Christopher’s Story Continues
A detransitioned man elaborates on the complexities of his hardships
Last week, I published the beginning of my letter exchange with Christopher Ostrowski. Today, I’m sharing his response. As you can see, Christopher is quite the autobiographer. This letter contains both material he wrote to me directly, as well as excerpts he copied into the email from his book. In his email to me, these excerpts were italicized to distinguish them. However, I found that the italics interfered with readability, so I eliminated this distinction.
While reading Christopher’s letter, I pulled quotes that stood out to me. You’ll see these in large quote blocks. Some of these are condensed or edited for clarity, but the full text of his original words is left intact. If you just want to skim the article, those quote blocks represent what I see as key elements in his story.
Needless to say, it’s not feasible to respond to the entire letter as a whole, so I will be sharing this version of his work with Christopher and asking him to select from any of these quoted segments or other pieces he’d like to go deeper with. For now, I present his story to you for reflection.
Here's where I'm at. Some are from my book (easier to explain), some are specific answers. Ought to help.
1. Misdiagnosis
“Learning that I was on the autism spectrum absolutely forced me to integrate this new information into my schema of my life.”
Learning that I was on the autism spectrum absolutely forced me to integrate this new information into my schema of my life; the narrative by which I understood myself was already changing because I'd been off hormones (due to a lack of healthcare coverage, and access) for two years, and I couldn't control the hair, and the pretense of passing as female due to disability limitations, but the autism diagnosis gave me permission to reevaluate my assumptions about myself.
Rewinding back to 5th grade, back to the bipolar diagnosis...
A rift was growing between my peers at school and I when I started doing more of the mathematics in my head, and didn’t feel it was appropriate to write out long “proofs” for what I considered to be obvious conclusions in multiplication.
I would finish first, and then be corrected by the teacher for working the problem in my head without writing the steps, and a competing student would then finish while I was being lectured, and I would get upset.
Other students began bullying me on the playground, and I started to withdraw from friendships, feeling outdone and moving down the social ladder.
We had the big state testing that year, and I felt absorbed in both school studies, as well as independent research I was doing with the library, the Book of Knowledge encyclopedias my mother purchased, and the older Britannica encyclopedias which I would read all day (5-10 books in a circle around me on the carpet) at my grandma’s house, along with books on self hypnosis and anything else I could find.
“I wanted to know everything, and spent a lot of time thinking.”
I enjoyed X-Files, Sea Quest, DSV, “Hot-97”, anything Dick Tracy, and was fascinated with blacklights, magic, and anything outside of the LDS religion I was raised in. I wanted to know everything, and spent a lot of time thinking. Without the internet, I had to sift through the sensationalism to find my own conclusions of truth.
In December, 1993, the student who was “outdoing” me decided at the last minute to abandon our duet of jingle bells for the school Christmas play, me on the clarinet, him on the sax, and I did the song myself. It felt like he wanted to sabotage me, and that others were laughing at me like I was a fool.
“Becoming a laughing stock of my peers because I couldn’t understand social norms left me with a poor foundation.”
Becoming a laughing stock of my peers throughout 5th grade because I couldn’t understand social norms left me with a poor foundation in 6th grade during an incident when my teacher placed me in the corner for the last time. She had been misinterpreting my social abilities, and punishing me by placing me in the corner of the class, isolated by a barrier, embarrassing me in front of the same classmates I had been humiliated by in 5th grade.
In mid-August of 1994, I had a meltdown in class where I yelled and hit my desk because I refused to go into the corner, and after the school couldn't get ahold of my parents, so the emergency contact, my maternal grandma, arrived in class and tried to sit with me until I calmed down, but ultimately, we needed to leave, and did. The response to this meltdown was a chain reaction that led to some severe repercussions which altered the course of my life.
I was suspended from school, ostracized by most everyone I knew, and a parent-school conference was held which discussed plans to prevent this in the future. My parents took me to my grandma's psychiatrist in Lancaster, who (mis)diagnosed me with bipolar disorder (and my grandma), intermittent explosive disorder, and Attention Deficit Disorder, without hyperactivity.
They missed other signs, like walking on the tiptoes constantly around the house, being obsessed with music and sounds, compulsively opening the fridge at night, not speaking at a proper age, having colic as a baby, wetting the bed with night terrors, sleepwalking, the social hindrances (because much of the LDS community is predictable, and school was not, it wasn’t conceived that my social disabilities were because I was being raised in an isolated environment in every way except school), a fascination with human behavior, and high functioning learning ability, and high test scores, capably building a computer, and learning vast skills, all signs which, presumably under more scrutiny, would have led to an autism spectrum, or at the time, Asperger’s Syndrome diagnosis, had they been explored to their maxima.
“I was medicated enough to not have any mood swings in class, and I was miserable.”
I was given a solid slap on the emotional wrist with Lithium Carbonate at 900-1200 mg daily, with two school staff who were LDS ensuring my doses at Wildflower Elementary were being given. These measures were to ensure I was medicated enough to not have any mood swings in class, and I was miserable.
“The solitary confinement chamber was essentially a padded white room with a small table with straps and a straightjacket on it.”
I had been protesting the side effects of the medication, specifically, the intense stomach pain and nausea, and the zombie-like feeling of my mind, and I didn’t want to take it. I eventually hit a door hard enough to break it, and with the medical scaffolding and warning signs already in place, it was the first time I was sent on a three day hold at a mental hospital. Being incarcerated and forced medication changed my perspective forever. The solitary confinement chamber was essentially a padded white room with a small table with straps and a straightjacket on it. This room had a door, which had a small window. This door led to the common room, which had a television, and some nondescript activities strewn about.
“I came home emotionally broken and with a lot of resentment for my parents. I learned to start masking.”
When children in front of you are strapped onto the table screaming, medications were forcibly injected into them until they submit. I came home emotionally broken and with a lot of resentment for my parents, and a new reality in front of me, far different from the whitewashed, LDS one I’d known, and one in which unbridled autistic frustration and meltdown behavior was treated indignantly. I learned to start masking.
I’d ride my bicycle in the desert with one of my friends from church. We used to sometimes find sun-bleached porno magazines in the bushes while we made jumps for our bicycles. His brother was into Marilyn Manson, and we would check out his brother’s old Dick Tracy spy kit, and talk about making our own club, the ‘Sneakers.’ We’d go to Radio Shack and look at all the CB’s and technology.
“I became aware of a ‘sex-change operation.’ The concept became another sexual fixation of mine that needed decoded.”
I would find spare parts in the desert, and would tear my bicycle down to parts to rebuild it, using new parts when I could to build another bicycle from scrap. My backyard was covered in parts at times. At some point, I became aware of a "sex-change operation" and transsexuals from one of those magazines in the desert, and thought to myself 'I can be fixed… but I can’t ever do something like that because I’d disappoint my family.’ The concept became another sexual fixation of mine that needed decoded. I would watch the scrambled adult channels at night on a black and white television trying to learn more about sex. I was medicated at the time, dear reader, never forget.
“We experimented touching each other sexually. We never talked about it. I didn’t understand why he stopped being my friend until years later.”
During Summer, this friend and I found ourselves stealing a porno magazine from a shelf at the mall, and took it home that night. We had built a tent in his room from chairs and blankets, and while we looked at the magazine, we became aroused, and experimented touching each other sexually. We never talked about it, and he quickly found other friends to hang out with at church, becoming very distant, though I had thought nothing more of it. I didn’t understand why he stopped being my friend until years later. I never thought of myself as gay, though, nor did I have a sexual attraction to other boys.
I remember my dad’s best friend came to visit Florida at one point during the trip and we watched Schindler's list together. I had actually wet myself because I was trying to not pee during the movie, and the seriousness felt like I couldn’t interrupt for any reason. I remember being stressed by the content, and the nudity in it was wrapped in horror, which affected me. No one said anything (or noticed?) that I wet myself, and it was a weird embarrassment for me for many years.
I remember one time my dad was going to have a co-workers girlfriend or wife drive me back to the apartment near the end of his shift. I remember she and I ended up going to the store and then going back to the apartment complex and we went into the spa together. While nothing inappropriate happened my dad reminded me that I should have been more insistent to go back to the house, and to avoid situations that could turn to sin.
“My 5th grade testing scores [were] pretty much at 12th grade, or college level on this test. After being medicated for months, I scored at a 7th and 8th grade level.”
When I returned to elementary school when my dad’s trip was over, they informed my parents that my 5th grade testing had come back. It seems that the scores showed above average, actually in the 99th percentile in most categories, which is pretty much at 12th grade, or college level on this test. After retesting me (after being medicated for months), I scored at a 7th and 8th grade level (five grade levels lower, while on psych meds) using the Woodcock Johnson WJ-R. This was drastically different from the 12th grade average I’d demonstrated the year prior. I felt like I was drowning in my thoughts.
“I’d lost any respectability amongst [peers]. I would eat lunch away from the cafeteria because of the other students. I felt like I was in a fog, and nothing made much sense.”
What I remember about 7th grade is fragmented as it was an isolating period of time for me. Essentially, I’d lost any respectability amongst the 6th graders, and I only remember one kid who I used to make ciphers and cryptography with. I would eat lunch away from the cafeteria because of the other students. I felt like I was in a fog, and nothing made much sense. It was the year in elementary school when sex education was to be given, and while the 6th graders were having discussions at their level, I was embarrassingly attending discussions with kids who were a year older, and felt grossly out of place.
“I didn’t feel like I belonged in a hospital, but had to go along with what was in front of me.”
The issues seemed to my parents to be cumulative, and not resolving, and eventually I had another meltdown because I was getting upset about the medications, the stomach pain and vomiting that they caused, and needing to offset it by trying every antacid on the market. I was eventually sent to La Crescenta Mental Hospital, where I was heavily medicated in a high end facility. They tested me the day after starting the new medications, and I was showing a high-average in written expression (college level), and mostly average (9th/10th grade level) in everything else. I didn’t feel like I belonged in a hospital, but had to go along with what was in front of me. I was there for probably a week or two.
“I found PE to be very stressful and wanted to avoid all of the macho alpha types that were in the weight lifting class.”
In 10th grade I became very fond of Shakespeare. I grew to enjoy Edgar Allan Poe in English class, I took French and although I was good at it I didn't do any of the homework so I failed the class. I found PE to be very stressful and wanted to avoid all of the macho alpha types that were in the weight lifting class, staying on the leg machines since in those days leg day wasn't a thing. After going snowboarding with my mom’s youngest brother, my uncle, I came home, fell asleep, and ended up sleepwalking through a window, lacerating the radial nerve in my left wrist; i awoke to the loud crash of the glass window near my bed; watching the blood dribble down my fingertips in the bathroom with my mom struggling to bandage me up. Near the LDS chiropractor my mom used to take me to in Lancaster was the hand surgeon that repaired the damage.
In early 1999, our area code, 805 was given a change to 661, and that was the year I took the California High School Equivalency. I was nearly 16 years old, and a Junior in high school, so while I was too young to take the test, I qualified because I had moved up one grade level. My mom was hearing from teachers how I was nodding off in class, wouldn’t do any homework, couldn’t finish work in class, and would ditch. She felt that I was smart enough to pass the test with enough preparation, so she bought me a study manual, and worked with me on the material. I did have a writing portion of the test where they asked about technology in the future, and I was prepared to elaborate and write an eloquent response which, along with the other tests, resulted in a passing score.
My mom wanted me to finish out high school, and I wasn’t happy with the idea, but tried it for as long as I could. Eventually, a home-ec teacher was scolding my work in front of the class, and calling me lazy, and I stood up, told her that I’m actually ahead of everyone because I’m already graduated, and didn’t need to be there, and left, never to return.
“I masked my true feelings and interests because my family was religious, and there were high expectations that I adhere to the strict ways of the church.”
I was very resentful of the medications, and the restrictive environment, growing up. I compartmentalized, or rather, I masked my true feelings and interests because my family was religious, and there were high expectations that I adhere to the strict ways of the church. Eventually, I had a meltdown where I held a knife defending my room from my dad, who had been taking my door away, trying to use hot sauce to make me take my pill (because he could withhold water or milk until I put the pill in my mouth), forcing me to attend church, and after we moved back to California after I ended up in Japan with them, and I was 18, I was emotionally DONE with the medications. I screamed and told him I wanted my own life, and he kicked me out. There's more in my substack, a lot more, but that's the summary.
2. Relationship stress
3. Coming out as bisexual while thinking about being trans.
4. Early onset medical issues, disability and pain; seeking relief from pain.
5. Suicidality
9. Lack of proper assessment & treatment
First Wife:
“I was raised with a lot of social conditioning, and had never been in a sexual relationship, and I was coerced or confused into continuing the relationship.”
I eventually met a woman at the college who wore an anarchy jacket and had a very dominant personality. We got to talking, and I felt like there was some possibility this might be the first girl I connected with. I had never had sex prior, and afterwards, I realized this huge wave of disappointment in knowing that sex wasn’t going to overcome personality differences, and I felt compelled to let her know that I didn’t want to keep dating. To my surprise, she retorted in a way that said “you obligated yourself to do it when you slept with me, and now you can’t break up with me because of that obligation you made when you started this”. I was raised with a lot of social conditioning, and had never been in a sexual relationship, and I was coerced or confused into continuing the relationship.
Over the next few months, I had a guitar recital at AVC playing “Dust in the Wind” (by Kansas), moved into her apartment, dated steadily, smoking cigarettes, drinking every terrible cheap alcohol, and I got a tongue piercing and a tattoo on my back. We didn’t see things eye to eye, had a pregnancy scare, and I would isolate when people came over as long as they would let me. People loved to get me drunk until I would pass out, but then my girlfriend would want to be intimate when I was hammered. It caused a lot of tension between us.
“I was stressed in my relationship, and we both would dabble with abusing certain over the counter medications trying to get a buzz.”
I would try to smoke cannabis whenever I could, to my girlfriend’s moral dismay, because I recognized that it calmed me, and reminded me of my place in the universe. I was stressed in my relationship, though, and we both would dabble with abusing certain over the counter medications trying to get a buzz.
“Being around her aggressive personality became something I could mimic, and I would become aggressive and not be able to explain myself well. I was trying to get drunk or high as much as I could get away with while trying to maintain some semblance of a relationship and life.”
I was pouring my negative thoughts into journaling (didn’t learn decades later that journaling gratitude is a more effective method…), and my ex was reading a lot of my self-loathing and began pouring through my writings to confront me about my stream of consciousness. Being around her aggressive personality became something I could mimic, and I would become aggressive and not be able to explain myself well. My ex used to steal from the store, as well, and the habit was becoming normalized to the point where I did it sometimes as well. I dyed and bleached my hair, we were broke, charging everything to credit, and I was trying to get drunk or high as much as I could get away with while trying to maintain some semblance of a relationship and life.
“I kept thinking how much outside influence I felt entrapped by, and how much I wish I could tell everyone how I really felt.”
We eventually got married at the Stake center in Palmdale, across from my old high school. She was 5mo pregnant, and I couldn’t bring myself to stop the wedding after so much went into it, but I kept thinking how much outside influence I felt entrapped by, and how much I wish I could tell everyone how I really felt.
Second Wife
I started to take music industry courses at AVC, trying to learn more about opening a record label of my own, where I could do in house recording and promotion. I met quite a few people who ended up recording at my studio, and was beginning to get more business, and was putting flyers up at Guitar Center. Eventually, I saw getting a job there as a way to get more clients, learn more about current equipment, and discounts on my own. I started out in Pro Audio, meeting an eccentric steampunk alcoholic, and a meek autism spectrum Goth.
By May 2005, my marriage had dissolved, I had met a new girlfriend who had a son of her own, not two years older than mine. Before we were too serious, she’d tried to date the Goth from work, but found out about their transgender goals, finding me a more attractive partner as a result. My grandparents offered to let the three of us live with them (and my son, whenever I could get custody).
“There was a real sense of panic, and I was having these physical issues, but couldn’t articulate my concerns, nor would I have been able to do much about it without health insurance.”
I was beginning to have worsening problems with my back from the injury a couple of years earlier in the warehouse. While I was at work, I was having some mild bowel and bladder loss of control, I was developing panic attacks at work, hiding in the darkroom to try and calm down, and eventually found a friend from x-ray school who agreed to come take over for me. I resigned as politely as I could, trying to explain that I was having a family emergency. I couldn’t keep working, but my friend from x-ray school could fill in until a suitable replacement could be found. There was a real sense of panic, and I was having these physical issues, but couldn’t articulate my concerns, nor would I have been able to do much about it without health insurance.
I filed for SSI/Disability, but didn’t understand the process. I’d also not seen my son in 3mo because of the communication breakdown over the previous 6mo between my son’s mom and I, and the lack of co-parenting. Past visits included showing up late for visitation, being accused by my ex of trying to kidnap him when I suggested taking him to a doctor, or trying to get his medical information.
“I felt that I was trying to deprogram my upbringing out of me, and trying these extreme things so I could work my way toward a baseline once I found my ‘truth’.”
My second wife and I were taking a lot of Norco (or tramadol) and soma around this time to cope with the busy schedule, and the high demands of school, raising a child, and trying to freelance work. Occasionally, when her son was at the family's house, we’d have friends over to our house and I tried cocaine for the first time. I found it stimulating, but I also had nose bleeds, palpitations, diaphoresis (sweating), and it wore off quickly, which gave a sense of needing to chase for more. Deeply, more than anything, my explorations of these substances were highly calculated, and in some way, I felt that I was trying to deprogram my upbringing out of me, and trying these extreme things so I could work my way toward a baseline once I found my ‘truth’.
“I felt secondary to women, probably because I am awkward, and was trying to mask this tough musician type who is a strong raucous, androgynous, sexy charismatic person. Of course I would feel like a failure to those expectations when I was really this sensitive, inquisitive person who got hung up on rearranging the room, and trying to make things perfect.”
I sensed that I needed to resolve some of these sexuality hang-ups I was having, and try to explore my bisexuality so I could see if I enjoyed being fawned over, instead of fawning over women. I think during this critical time, that was the crux of the situation for me. I felt secondary to women, probably because I am awkward, and was trying to mask this tough musician type who is a strong raucous, androgynous, sexy charismatic person. Of course I would feel like a failure to those expectations when I was really this sensitive, inquisitive person who got hung up on rearranging the room, and trying to make things perfect. My wife had gotten breast implants, which I almost was jealous about, and everyone was always trying to get at her. My wife was from a more homophobic (or homodisgusted) background, and despite bringing it up gingerly (fueled on cocaine and tramadol…), she found herself instantly turned off on me, and it was the moment the relationship really ended.
After many fights, I agreed to leave the house on her request (to her surprise, never thinking I would) in January 2011, and went to stay with my grandparents, who had been living in their new house in Lancaster. When they were viewing the model, while I was staying with my first wife after getting tattoos, my grandpa (who had been diagnosed with stage 3 cancer) said one of those rooms would be for me when I come back, and sure enough, he happily accepted me into the house, knowing I’d need time and support to adjust before I could flourish.
Over the next 6mo, I spent time with friends from the cannabis collective that I was working at, going to their house in Lancaster, drinking beer, riding my motorcycle home drunk, doing more art at work, listening to TOOL, and trying to find my groove in life. I’d stopped the cocaine, and the norco, and was only taking tramadol and smoking cannabis, much of which was gifted by my manager so I could take macro photos of the trichomes for the website, which I managed, and because I would write the descriptions for the menu, and update it regularly.
“I found out online that my mom had died in the night. I never saw her body, and the funeral was closed-casket.”
A month after my 28th birthday, in 2011, I found out online that my mom had died in the night. I visited her a couple days before she died, as she was being put on hospice. My work had me scheduled the day after I visited her, so I went to work and told my family to keep me updated. After work I was exhausted, so I went home and fell asleep convinced that I'd visit my mom "tomorrow". My aunt posted that my mom passed away in the night, and I found out via social media that this incredible woman of strength and family love, had died. She was practically suffocating from the cancer in her lungs, and suffering, so they administered the dose of morphine that she needed to finally rest. I never saw her body, and the funeral was closed-casket. No preservatives, pine box. "her body was just a shell", my dad would say.
“I started to take estrogen pills, thinking someday I’d transition.”
I started to take estrogen pills, thinking someday I’d also transition, depressed, and my wife and I moved back in with each other in Quartz Hill. One night, after things were especially tense, I took a bunch of medication and threatened to drive off the cliffs in Quartz Hill, was picked up by the police, and taken to Olive View Medical Center, with my wife picking up the car and keeping it. I spent the next week trying to convince my wife to pick me up and help get me out. When I finally was released, I went to live at the company grow house (which was on 24hr light inside a sealed, light-leak-proof home, and I had Seinfeld playing on shuffle all night as the loud fans whirred.
“I was truly bored out of my mind, and too drunk to be of any quality company. I decided this wasn’t going to work.”
I did visit my wife and my stepson when they moved to San Pedro for her new job in Rancho Palos Verdes, but she wasn’t convinced of being with me again, and was seeing another man off and on ever since I told her I was bisexual. I tried to date another girl who was living in Agua Dulce, but moved to the Hollywood Hills in a polyamorous house. She convinced me to go to Renfaire and perform as a peasant. So I drank when she had a performance and played the drunk peasant. I was truly bored out of my mind, and too drunk to be of any quality company. On the motorcycle back to her home, the bike was heavy, and that night after having awkward sex with her dog barking and nipping at my leg, I decided this wasn’t going to work. The next day, I rode her to work, and we went our separate ways.
“I was depressed, and not sure about my sexuality or my personality at all. I was lost in a dark daily drinking fog. I ran out of birth control pills, which I was trying to self-medicate with.”
Back in the Antelope Valley, the grow house was going to get sold, and the friends I’d had at the collective were willing to rent out one of the art rooms, where I’m welcome to doodle and write on the walls, and do art. I was depressed, and not sure about my sexuality or my personality at all. I was lost in a dark daily drinking fog. I ran out of birth control pills, which I was trying to self-medicate with.
About a month later, my wife described how she was tired of the new boyfriend and his dynamic with her son, and that I should maybe come try this again. I drove out there on a planned day, and she she said it wasn't a good time, so I told her I was there now, so it's now or never, and she told him to leave that day because I was her son’s stepdad, and it’ll be easier because we already have a routine.
I would ride my stepson on the back of the motorcycle to school, and around town. My dad had given me some Disneyland tickets that were going to expire and I took my stepson because we were close to Anaheim. We even rode the motorcycle on a foggy morning to Garden Grove where I picked up a tattoo kit from a tattoo supply shop, and loaded it on the back of the motorcycle. I started doing my own tattoos.
“I became upset and punched the side of the fridge”
Within a month of establishing in the apartment, my wife says she wants some time away and I should go to Lancaster. I became upset and punched the side of the fridge, unfortunately, between the freezer and fridge portion where it is reinforced, and incurred a boxer’s fracture to my right 5th metacarpal. My wife had purchased a car, so I took my mom’s car back to Lancaster, got overcharged for x-rays at the urgent care in quartz hill that I externed at during x-ray school (my grandparents paid for it), and within a week, my ex-wife had me come back to San Pedro. The next four months, I did a lot more tattoos, trading motorcycles, going to school, trying to set up a music studio, but selling equipment off because of financial problems.
In September, my wife's mom visited San Pedro, in what seemed to be a cordial visit, but within a week, I was asked to leave, and went to my grandparents. Within a month of that, she had me come back to San Pedro, where I picked up a job as an x-ray tech for a company that did DOT screenings on site for workers. I spent a few days doing that, but riding my motorcycle at 3:30am in LA was more than I could do regularly to keep the mobile x-ray job. My stepson and I did Halloween by ourselves, because his mom was working. We all went and picked up a dog in November thinking that might help, and I visited my son out at his house in Lake Los Angeles on my motorcycle in December, because I really wanted to see him. I wasn’t allowed inside the house because my first ex wife knew she had a hoarding and cat problem, and the house wasn’t renovated at all.
My wife was visiting Lancaster, cheating on me sometimes, visiting family other times, and I was trying to finish as much of my physics teaching degree as possible, but simultaneously trying to sell some things because the relationship was failing. I had a nice guitar of mine ‘bought’ by someone who came with $700 in fake money. I tried to chase him, but he was gone by the time I noticed. I never reported it because I was so angry and embarrassed, and destroyed the bills out of spite. Eventually, I found a job on craigslist for an x-ray and medical assisting position in Rancho Palos Verdes.
“I was gaining respect because I was good at my job, but my home life was disintegrating.”
I was taking the CSET exams for teaching, being accepted as Kappa Delta Pi Honors Society in Education, and was picking up old surgery and medical textbooks from the used bookstore to learn more. The doctor I work for at the time has a large Iranian 10th anniversary with a beautiful room with exotic foods I’d never tasted and the beautiful Farci being spoken everywhere. His colleague, an ER physician from Merced who co-owns the urgent care, brings a trunk full of hard alcohol, already drinking and smoking his pipe tobacco. I was gaining respect because I was good at my job, but my home life was disintegrating.
I started to study for the MCAT while I was doing my teaching observations, knowing that there was a conflict of time available to devote to both work AND full-time unpaid demonstration teaching work which would be necessary to finish my program. In my journals, I was writing about how no one touches me, except to shake hands, and I was feeling unlovable, and how my wife kept leaving to Lancaster, leaving me feeling empty on weekends.
I moved into a house with roommates who were Law students. I had messy roommates making curry, and another who had his girlfriend visit all the time to have sex in the room beside mine. I was getting toradol injections at work, I was already on Norco, and tramadol. I was lonely, suicidal, and crying all the time with no support from family whatsoever.
“I was lonely, suicidal, and crying all the time with no support from family whatsoever. I ... looked into the topic of transitioning once again. I couldn’t stop thinking about it and started putting together all these fragmented experiences, wondering if this was the great reason why I was different from everybody.”
I saw the necklace I bought in Hawaii, and looked into the topic of transitioning once again. I couldn't stop thinking about it and started putting together all these fragmented experiences, wondering if this was the great reason why I was different from everybody.
The American psychological association had just come out with the DSM-5 which turned transsexualism into gender identity disorder, but then made a leap to affirm this new term dysphoria, and since I was employed as an x-ray tech & medical assistant, I was watching them basically telling the world this was no longer a disorder but that any feeling like that is normal and that this was a viable treatment for me. I sold my motorcycle for funds to put down a deposit for a studio apartment in San Pedro, which would be closer to work, away from people, and I could focus on transitioning.
That next month, I finally was able to schedule an appointment for the LGBT Center, albeit five months out. I felt nervous, I felt excitement. I moved to my apartment, shaved my beard, and started to lose weight in hopes the estrogen would soften my features and grow breast tissue faster. I went to the thrift store when I had a couple dollars for an article of clothing or two, and worked all the time. I kept my face and body shaved, which was tedious, and some nights I’d be picking hairs out of my face all night long, losing track of time in front of the mirror until my feet and back hurt, and falling asleep before dawn.
The pipe-smoking doctor and I became close, he would have me pull up the soccer games on the computer, he bought me a $300 Peterson Pipe from Ireland, would bring his mom’s sandwiches with lavash bread, herbs, and Feta cheese, sharing them with me. I kept my issues secret from the doctors at first, instead becoming obsessed about my weight, and developing a mild eating disorder that lost me 60lbs. I was under the idea that losing weight would help me develop breasts and affect my skin faster. It further reiterated how this was all obsession and dysmorphia, finding myself compelled to do something about it.
“I was under the idea that losing weight would help me develop breasts and affect my skin faster. It further reiterated how this was all obsession and dysmorphia, finding myself compelled to do something about it.”
I discovered I had an epididymal cyst, was drinking 10 cups of coffee a day, and was on Tramadol for pain management. I was trying to record, but was having vocal problems, as well as tremors, which we started treating with a beta-blocker without much success.
On May 15th, 2014, after waiting months for an appointment (because the DSM change meant it was easier to get hormones), I arrived at the LGBT center of Hollywood after a grueling hour-long drive through LA. I met with the head therapist who asked about my goals of transition and understanding for 10 minutes, showed me a video of things I could expect, and got the informed consent signed, and labs were ordered. The doctor and I spoke about which hormones and route we would start, and I was sent downstairs to get my hormones the same day. He verbally commended the organization of my past medical history and stated that he wished all his patients would simplify that process for him. The doctor called over everything to the pharmacy and I drove home with spironolactone 50 mg bid, and estradiol valerate vial for injections of 20mg/0.5ml every 2 weeks.
Within a week, I felt like the musky testosterone smell decreasing, and my spontaneous erections weren’t as often, which made me wonder what my sex life would look like as I proceeded. I told myself I wasn’t doing it for others, but for myself, so it didn’t matter what happened because I didn’t have anyone in my life, and probably no one would want me in the future, anyway. I was starting to get nightmares, and more vivid dreams. I was still in financial trouble because I wasn’t getting paid very well, and despite a raise to help with the technology in the office at work, I needed car maintenance and my bills were falling behind at the studio apartment.
My maternal grandpa died around this time as well, from stage 3 cancer he’d been fighting, and it seemed like my family was falling apart. After the funeral, there was a big fight at the house, and I talked with my grandma trying to help her through it.
“The entire psychiatry field is filled with treatments which aren’t directly correlated to biological measurements... I’d seen so many plastic surgery cases, and people affirming and normalizing botox, and fillers, and everything. Male and female. It lended support to the concept that transhumanism, or a free for all of expression and cybornetics, and modifications was just around the corner. It felt cutting edge, and a way to satiate the pain I was undergoing. I felt worthless... I thought it would stop the noise. Knowing I’m autism spectrum now allows me to frame this differently.”
6. Definitions/conceptual framework for GD
How did you make sense at the time, and how do you now, of the paradox that something can at once be considered non-pathological, and yet require medical treatment?
Great question. The entire psychiatry field is filled with treatments which aren't directly correlated to biological measurements. I had a lot of experience with that. Other than making sure I wasn't having lithium poisoning, my doses were based on subjective observations of family. As an adult during my contemplation phase of this, the medical field was taking down the barriers to transsexuals getting hormones and surgery, and I'd seen so many plastic surgery cases, and people affirming and normalizing botox, and fillers, and everything. Male and female. It lended support to the concept that transhumanism, or a free for all of expression and cybornetics, and modifications was just around the corner. It felt cutting edge, and a way to satiate the pain I was undergoing. I felt worthless, felt like relationships weren't working, felt the weight of all the pornography, the sexual fixations, and I thought it would stop the noise. Knowing I'm autistim spectrum now allows me to frame this differently. My thoughts were racing out of control with loneliness, pain, and sexual fixation, and I had no scaffolding outside of work.
7. Significance of cross-dressing
What do you recall the significance for you was at the time of practicing coming across as female? In retrospect, do you see more of yourself in the AGP, HSTS, or something else?
“I felt like erasing my manhood because I felt shame and bound by my sexual desires, perversions, or fetishes.”
I've thought long and hard about this. I did borrow underwear and female clothes, mostly out of attraction and curiosity, and during the end of my second marriage, there was a need to feel attractive, desired, and once that marriage ended, I felt like erasing my manhood because I felt shame and bound by my sexual desires, perversions, or fetishes.
“I isolated for a full year. I had no friends. I spent my time picking hairs out of my face, shaving, and obsessing. The compulsivity of it all was obvious.”
After I started transitioning, I isolated for a full year, except errands or work. I had no friends. I spent my time picking hairs out of my face, shaving, and obsessing. The compulsivity of it all was obvious.
8. Eating disordered behavior
I blamed it on a conscious choice, better eating habits, and no one bothered me because there was no one left in my personal life.
10. Medical issues, continued...
My son found out from his friend that I was trans, and I got a call from my grandma to talk about it. For the holidays, I went and visited my son at my grandma’s house with my cousins for Christmas Eve, and I told them about my transition, and that I was trans. They all took it in stride, and, at that time, it was only seen as a diversity issue.
“The feeling of being an outsider was palpable”
For Christmas, I went to my dad’s house to visit. He had been going through boxes after my mom died, and found a box of my old schoolwork, test scores, and the cast from my elbow fracture when I was five. The bones were still visibly drawn from when my dad drew them years prior. My stepmom has a stoic personality; confrontational, and my dad is sarcastic, full of zingers and redirections to avoid topics. I saw my mom’s entire collection of Japanese decor and furniture being swallowed up by this other family, who lived longer than we did in Japan, and truthfully, I felt like I didn’t belong, and my mom’s existence was buried in the pine box she was placed in. He had a new wife and family, a large family, and I wasn’t part of it. The feeling of being an outsider was palpable, and I found myself a reason to leave as soon as it was tactful.
My son and his mom came to visit my house in January 2015 with Disney tickets, and I went with them to spend time with my son. I’d been attending LA Harbor College, using female restrooms by this point, and taking psychology courses along with microbiology.
I also met a trans-mtf + male couple who was visiting Santa Monica, and they offered to Uber me out to meet them for the weekend. I ended up doing subcutaneous ketamine with them, having sex with them both, and finding that after my ketamine experience, I noticed a complete and total loss of my crippling, long term depression.
11. Wife
What was it like for you to see her go through this? Did it bring up doubts about your own identity? Did it sadden you?
“Much of my advocacy to protect women comes from seeing how much pain [my wife has] gone through... girls deal with a lot that boys just don’t.”
My wife Grace shared a lot of really heavy experiences with me. She's been through more trauma than anyone I know, and it definitely gave me pause to consider a woman's experience. Much of my advocacy to protect women comes from seeing how much pain she's gone through, ever since she was 4years old, getting beaten and molested, and how girls deal with a lot that boys just don't.
“I never should have been given access to those services.”
No amount of transition would replace my being raised a boy. This isn't to say I should have transitioned sooner, quite the opposite, I never should have been given access to those services.
12. Family drama, life issues…
“The aftercare of transgender medicine is often a crippling time: the hormones trying to equalize; losing mental ground over some imagination of the self that felt important enough to mutilate the body; and the devastating effects of needing to redefine one’s authentic self, and having no bearing. I’d lost so much reputation in my transition it nearly killed me, and trying to get anyone to take me seriously has been a tremendous challenge.”
Most of this is in my book, anyway, and serves to show that the aftercare of transgender medicine is often a crippling time of the hormones trying to equalize, losing mental ground over some imagination of the self that felt important enough to mutilate the body, and the devestating effects of needing to redefine one's authentic self, and having no bearing. I'd lost so much reputation in my transition it nearly killed me, and trying to get anyone to take me seriously has been a tremendous challenge.
13. Changing views
It sounds like for you, coming out of the haze of identifying as trans involved a confluence of these factors:
having unconditional love and support in your life
“I nearly lost the most important relationship of my life, so facing that definitely meant I needed to change.”
My wife nearly left me when we were living in a van while trying to get into the BDSM community and dating a couple that didn't care about us at all. I nearly lost the most important relationship of my life, so facing that definitely meant I needed to change.
maturing, phase of life
yes
getting tired of the medical ordeals
The rich can transition in a month, Caitlyn Jenner did their expose after I started transitioning, and it angered me, and reminded me how the fashion, plastic, and cosmetics industry is all about who can afford to look good, and differentiating themselves from those who cannot.
Those transitioning on insurance or welfare are subjected to a lot more drama and it becomes less about body mods and autonomy, and more about how psychologically absorbed you are in the idea of your body being wrong. I feel like it was gut wrenching to continue those therapies and keep figting to pass. Electrolysis involved pain, and even with lidocaine injections, it was brutal, long, and pointless.
“Porn is becoming very dangerous.”
It's a culture of fighting aging and hair as well, isn't it... Looking young and beautiful, and now we see that there are problems in society when the prepubescent youth begin to be focused on as the standard of sexuality and virility, instead of mature, post-pubescent adults. The 70's I think portrays sexuality as hairy and mature, and it's shifted to hairlessness and youthfulness, which is creating a huge problem in society. Driving in Vegas, I can't tell you how many cars drive around with men in the driver's seat of their car covered in stickers of 'sexy anime girls that are perverse. Porn is becoming very dangerous.
the politicization of the issues, and related injustices
coming to terms with biological reality
authenticity is a rite of passage.
evolving your conceptual framework for understanding mental health issues
feeling disenchanted, disillusioned, disgusted even with the medical professionals
“The medical professionals just aren’t at the standard of care I expected us to be at in this day and age.”
the medical professionals just aren't at the standard of care I expected us to be at in this day and age. I expect the future will involve all the specialties in one room, so the patient can be observed and questioned as a whole body and mind, not this compartmentalized way with specialists referring to each other, with little to no overlap of their didactics, which would, I believe, result in more accurate histories and diagnoses.
concern for women and children
Very much so.
Where are you at now in your relationship to suicidal thoughts and feelings?
“I just wish I had a career so I could focus on my actual talents and skills instead of fighting to not lose my home and put my family in a bad spot. Having health problems and being in pain all the time with nothing but cannabis to manage it has been frustrating, but I take each moment at a time.”
Could be better, I just wish I had a career so I could focus on my actual talents and skills instead of fighting to not lost my home and put my family in a bad spot. Having health problems and being in pain all the time with nothing but cannabis to manage it has been frustrating, but I take each moment at a time.
It's a bit scattered, but that ought to provide some background
Sincerely,
Chris
(later, in a separate email)
Another note to supplement all the rest...
“Some memories took a lot of years to resurface.”
I feel like I was suffering from a lot of memory loss over the years, they were like black. That I had either blocked out or couldn't remember, some memories took me a lot of years to resurface. Eventually I started to write out an Excel document with a timeline of all my medical history and life events, and it took many many more years to get it to the point where it's an actual story filled with detail. I'd say by the time I found out I was autism spectrum I was beginning to coalesce a lot of old memories and journals and pictures and my timeline to actually put together what actually happened in my life, and that process of forgotten memories coming back happens almost on a daily basis.
Whether that was part autism part lithium part trauma I have no idea but I imagine it's an amalgam of all those factors coalesced into a spectrum of mental incapacity or psychological blindness to my own motives.
Just a thought.
