Being Crazy Has Been So Much Fun!Well, I figure it's best I try to make this short but I know it's not going to be. Since this system seems to be devoted to telling stories I have one heck of a weird one.
Most trans-persons usually have oddities to tell though so mine should fit in nicely.
I'm now twenty two years old, living with one of my lovers in a gorgeous apartment in central Madison, Wisconsin. It wasn't always so though.
I was raised the child of two entrepreneurs who, by all rights, should never have raised kids, much less with one another. My father's name was Brad. My mother's name was Janet. Brad and Janet...no wonder I love Rocky Horror.
Two, healthy kids in their middle fourties. To describe my father is to describe the eternal hunter of meaning. Hunter S. Thompson would have called him a 'failed seeker'. He was always looking for the next big fix to give him peace. His life was long and very difficult. The abuses his generation suffered are untold for the most part while those of mine are wonderfully documented on Web 2.0.
His was a fiery temper and while I can recall him only striking me a handful of times he could be made angry at the drop of a hat with the wrong words at the wrong time. His rage was quick to burn out though and he was always apologetic once it had been extinguished.
He was a master with a hammer. That man knew wood like no other I've met. He could feel the grain of a board and tell if it was going to split when he drove a nail through it. He could see a tilt on a wall just by looking at it. My earliest memories are of saw dust, the smell of wood, and sheet-rock. He was likely also trans-gendered and admitted later in life to feelings of body inadequacy since he was very very young though he was painfully repressed. He lives still, in a Buhdhist monastery, walking and meditating. He seems truly at peace for the first time in his life.
My mother was an entirely other animal. Raised by a stunningly hard man she was a cunning manipulator of people. While my father's family was composed of mostly poor white trash in various shades, hers was Southern aristocracy. They enjoyed no bond or lasting interactions with one another. She came to Jesus at the age of 50 and spent a year after that shoving him down my throat. I served that plague-like religion for two years before curing myself through long reading and self education.
We were never rich but we had enough, always. They divorced when I was six. It was then that I started to notice I was different from...everyone. It wouldn't be until the age of 17 that I knew why. Shuffling around to many schools, I was never a bad student particularly until I entered high school. I dropped out eventually, determined to self educate without formalized nodes of learning.
I got online and entered roleplay environments...particularly the one called Tapestries which is devoted to sexual role-play by furs. In other words anthropomorphized animals. I became a furry and went for it hardcore. Furs are vastly accepting and a freak like me is the least of it for them. I'd never cross dressed but I had always envied girls rather than starring at them like so many of the men and boys around me.
When I met my sister...well, she's not my biological sister but she's family in ways my blood never was...when I met her she helped me put together all the thousand tiny pieces of my life that hadn't quite made sense up to that point. It was a checklist of crazy events that all culminated in me needing a change. The biggest change a person can make. Bigger than their home, their car, their family, their friends. It was the total change of self. I haven't started my transition yet but I want to as soon as I can. I'm a woman to my core.