Unexpected Voice Training Side-effect #2

I made a t-shirt. Absolutely no idea what I was thinking at the time, but now it’s out of my head and into the world. There’s pastel pink and blue halftone edging on the lettering for... reasons.

Dueling thoughts

Alas, though a known quantity, the spouse, daughter and I are all experiencing side effects from our second COVID vaccine dose. It’s the usual suspects - chills, fever, muscle aches, injection site soreness. It’s on par with getting hit with a really bad cold - much worse than one normally would expect from a vaccination; but manageable.

Mentally, it’s not been great. Every sting, every twinge reminds me that this is happening; and that gives the very irrational and truculent part of my psyche - the part where my wounded, child self lives - reason to fire up.

I came back last night from an errand; and having arrive home, just sat in the car and sobbed. In that moment, I was able to watch the two halves of my - child and adult - argue in real time:

“Why did they put this in me?” “Because it’s good for us. It will protect us, and others.” “Please, please take it out. Please.”

Adult me knows that this is undeniably the right course of action; for myself, for my family, for others, and ultimately for the entire human population. This is the only humane way we have out of this crisis.

Child me does not care; this suffering was forced upon her (even if only be necessity), and she rejects it wholeheartedly. It’s probably going to be at least a good week before she quells down; and in the meantime, I can expect plenty more crying fits and other associated behaviors.

More generally - this far from unique to myself; but I have so much anger for the people that mishandled the pandemic, irresponsibly exacerbated matters, damn near killed my best friend and most certainly killed millions of others. Lives were stolen; for the rest of us, precious time. I don’t know if it will come, but there most assuredly needs to be a reckoning when all of this is said and done.

Two useful additions: First: The Paradox Of Tolerance. Per Karl Popper: “Unlimited tolerance must lead to the disappearance of tolerance. If we extend unlimited tolerance even to those who are intolerant, if we are not prepared to defend a tolerant society against the onslaught of the intolerant, then the tolerant will be destroyed, and tolerance with them... We should therefore claim, in the name of tolerance, the right not to tolerate the intolerant. We should claim that any movement preaching intolerance places itself outside the law...“

Second: this rather instructive video by Innuendo Studios. (Transcript for the reading-inclined.) It succinctly encapsulates the origins and character of modern Conservatism, and how contrary to all assertions, intolerance appears to very much be an intended feature and not a bug.

Conservatives will be like “Why are you holding me accountable for my bigoted beliefs? Whatever happened to tolerance???”

Purges

A friend introduced me to Andrea Jenkins and her powerful work “Eighteen”; and I recall thinking to myself “Well, at least I can be thankful I never purged my belongings.

Then I remembered that I threw out my dress because I was convinced I wasn’t going to live much longer (i.e. experiencing a particularly strong episode of passive suicidal ideation) and needed to make sure nobody would find it when sorting through my belongings.

The more I think about this, the more I realize there have been other times in my pre-out life when I’ve permanently disposed of items; either because my self-esteem had hit rock bottom and I was in full “I’m a monster” mode, or because I feared their discovery (or both).

I suppose it’s better that I’m being honest about this with myself; but all the same, it’s not a happy set of realizations.

Fire drill: addendum #2

Did I say five days? I meant seven days.

We found another three issues while rolling our changes to the production environment. There are no words.

My boss’ boss spent several years working in the UK; and he knew immediately how angry I was when I sent him an email that started out with: “Right.”

So: this week will now be dedicated to fixing some of the more egregious mistakes in the design of our customer database (and by extension, problems with the data).

Tomorrow will be an interesting day, as there will be a meeting where the other teams will be informed of the changes we are making. (Note: not asked for their input; merely informed.)

It’s going to be interesting!

(Original from gifbuckybarnes; via feed-the-roses.)

A newfound pain: addendum

Not that this is in any way, shape or form a surprise but... sheer tights are fragile. Like, super fragile. You so much as even look at them the wrong way and a run spontaneously appears!

This makes lace look positively durable in comparison...

Animal friend #1: Jexer

For the previous six months, I’ve been at the center of a triangle with PTSD on one edge, work stress on another, and transition-related depression on the third (itself a mix of “Why did I wait so long to do this” and “I’m never going to escape the fact that my biological starting point is ‘male’“).

During my first flashback, I instinctively grabbed my (then three) animal friends for support. This became a reoccurring pattern - I would clutch them tightly during each subsequent flashback; hold them at night; and sit them next to me as I worked.

It’s difficult to tease out whether the comfort they bring me is some kind of holdover from childhood (there’s a certain logic in the idea that the trauma I experienced was as a child; therefore the antidote would also come from that era); or if it’s the result of a kind of mythological girlhood (one that never actually took place, and exists purely in my head; a phenomenon that warrants its own post).

Either way, they have been very effective and keeping my anxiety at generally manageable levels during a trying time.

I wanted to talk about one of them in particular: Jexer, my hedgehog friend. He was delivered to me by a crane machine in the Isle Of Wight when I was eight years old; but this suggests that he is some kind of possession, which could not be further from the truth. He’s my friend, and I love him dearly.

(You may notice that he has a blue nose; this is because the original was lost in an incident involving a much loved but at that time, also rather destructive puppy. The new nose was a skilled repair conducted by my dearly missed grandmother.)

Currently he goes everywhere I go. He sits on my lap when I am at my desk, and when I am driving. There is a special compartment in my bag reserved for him when I have to go into places.

I had a little blanket made for him; because he is a British hedgehog, and quite unaccustomed to the extremes of cold weather that pervade the North American continent.

All of this sounds quite insane, of course; but that’s how things are - when life threatens to drown you, no raft is unwelcome.

Yet another night terror

The fever dreams continue; alas, taking a turn for the worse. Last night's dream featured my spouse and I perambulating through a cave filled with snow; I kicked ideally at a pile of snowflakes, only for some kind of hag to burst out from underneath and tackle me into what I knew to be a very, fatally deep pit.

Then came the screaming; and waking, heart racing.

I don't know what's going on right now - I keep ascribing these sorts of negative impacts to work stress and ill health - but the effects feel disproportionate to the stressors. Hopefully either I can get to the bottom of things soon, or else they ease up; because this is exhausting.

Dysphoria

After receiving our second COVID vaccine doses, my spouse, daughter and I all experienced side effects. Now, there isn’t an objective way to measure a person’s discomfort; but subjectively, it appears that I had a better time of things than they did.

Of course, this might not be accurate. I may be female now, but the majority of my life was spent operating under the rule of male gender norms. One such unspoken rule was that bearing one’s discomfort stoically was admirable, and complaining unseemly; and I internalized that.

(It is therefore entirely possible that we experienced equal degrees of malaise; but I sought to downplay mine.)

There is also a growing body of evidence to suggest that the side-effects are hitting XX chromosome-holders harder - possibly resulting from some kind of interaction between estrogen and the immune system.

(Alas, I could not test this theory as I was almost at the end of my estradiol cycle when we got our booster shots; and even then, my cycle only superficially emulates the far more complex interactions of the real thing.)

Whatever the case may be... It felt like another unwanted and unneeded reminder that despite legally changing my name, changing my pronouns, adopting a new wardrobe and updating my appearance, engaging in all manner of medical treatments... That I am, and always will be, a woman with an asterisk at the end of that word.

Maybe one day I’ll make peace with that fact... but not today.