In recent posts, I have admitted to being in therapy. On my poetry/creative works blog, http://www.faithtdavies.com, I’ve occasionally spoken of my personal life, but I haven’t really written about me, ironically. I’ve stuck to writing about safer aspects of my identity because I didn’t always feel comfortable talking about my mental health. Some of my poetry touches on themes of depression, self-harm, suicide, recovery, and other aspects of mental health, but nothing that delves into the depths of what I deal with on a regular basis. But my mental and physical health is as much a part of my identity as my gender and sex identities, and it’s a topic that deserves its regard. Continue reading My Story Is Not Unique To Anyone But Me
It is not a secret that I take immense pleasure when I am addressed/referred to as anything but female; it’s almost juvenile. I love being called sir, dude, etc because woman/female doesn’t fit. Although being male doesn’t fit either, having spent 30 years being labeled in the wrong term, any reference outside of said label is liberating. It’s exciting. It’s the opposite of everything I’ve been told I am. It’s outside of the identity I was told to have.
Still…as I begrudgingly admit, being referenced as male is incorrect, despite my somewhat childish glee from it.
Continue reading You’re a Pretty Man
Perspective is a fickle, interesting creature. It was just a few days ago when this line got thrown across my lap while sitting around a fine at a friend’s house. There I was, firmly comfortable in my squishy chair, playing with my backwards cap as I happily listened to the laughter of this rag-tag group of kids that I’ve grown fiercely protective of. I was, for the first time, comfortably clothed the way I wanted to be, and had spoken to a few more people about my gender identity. Not a huge coming out by any means, but a quick glance at me didn’t scream female and that made me happy. Comfy red, oversized flannel partially buttoned over a black tank top, dark blue jeans, black sneakers and a well-fitting Valken ball cap. I was feeling good all around, and dressed in a manner that you really couldn’t tell what my sex was. I was happy.
I’m not entirely sure how the conversation shifted to gender, or if someone was making a comment and my cousin was just responding, but in his easy-going manner that makes it difficult to both hate and love him at times, he responded to the person talking and waved his hand at me while saying “you don’t count you’re just confused.” Continue reading You Are Just Confused