April 16, 2013

Notes From The Asylum V

Saturday, Robin crushed my heart. Sunday, I thought for sure I was going to crush my mother’s heart. My parents were in town, and there in the mental hospital I was going to have the conversation I was hoping to have much later and under much better circumstances. It was time to start coming out.


It’s about two hours until my parents get here and my mind is churning. I don’t know how I am going to tell my mother this! Or all the crap that led up to Thursday.

She’s going to resent Robin so, so badly. I don’t want her to, and I will tell her not to, but she will anyway. That makes me want to cry. Should I be harder on Robin than I’m being? No, because I understand why she wants to move on. So I still love her and I don’t blame her.

Now, how do I tell her?

“Mom, I’m transgender” makes the most sense. Just say it plain and deal with the reaction. She probably won’t quite understand at first, like no one else does.

My dad’s reaction is going to be typical for him, I think: “Transgender, what the hell is that?” It will be uncomfortable and confrontational, followed by Mom’s “Paul, it’s … ” and his “So, what, you want to be a woman?” and Mom’s “Paul!” I know my parents well.


Well, that sucked.

Not the telling my parents part. That went about as well as expected given the circumstances. My dad was a lot less abrasive than I expected him to be. It still had to be explained to him, and to my mom, sort of. There was the expected “That doesn’t mean you’re gay, does it?” and my mom’s trying-to-be-understanding comment that “I grew up with several gay cousins, so … ” Then it shifted to “We love you no matter what” and “We just want you to be happy,” etc. No rejection, no disgust. Good.

What sucked was that the conversation soon shifted to what happens when I leave here. Robin had come along to be my rock while I told my parents, but she’s starting to chance. She’s starting to push me away more actively. She does not want me to come back home! When I leave here, she wants me to go to another place — an apartment, a friend’s house, whatever. She is afraid that if I come back home I will spiral again or try to win her back.

I was livid. After all this drama, she wants me to not go home? To a few days of normal? I can’t find a place to live from in here. Am I supposed to go wherever she finds me? I can’t do that. I won’t do that! If she wants me to make a plan to move out then I will do that … when I get out.

I understand her position. But I cannot leave this place and not go home, even if it’s for a few days.

I also hate that my parents were there to be part of this discussion. But at least now they are aware.


I am reduced to reality. Reality sucks.


I just can’t stop dwelling on last night’s bombshell. I know they’re preaching “mindfulness” here, but when it’s midnight and you’re left to your own sorry thoughts, it’s hard to do. Being in here is like being in Purgatory. All I can do is dwell on what happens when I get out.

When I speak to her next, I will appeal to her better nature. “Have the sympathy and human decency to see it from my perspective,” I’ll say. “It’s cruel,” I’ll insist. “The fact that you’d even consider this tells me where our relationship stands,” I’ll argue. “I don’t have any illusions anymore.”

I have always been good at shifting her emotions. Maybe I have one more good run left in me before she divorces herself from me enough that it doesn’t work anymore.

SPOILER ALERT: Turns out, I did. But not as much as I’d hoped. Also turns out that I still had a lot of adjusting to do, both mentally and emotionally, before I could fully deal with the situation awaiting me after discharge. But that’s a story for another post.

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  • I wish I could say with conviction and certainty, “The worst is past…” but I think we both know it may be only prologue.

    Baby steps…

    Your friend,


    • It feels like the worst part is past. I’m in a place with the blog right now where my story is behind real life, and I can tell you that the worst part was last Friday/Saturday. After surviving the pain I felt having to leave the house where my children were sleeping and go off to a different “home” to rest my head, I think I can endure anything.

      • Excellent! I used to counsel (identifying group) — When fears consume you, ask ‘What is the worst that can happen? If you can survive the worst, you can survive ANYTHING else.’

        I will believe, as you do, that the worst IS past. May that knowledge bring *some* peace as you rebuild a new life.

        Warm Wishes,


        P. S. What of your work situation?

        • Still employed. My boss is also a friend, and so bent over backwards for me. Of course, I haven’t told her word one about the transgender thing yet …

          • Very delicate situation. COMPLETE honesty, IMHO, isn’t necessarily the best policy as I’m sure you’re finding out, if you didn’t ALWAYS know it. If possible, legal counsel at this point would seem to be wisdom.

            Anytime you want to write and talk about things, shoot me an email…when your email situation is resolved. Always glad to hear from you! 🙂


  • Your talk of “insisting” and “shifting her emotions” is more male, imposing, rapey stuff. No wonder she’s running away. Your feelings are not the only valid ones here. Wake up!

      • I understand Ali’s point of view all right. It is that of a typical, entitled, privileged male; one who expects the women in his life to subordinate their needs and desires to his. It is that of a narcissistic male; one who doesn’t see women as human beings, but as extensions of himself to be controlled, manipulated, have their feelings changed from what they are to what he wants them to be, and to be kept close to, even when they don’t want that. That is imposing yourself both physically and emotionally on an unwilling woman. Hence, rapey.

        Ali has since backed away from those comments, I’m glad to say. But this is a recurring theme for you males. You call yourselves women, but your mentality is 100% male. All the makeup and dresses and checklists on how to be laydee-like can’t take away your sense of male entitlement, which you display in every interaction with a woman that you have.

        We’re not here to serve you or to enable you or to build up your precious little male egos. Why don’t you boys do all that by yourselves for a change?


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