy I cannot imagine feelings this strong coming
from our current relationship alone.
I had planned to go out tonight and try to meet a new guy. Instead, its the same old
thing at Andy's. Yet I am happy to have the air cleared and to be able to cuddle and coo.
What's wrong with me? Is this some allergic reaction to hormones? Some form of
schizophrenia? Some tumor that swells in my brain from time to time? (Headline: Tumor
discovers Mental Relativity!)
I don't know. But I DO know that THIS time, the pressure built up for MANY days, not
just three. And I could feel things shifting around, as if many little hands were changing
and moving pieces of my brain. In fact, two weeks ago, Andy and I lay in my car in the
reclining seats at 2 am, after a support group meeting. I told him I had the feeling that
some kind of beings had their hands stuck in my head and were rearranging things. I felt
led to close my eyes. I knew I was supposed to keep the closed, so as not to ruin what was
happening. Then, I could feel that they had finished and "closed" the psychic
wound. It was okay to open my eyes. I did. And right across my field of vision, a shooting
star soared through the sky.
Never, NEVER give a coincidence like that to a borderline schizophrenic! Can you
imagine what THAT did to me?!? Well, anyway, so I know I don't feel anything Dave ever
did. I mean, I can remember enough to know that not one single emotional moment of my life
has in it anything Dave ever experienced. Now, is it common to other women? I don't know
the answer to that one. But one thing is for certain. I am a changed person. I am
different. I'm not even the same person. But am I better? Am I happier? No, I think I'm
just in tune.
*************************
I can see now that writing these thoughts down is my personal therapy. Looking back, it
is clear that keeping a transition diary clarified my feelings and gave me direction.
Since surgery, I have only made intermittent entries, but now, I think, it is time to
begin again.
*************************
I just got back from lunch. Chris and I were going to go together, but I wanted to go
to the shopping mall and he did not want to walk that far. Whenever I am troubled I walk
over to the mall for lunch and somehow the bright lights and shiny new items console me.
Still, it was just a passing thought, for I also wanted to have lunch with Chris. We could
not compromise, and eventually I just decided to go on to the mall alone.
Why write of something so ordinary? Because in all the 2 1/2 years I've been here at
Screenplay Systems, I have NEVER opted to go to lunch alone, rather than with Chris. What
is the significance? I'm not relying on him anymore. I'm not relying on Andy either. I'm
only relying on myself and that is... frightening.
So, I went to the mall and had lunch at a 1950's style diner called Johnny Rocket's. As
I sat there at the malt shop counter waiting for my burger (the No. 12, which is the
regular order), I imagined myself back in the fifties, the heartbroken high-school girl,
drowning her sorrows in a root beer float.
They have counter-top juke box coin machines there, and I fished four nickels out of my
purse and plopped them into the chute, selecting "Surfer Girl", "You've
Lost that Loving Feeling", "Big Girls Don't Cry", and "Why do Fools
Fall in Love?"
I toyed with my ice cream, dipping my spoon in an uncommitted way into the creamy lumps
in my glass, lifting it to my lips and gently licking it off. I must've looked like
something out of the movie "Grease". I felt a lot like
After the greasy burger arrived and was nibbled until gone, I left and started back to
the office several blocks away. I strolled the open mall shops bet along the way, all the
time feeling so small and vulnerable. I felt as if I had no ability to control the world
at all. Every genetic memory I have cried out in anguish for some hand to hold, some arm
to hang on, some embrace to protect me.
"What am I?", I thought. "Is my only purpose to stand behind a man and
support whatever he wants in exchange for protection against the world?" I found no
answer.
I almost walked past, then turned around and stopped by the candy store. Grabbing a
bag, I skimmed the bins of loose confections, selecting some chocolates and a few
specials.
When I returned, Chris was in the conference room watching "Predator". I sat
with him for a few minutes and then it was time to go back to work. But I'm writing this
instead. I'm writing because another new understanding about myself is becoming clear. I
notice that the chocolates I ordered are bridge mix; the music I have been listening to on
cassettes are anthologies I have prepared from many songs, all from different artists; and
I want men in my life, not "man".
There is a pattern of fear - not of rejection like I used to suffer as a man, but fear
of being betrayed. It's not that I don't trust men to do what they say they will, but I
wonder what things they have planned outside of our agreements that work to cut the heart
out of me.
If I make a bridge mix of my men - anthologize them - then I am not so susceptible to
betrayal by any one. God, how I want to be truly loved by one man - one man who will hold
me and protect me while I weave golden webs of philosophy and art. In opening up my self
into the woman I had hidden so long, it is like waking a child from suspended animation or
coming out of a coma. The inner me went into hibernation at age five when I went to
kindergarten and was rejected.
So, Dave learned to fear rejection, but Melanie never did. Over these four years she
has reawakened, a piece at a time. First consciousness, then memory, then subconscious,
then preconscious responses. Each awakening ripped out one fourth of the being called Dave
to make way for that part of Melanie. I lived as a hybrid for four years until last
Saturday night. That last hyper awareness that melts the shackles holding the four corners
of my mind together once more separated the quarters of my self, cast the final Dave piece
adrift and bade Melanie to bubble to the surface. For the first time since age five, I am
complete.
My pieces are four, but I am five and six and seven and eight - the ages of each part
as it came on-line and lived a little while, a girl in the body of a woman. I have given
up savvy and shielding: there are no city walls. I stand naked and unprotected against
whatever barbarian horde should assault my limits.
I am a child, hopeful yet hurt, experienced but innocent, sophisticated even while I am
plain. Will anybody please love this child?
Download
Melanie's Entire 108 Chapter 966 Page Diary
Next
Chapter ~~~~ Diary
Home Page ~~~~ Transgender
Support Site Home Page
