Quote:
Originally Posted by MotownJohnny
Skeezyks, thank you for being a friend. I need that right now. I generally see most things in life as nuanced and very much on that continuum.
But the mental illness question, when it comes to me, is absolutely all or nothing, black or white. I either "am " or "am not" - no matter of degree, no nuance, no room to maneuver. And, to be pronounced "not" means I have to be, essentially, "completely sane", totally well adjusted. Or as I have told myself, the poster boy for perfect mental health. That does paint me into an impossibly small corner, completely surrounded by an immense chasm.
You see, in my mind, when it comes to the label of mental illness, to be accused is to be convicted. Of a nebulous crime no less - much like being accused of witchcraft in Salem or of anti-revolutionary thought in North Korea - the crime is in the eye of the accuser, it exists if they say it does, and the accuser is also judge and jury. Not a fair fight.
I know, that is all very ... Esoteric isn't the right word, but it is gossamer, vapor. In real terms, it means that, if I exhibit one symptom that I allow to "slip out " and be noticed, it makes me suspect. Enough people see little snippets here and there, and someone connects the dots, I am outed. I am outed, life as I know it is over. The wolf is always at the door, the Stasi re always lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce.
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Oh my dear friend... yes... I believe I do have some sense of this. It's odd, but I can be quite nonchalant about my mental health struggles... quite philosophical (although I don't broadcast them.) But when it comes to my Gender Identity Disorder status, I become rigid beyond measure.
I am either transitioning from male to female, or I'm male. I'm not transitioning. So I'm male. Yet I've let my hair grow out. And since I have it cut by a hair stylist, it looks quite feminine. (I think I'm beginning to get odd looks from other men out in public. It makes me uneasy.) I use clear polish on my nails. I carry a purse. (Actually it's what is typically referred to as a "messenger bag"... same difference. I love all of this... I hate every bit of it. But none of this is transitioning. It's all just nibbling at the periphery. Trying to assuage the ache deep inside by applying band aids to the skin.
I wish I could just "come out", as they say. I wish I could hide away... back in the deepest, darkest recesses of a dark closet. I fear what would happen if I did suddenly fling the door wide. I would be humiliated. I would be cast out. I dream about this.
After many years of hiding, my wife now knows about this side of me. But we don't talk about it. I call it our "don't ask, don't tell" policy. She doesn't ask, & I don't tell... But, still, occasionally she'll ask a question the answer to which would require some discussion of my GID issues. At one point I told her: "you're either all in, or you're all out. And at this point, you're all out. I can't have you bouncing in-&-out whenever you happen to feel the urge..." It's terrible. But I can't help it. There's no gray here. It's either black or white. I am torn between two lives, frozen in time, unable to move. I have my own wolf. He's waiting for me to finally move. And, if I do, he will be ready to pounce...