When I look back at my life I can see that in one way or another a lot of my struggles, confusion, and issues have centred around love. And when I think about the outcomes of those struggles, the more I think that I hadn't a clue what love was all about.

See, for the longest time I wanted others to love me, to make me "whole", to make me "real", because I didn't feel whole, didn't feel real, never felt OK inside.

I didn't love myself.

I was afraid of myself, thinking that I wasn't human but a monster -- that I had an inner difference that was wrong and bad that set me apart. And this became a self fulfilling prophecy, because I was always afraid to let people get close, in case they saw that difference and then, well who knew...

...but I was afraid to find out.

And in having this dreadful fear inside of me, one that seemed so dreadful that it couldn't be faced, I did everything to avoid it, to fill the void inside of me. I discounted my own emotions -- if I couldn't feel them they wouldn't hurt. I sought meaning and worth mostly in others. I modelled my behaviour so that I did things I thought would please others, or tried to manipulate them so that they would fill my needs.

I became co-dependent.

But my needs could never be met, because I was never honest with myself about who I was and what I needed. All I wanted to do was to fit in and be happy. But I couldn't fit in because my psyche was the wrong shape for the role I was attempting to play. I mistook sex for pleasure, relationships for love, conformity for happiness.

And it didn't work.

Then, one day when the pain of pretending seemed more than the pain of changing, I started being honest with myself. It was the start of becoming me. I started gender transition in a very conservative way. My self-esteem was so low that I wanted nothing to devastate it, nothing to dispute my newly embraced identity. And that didn't work either, because I started caring about myself more than I had. There were a lot of old lies I had yet to unlearn.

My Transitional Crisis

A year and a half into my gender transition I experienced an existential crisis. I felt morally and spiritually bankrupt -- an empty shell devoid of hope and purpose. Now this seemed to be indirectly caused by the process of transition. I dropped an old persona which I'd never considered to be "me", and started to allow the one I'd been sheltering and hiding (Laura) to grow. That was never a mistake. But in doing so I entered totally unexplored territory, and this was frightening! I'd hit the fear layer.

I found I couldn't be a public servant any more, because that had been a place to hide. I didn't want to do that any more, and the more I tried the harder it was to stay mediocre. So I packed my bags and went on a vision quest to a far-away city -- far away from my usual haunts and habits, far away from friends and family. I went looking for my soul. It was the worst and the best time of my life. I experienced new things, but also tried old ones that never worked. They never worked there either. After 3 months I was suicidal -- I hit rock bottom.

Feeling Suicidal

It was a bizarre situation, and one which only later I could look back on and laugh at.

I was living in a house with four other transgendered people. It was supposed to be a supportive environment, but for me it was just one headache after another. My co-dependency problems were flaring up, and instead of sorting myself out, I was getting deeper and deeper into other people's shit.

Then, after a particularly upsetting incident, I hit rock bottom. I was absolutely miserable. I decided to go to a meditation centre and seek guidance through prayer and meditation. I got a wrong number. What I got was an internal voice of shame that shouted at me "KILL YOURSELF!". It wasn't the only internal voice I heard, there was another whispering "persistence pays off". But that second voice was overwhelmed by the first.

The next day I tried to go about my business, but the voice of shame and guilt kept shouting "KILL YOURSELF". I felt like I was filled only with a huge void that echoed these words. Finally, I ended up at a cliff top at Manley, deciding whether or not to kill myself. And you know what, all the indecision I had was still there -- I couldn't decide! The only thing that saved me was noticing the time and realizing that if I didn't catch the next bus I'd miss a CoDA meeting. I ran off and caught that bus.

After I got to the meeting, it seemed that half the people there had been thinking about suicide. There was something in the air that day... ...and I realized that I wasn't nuts, I wasn't crazy, and I wasn't the only one. Someone there pointed out that what I got wasn't the voice of God, but the voice of shame.

I'd hit rock bottom, but from there I could only go up. And slowly I did, until the second time I felt suicidal.

Facing the Void

It's a funny thing, but that first time I felt suicidal, it felt like I had a huge black hole inside of me -- a place that sucked up everything that was put in it, and still wanted more! And that feeling didn't just go away after I stopped feeling suicidal, it was still there, staring me in the face.
And yet, it's a funny thing, because really, this was a good thing for me in the long run.

Why?

Well until that point, the void had always been there, but I pretended it didn't exist. And because I was in denial, it meant that I could never do anything about the pain I felt. And owning that pain, feeling the void, was the first step to doing something about it. There was pain, there was hurt, but it was my pain and hurt -- no one else's.

This was the start of what I call "recovery" for me. Recovery means reclaiming my life and purpose, it means living in a more satisfying manner than I have before. But mostly it means a letting go of old, unproductive ways of living and being. Gender transition was a start, because it was the first instance of me being honest with myself, and respecting who I am. But it is not the last.

Now I've hurt a lot since then. The pain didn't just go away, but somehow it felt less hurtful to know that it was within my ability to cope, that I didn't have to run from and avoid it as much as possible. Because that's what I'd done, and in trying to avoid the pain I'd done things and made decisions that were less than favourable for me. But never again.

Yes, I've hurt a lot since then, but I've been happy too. My decisions and actions have been honest ones, and believe me, that makes a difference. Something I'm learning along the way, is that life isn't about avoiding pain or just feeling happy, it's about living life to the full, in the best way you can.

Suicidal Again

It was when I returned to Perth that I was suicidal for a second time. Unlike the first, which had been as a result of overwhelming shame and guilt (which later proved to be groundless), this was more like an admission of defeat.

But because I hit rock bottom, I started looking at that part of myself that I hadn't dared to look at before -- the void I felt within. I felt empty and I hurt, but it was my emptiness, it was my hurt. I started feeling again. It was like being Data (from Star Trek, The Next Generation) with his emotion chip being installed.

I'd returned from Sydney after undertaking a vision quest to decide my future. I'd succeeded too, in that I knew I had to move to Newcastle, leave my job, and start studying visual arts at university. But I had to return to Perth to organize things. My public service job was based there, and unless I figured out what to do, my money would start to run out. Also, I'd booked for a Science Fiction convention there and wanted to go. The trip back was the worst bus trip I've ever had. I ran out of money on the second day of a three day trip, and the bus ran out of water over the Nullarbor Plains. I was tired and exhausted by the time I returned. I wasn't up for a convention, but I went anyway.

I'd underestimated the effect that returning to Perth would have on me. After experiencing Sydney, Perth seemed like a prison of mediocrity and parochialism. I felt that I'd accomplished nothing. Then things started going wrong at the convention. The person I'd booked the room with had actually booked another. I should have connected with these people, but I didn't -- everything just felt like an empty hollow past time, and I felt the biggest void of all. One night of the con, I looked at a kitchen knife in the room and started thinking how nice it would be if I just slit my wrists and sat there bleeding to death.

Then I realized what I was thinking, and realized that I was dangerously close to attempting suicide. I went down to the nearest public hospital and admitted myself for observation. I didn't trust myself that night. After a 4 hour wait, I was admitted. They gave me a bed and some tranquillizers. After a good nights sleep, I was OK in the morning. I collected my things from the hotel, decided to say goodbye to fandom, and got on with life.

Intuition

My intuition had told me to come to the Hunter valley, that this was where I'd heal and grow, where I'd finally become human. Moving to Newcastle was the start of that. I now live on the outskirts of the city in a place called Barnsley. It's a little out of the way, but it's still the Hunter Valley. I think my intuition was right. It's hard for me to "prove" this (especially since I've been suicidal at least once while here) but I feel it. I feel stronger in myself. I don't mean that I don't have doubts and fears, or ups and downs, I do. But the downs are easier to shake, and the ups are more sustained.

The Shadow

Now recently I'd started to let go of the idea that I was a monster. The voice of self-hate however goes on in subtle sneaky ways. If you do something that doesn't go to plan, it criticizes you for failure; it finds reasons why you are less than perfect, what's "wrong" with you. Back in 1996 when I was in Sydney, and very low emotionally, it shouted KILL YOURSELF at me. I didn't of course, but was that close to doing so. Afterwards, things started to slowly get better. There was another, softer voice in me saying PERSISTENCE PAYS OFF. It was the voice of self-love.

Still, the voice of self-hate waits and continues with it's destructive criticism. It's hard to avoid. Then I read a book entitled There is Nothing Wrong with You, written by a Zen-Buddhist teacher. Imagine my relief when I read the following passage in the book (pages 129-130):

egocentricity is invested in convincing
you that you are an awful person --
that deep down inside you there is
some Horrible Thing. Why? Because
it stays in charge that way.
It can just say
BOO!

...and you'll jump back into line and do whatever it says.

But you can call it's bluff
simply by saying,

"BRING OUT THE HORRIBLE
THING, SHOW IT TO ME!"

And you can say,
"Don't worry. I'll keep it to
myself. I'll keep it hidden.
I won't tell anyone. Okay?"

But egocentricity can't do that.

And the more it cannot
show you the
Horrible Thing
the more it will dawn on you that
MAYBE IT DOESN'T EXIST.

MAYBE THERE ISN'T A
"HORRIBLE THING"
INSIDE OF YOU

Now this came as a revelation to me. I knew intellectually that I wasn't a monster, but not emotionally. The book had summed up in terms I knew where I'd been at. And it was not a good place.

Feeling Suicidal Three (Not Out!)

The 3rd time I felt suicidal was late last year. I'd been under a lot of pressure in my university studies. I'd also just returned from the Beltaine Festival, and wasn't grounded or centred properly. I felt all these emotions and energy flowing in me.

I got into a transgendered chat room and someone there posted a letter about a transsexual woman who'd had her surgery long ago. According to the letter, she'd been very successful since and passed so well that the differences between her and other women were almost undetectable. But with this success came a problem. She felt isolated and lonely, unable to share this part of her with anyone else.

This was depressing. What was the point of transition if at the end of it, you were no happier than when you started?

At the same time I had a falling out with a transgendered friend. This affected me too, because she seemed to have it all -- good looks, a good job, and good prospects. And here was I, having some doubts about my own femininity, struggling to make ends meet while studying and looking/buying a house.

I was jealous of her.

I was upset with myself. Upset that I was jealous of her (she was a friend, how could I be jealous of a friend?), upset that life was difficult for me; upset that the future might seem more so but lonelier! I got suicidal, and narrowly avoided having several car accidents before I went to stay at a friend's place.

And I got over it, or so I thought. Soon after I bought and moved into my first house. I had a new pet dog, and all the university break to get settled. But lack of activity is one thing I have difficulty handling. It gives me time to brood. Give me a busy day and I'm happy.

So I became depressed for most of the university break. It took a number of things to get me going again and out of that depression.

I met another transsexual woman on a trip with a friend. She was 8+ years post operative; attractive; successful in business; involved in her community; and had friends and lovers. In short, she was an inspiration. There was more than one path in this process. The person who'd written that letter had gone one way, this person another. And I could choose too. Not major decisions (I'd already made those and they were the correct choices), but all the small ones that count in life.

Secondly, I went to the Bisexual Conference in Sydney. I enjoyed the conference, it reaffirmed that it was OK to be Bisexual, and it was there that I was able to let go of that other hurt. I could move on. And lastly, university started again. It makes a difference when you're doing something you love, and I love my art!

Finally, I could sit down and think about the causes of my being suicidal and depressed.

Post-mortem

When I think of it now, this was just like when I'd encountered that Girl in Perth. She seemed to have everything I didn't. But it only seemed that way at the time. Truth was that she and I are different people, with different pasts, futures, and needs. Comparing myself to others never seems to work. My inner critic can be so vicious that I always come off worse, whether its true or not. So I think I need to stop doing that -- comparing myself to others.

I am who I am.

If my path appears difficult and other's appear easy, then it makes no difference, because I'm on my path, not theirs. When I compare myself to others, I'm focused on them, not me. And that's a sure way for me to get into emotional trouble. When I focus on myself, on my own needs, I can take the appropriate action to satisfy them. And that's what I need to do.

Life seems to be in the details. Instead waiting for these big emotional changes to happen (where I "magically" become happier) I really just need to get on with it, to live a day at a time, and live it well. Instead of >trying to fit in, I should just be myself, even if I don't always know just who that is. And then, maybe one day, I might look back and think how much I have changed, and hadn't even noticed it.

And that will be a beautiful day. It'll be fun getting there.

Self Love

I guess what that before I can expect close personal love, I've got be able to love myself first. This is something that I hadn't done in the past, but I think it's something I've started to do now. And it's not an easy thing. I have an inner critic, ready to pounce on me when I make mistakes. The difference is that I've learnt to discern when that criticism comes from shame, and when it comes from love. Believe me, there's a HUGE difference.

I'm not saying that everything is "hunky dory" with me now. I have my problems, but I'm not looking for any quick fixes either. A slow and lasting solution will do me fine. No longer do I want to restrict myself to a small subset of emotions, like Iris I need to feel the whole rainbow of emotions. And I have all the time in the world. I don't have to rush myself on this, just let it happen...

Life is a LiTtLE STraNGer nowadays, but overall it's more fun!

There is Nothing Wrong with You, by Cheri Huber, Keep It Simple Books, ISBN 0-9636255-0-0