So my plan was for this evening was to write a post about all the new stuff I got and what happened to me today. However i decided to try out fake nails and they slow down my typing to the point where it’s frustrating. So I’m just going to wait until I take them off on Friday. On the plus side they look fantastic! They are very much a novelty, but I’m enjoying them.
Perhaps it’s lingering sentiment from the New Year, but I’m feeling pretty confident that 2015 is going to be my year. It’s very cliché, I know, but I’m feeling positive and that’s after spending 6 days at home, which always ends in me feeling a little down. Nothing bad ever happens my family just stress me out and not because they do anything wrong. It’s really related to my own hang-ups and how I’ve always sort of felt like the black sheep in the family, like I don’t fit in.
Any-who on a more fun/upbeat note I got a bit of money for Christmas and I’ve decided to treat myself and buy some new clothes and a pair of shoes. I’m excited about it all, but I’ve wanted a pair of red heels for ages and I’ve finally found a pair I like and can afford, so yay. I’ve also so ordered some more make up, I’ve been looking at contouring a lot online and decided that I’m going to give it a try. It feels like the next step, as I’ve gotten quite bold with the amount of make up I’m wearing in my daily life. It’s progressed from clear mascara and some concealer under my eyes to that plus a light amount of foundation everyday. I wouldn’t say wearing make up everyday makes me look more feminine, but it does make me feel more feminine. I’m hoping that contouring (if I can get good at it) will allow me to see a notable change in my appearance.
My flatmate is talking about going home this coming week, and obviously I hope he does, just so I can get a bit of Keira time, especially since I have clothes arriving on Tuesday. Needless to say, I’m going to want play about with my new additions to my wardrobe. Between clothes, shoes and make up I now understand why girls’ rooms tend to be so cluttered, we really do need a lot of stuff and it all takes up space. I’ve had to do a bit of rearranging to make it more practical. After all since I’m wearing make up everyday now, it was getting a bit annoying always have to get in out of the box in my wardrobe. So it has now been moved the much more convenient place of the top drawer of my desk (which you tell by the photo needs a bit of organising). So I guess if you wanted to read too much into it, you could see as an example as to how my life and daily routine are evolving because of Keira.
Any-who thanks for reading and Happy New Year everyone xxx
It happened again, and had been doing so well. Last night was a pretty rough night for me, I didn’t sleep very well, I was having what I am now going to refer to as Keira withdrawal. My flatmate returned from his visit home yesterday afternoon, which mean Keira had to get put back in the wardrobe. Which in itself is always something that makes me feel a bit shitty, I really do hate having to take off my nice clothes and makeup.
Anyway so I couldn’t really sleep last night or get back to sleep after a dream I had. The dream wasn’t even that great, it was basically just me hanging out with a bunch of girls, I was Keira in the dream. I knew the girls I were hanging out with knew I was transgender, even thought they never said anything or cared. In the dream it was me that it bothered because I knew they knew I wasn’t a real girl. Anywho that was the dream and I woke up after it feeling pretty shitty and strangely missing my bra, I missed having my fake breasts on. It feels weird to say, but I just missed having them there, they’re strangely comforting for me. I very nearly got out of bed at one point so I could put them on. Just so I’d be able to sleep in them. I thought it might make me feel better.
This has been the first time in ages I’ve felt like this. I guess it was to be expected after getting to spend the last four days as Keira, I guess it will always be difficult going back to “normal” life.
So, just a short post today detailing my (mostly) sleepless night.
The “Why” Part of the Story*
When presenting as a male I can be quite introverted**, you know the quiet, shy, and socially awkward type. Which I think comes from not feeling 100% comfortable in my own body. I’m never quite sure what to do with it, how to carry myself. I never know what do with my hands unless they’re in my pockets. I’m also not brilliant at small talk (unless, I’ve a few drinks in me), I’m the type of person who after a few minutes of meeting someone new is staring at them blankly, having no clue what to say next. So you may be asking yourself why did this socially awkward person think it was a good idea to try and become a roaming fundraiser? Well, I happened to be a big believer in jumping in at the deep end or learning by doing, if you will. Simply put, I took the job because I thought it would make me better at people, better at communicating face to face. Yet here’s the thing, it wasn’t the talking to people let me down. That actually went quite well.
I also happened to be incredible bored with my life, I was stuck in a rut and a job I found mind numbingly pointless. Fundraising seeming like a pretty good way to get out of it and you know what? It was.
Oh, and lets not forget the most important reason of all. I wanted to do something good, something meaningful with my life. This may sound a bit arrogant or self indulgent, but I absolutely refuse to live a life of mediocrity. I want to be good at something and want to be recognised as being good at it. I want to change the world. I want to make it a better place.
The “Background” Part of the Story
Before I go any further with this story lets give a bit of background information to the job and lend a bit of context.
- I was raising for a very well known charity
- For a very well known illness.
- I was with a team of three other fundraisers of varying experience.
- You are only allowed two people on the stand at any one time.
- The stand is what it sounds like, it has the charity branding on it and you stand at it.
- Everyone has targets to meet. You have to get so many sign ups in a week.
- Sign ups meaning agreeing to monthly direct debit.
- It costs money to keep a team in the field.
The “Meet the Team” Part of the Story***
Everyone I met while fundraising was lost; they were people adrift in life. People who had spent their lives moving from one job or one place to the next for the most of their lives. Two of the guys had been in the army and two had lived in Spain for a while, one had worked in movies and one had started their own IT business. Their lives were spent moving from on place to the other. They all had good reason for wanting to fundraise and they were all good people.
The “How it Went Down” Part of the Story
Good fundraisers know what they are doing, they know how to get you to stop, they know the correct body language and they are masters at playing on your emotion to get you to sign up. If these guys ever decided to use their gifts for evil, we’re all fucked. The way it worked with the team I was with, was that you were on the stand for forty-minute rotations, two at a time as you are only allowed to have two people working the stand at the same time. I actually think this system worked quite well it made your day go pretty quickly. The few days I did fundraise we were stationed at a shopping centre in England, and for that week anyway it turns out it was quite a difficult site to work. Normally after your probation period you are expected to get at least five sign ups a day, as a new start I only had to get three. The first two days I didn’t get any, but was allowed a grace period as the whole team was struggling and the team leader who normally gets between six and seven a day also got zero. However on the evening of the second day the team leader took me aside and said that the big boss had just phoned him and said he was concerned with my numbers, the next day I would have to get the three sign ups or I’d be going home. I didn’t let this get me down, I keep my spirits up and went in to the next day with enthusiasm.
However, it got to 4 o’clock that day and I still hadn’t had any sign ups. So when it was my time to come off the stand I told the team leader that I wouldn’t be going back on. That I knew I wasn’t going to get the sign ups, and time when I’m on the stand is time when someone else someone who could get the sign up isn’t. To his credit he tried to convince me to keep going, until I said to him “you know I’m right, you’re just too polite to say so” and he like “yeah…” That folks is the story of how I stopped being a fundraiser.
The “Why I Wasn’t Good at it” Part of the Story”
I was getting people to stop at the stand, I was chatting with them about all the good work the charity was doing, but when people hear about all the good stuff they don’t want to donate, that why you have to play on their emotions, guilt them it to it. Turns out this was something I could bring myself to do. I didn’t feel comfortable doing it. In fact because I couldn’t, I’m confident I cost the charity sign ups.
The “What I Learnt” Part of the Story
The truth is that fundraising is an incredibly difficult job, but it shouldn’t be. People should be lining up to donate. The charity I was fundraising for actually save lives every single day and work hard to save more. That’s why the majority of people don’t stop and that’s why guilting people into signing up works so well, it’s because you know they’re right. You know you should be helping, that’s why most people ignore fundraisers in the street, not because they don’t care, but because they know that if we stop they are going to tell us all the reason why we should sign up and we will, because they’re right. For some reason the majority of us find it easier to shrug it off, we prefer not to think about it. We prefer to let someone else deal with the problem.
So next time you see those guys standing on the street or in a shopping centre or wherever and they’re raising for a charity you believe in, just stop and listen to what they have to say, and if you don’t think they’re right, don’t sign up, but if you do and you can afford it, well then… Go save a life.
The Where all the “*” Live Part of the Story
*For some reason when writing this I’m imagining it as that scene from Oceans Eleven when George Clooney explains the overly elaborate plan for robbing the casino. So please try and have suitably jazzy heist music playing in your head while reading. Or, if you happen to own suitable jazzy heist music from all those bank robberies you secretly plan then all the better!
**I said as male, because when as Keira I feel more out going and confidant. I can feel parts of my personality change when I get to be her, which is an altogether strange yet nice experience when you let yourself embrace it. It’s like this part of me melts to comfy girly me.
***Turns out I’m keeping with Ocean Eleven motif.
Hi guys, I felt like posting something, but nothing really trans related has been happening in my life lately; so this will be a mainly personal post. (Just read that last sentence back, they’re all personal posts, duh) You may or may not remember me writing about how I had taken a job as a roaming fundraiser. Well long story short I wasn’t very good at it and am thus currently unemployed. This sounds worst than it actually is; luckily I have a bit of money in saving, which with carful budgeting should see me through to February. I’m quietly confident that I’ll have found a new job by then, as before I took the fundraising job the offers were coming in thick and fast.
Also on the plus side, taking that fundraising job got me out of a rut, and will force me into new and exciting things. I think it will also be nice to have a bit of time off, as the last several years my life has been either Stressing out cause I’m not doing enough work for Uni or stressing out because I’m wasn’t getting enough hours at my job. So now I just get a bit of me time or more importantly a bit of Keira time. Take for instance this weekend; my flatmate is away home, so I’m home alone (apart from the cat). All I’ve been able to think is that if I still had my old old job (the one before the fundraising one) I’d be working morning this weekend and would have to de-Keira-fy each night, but nope, thanks to what I hope will be a brief stint in unemployment I have like 4 whole days of all Keira and Play Station… bliss.
Oh three random things trans-ish things did happen when I was away.
- I’ve started wearing foundation under my eyes to help cover the shadows. I was wearing the foundation when I was in London the day before my training. When I got to my Aunts place I realised that I hadn’t put it on very well and that you could totally see where it met regular skin. It was very noticeable, and I’m pretty certain my aunt did, though she didn’t say anything.
- During the training for the fundraising job, another girl who was there misheard me say where I used to work and thought I said Spa, and commented that I had very nice nails. I took it as compliment.
- Not that it bothers me at all, but I’m pretty sure the other guys on my team thought I gay, but in the closet. I guess stuff like that can be pretty common for trans people.
Anywho, it’s nice to be back and I look forward to catching up with what has been going on with you guys. I may write another post explaining in more detail what happen when I was fundraising. I’ve just told the story so much the last week that I’m a little bored with it.
Ok, so how best to begin… I think it’s important to have a plan. I like plans; plans are good. I like plans so much so that I even went so far as to make one. You may (or may not) remember me writing in a blog post during the summer that I was planning on doing an MLitt, well I decided not to, at least not for a year. The thought of having to spend the next year and half writing essays was exhausting. I decided I give myself a break. The plan then became take a break from education for a year and find a fulltime job that paid semi decent money. The kind of job that was a steady nine to five, something I could switch off from when I got home. It was a good solid plan, which as perusal I completely ignored. I have a job and it is not a nine to five, and I doubt something I’ll be able to switch off from at the end of the day. I am going to spend the next nine months (at least) being a roaming fundraiser, which basically means I’ll be travelling around the UK raising money for various charities. That’s right folks, I’m going to be off helping to cure cancer and fighting child poverty; and who knows maybe I’ll find true love along the way and more importantly maybe even myself. It’s all very noble; I won’t bore you with the details.
Also I have never been more terrified in my life – and I say this as person who has contemplated telling friends and family that I want to be a girl. – Little known fact about me, I’m not great at people. I tend to not have that instinct that goes ‘yeah you shouldn’t say that’ until about three seconds after it has came out of my mouth. Take for example what recently happened to me at my current job (and this is something I feel 60% bad about and 40% proud). This pudgy little 12 year old with a diamond stud in his ear was in the shop with his friend. They were mucking around, nothing too bad, just kids being kids, you know showing off, being “lads” (god I fucking hate that word) so I didn’t do anything. Anywho this pudgy little 12 year old comes to the till and keeps saying the word ‘dildo’ to his friend. Below is the conversation, verbatim.
PUDGY LITTLE 12 YEAR OLD
Something, something, something, dildo. Something, something dildo, dildo.
Hey, come on now. Language.
PUDGY LITTLE 12 YEAR OLD
Dildo’s ma favourite word.
Yeah, it’s probably your mums’ too.
PUDGY LITTLE 12 YEAR OLD
Ma Mum died six years ago.
It’s probably not then.
Thus began the most awkward 1-minute of my life as I finished serving the kid, while his friend looked on in uncomfortable silence as none of us said anything. I hope to god he was lying, the only thing that makes me think he wasn’t, is that he didn’t say anything else after, and just how uncomfortable his friend looked.
Anyway my point to the story was is that I’m kind of worried I’m not going to be able to control my mouth while trying to convince the public to donate. The job is obviously target based and I terrified I’m going to be bad at it, not meet my targets, then get fired, be without a job and not be able to pay my rent and end up in debt. Then of course there’s this other part of me that’s like ‘meh’ it’ll be an adventure and it will hopefully make me better at socialising with people. Plus I’ve been so incredibly bored with my life lately that I think this will be a really good way to mix it up. You know, meet new people and get some of that life experience that people are always going on about… oh yeah and help some charities along the way.
All this of course means that the whole transgender/transsexual thing is going to have to go on the back burner (cough, cough – you really shouldn’t read to much into me traveling around the UK for nine months. It’s totally not me running away from my issues. That would be ridiculous). So yeah in my last post I was contemplating cancelling my psychologist appointment for a job interview. I did, then got offered the job, which I promptly turned down as the idea of having to cold call people asking if they wanted to buy double glazing made me want to figuratively slit my wrists. Anywho I got my appointment with the psychologist changed to a date in January, which I’m now going to have to cancel as I have to idea what so ever which part of the UK I’m going to be in.
In other news, I’m getting bolder, I’ve now started wearing very little/light makeup out and about, basically everyday. It’s nothing to get overly excited about it’s has only been the clear mascara and a bit of concealer, but hey I’ve been enjoying it, it makes me feel good. Oh and no one has seemed to notice, if they have they haven’t said anything.
I have the entire weekend off; this will be the second time this has happened since the beginning of June. This is extra good news since my flatmate is going home to see his family until Tuesday. So I get the flat to myself, huzza! This is extra, extra good news as I got paid today and worked a load of overtime this month and have thus treated myself to a few things, the most exciting being the dress I’ve wanted for a while, which was on sale (probably because it’s now out of season). So yay, it arrives tomorrow. The next few days are going to be all Keira and they could potentially her last few days for a while and I intend to make the most of them.
Smaller titbits – Sort of addicted to Taylor Swifts new album.
Watched the film Her, it’s excellent.
And because I referenced it in the title of this post here’s some Otis Redding for yo face.
So, to some up this post – Buy pretty dresses.
Say horribly inappropriate things to pudgy little 12 year olds.
Make a plan and then completely ignore it.
People seemingly don’t notice when I wear light makeup.
Got job making the world a better place.
So here’s where I’m at right now, tomorrow at 10:40 I have my first psychologist appointment and at 11:00 I now have a job interview on the other side of the city. I still haven’t decided which one I’m going to go to. I want to go the psychologist because I really want to start making progress with coming to terms with my transgender-ness and this appointment has already been delayed by about three weeks and I really don’t want to have it delayed again. On the other hand I decided not to go back to university this year, which means that I am no longer a student and thus now get charged council tax. Long story short I’m dirt ass poor and my part time job isn’t giving me enough hours to cover my outgoing expenses. This thing is the job I have an interview for is at a call centre selling double glazing and I really don’t think I’m going to like it, I’m pretty sure I’m going to hate it. The thing is the base salary is a shit load more than I currently make. So what do I do guys? Psychologist or interview?
Do I go to interview and hope I get a new appointment for the not too distant future or go to the psychologist and not go for a job I really don’t want, hoping I’ll get a better job interview soon?
Today is the day of the Scottish Referendum (Vote Yes); it is also the day that I was supposed to have my first psychologist appointment, but I didn’t. I’ve expressed in pervious posts that I was considering cancelling the appointment, I guess due to fear, but fear not, this isn’t what happened. About two weeks ago I received a letter informing me that the appointment date had been changed from today to October 10th. At the time I was mildly disappointed by this, but on reflection it has actually worked out quite well. As I’ve said and as I’m sure you know today is the day of the Scottish Referendum in is also the day where I do a bit of work for a local online TV Channel, so needless to say I’m quite busy.
When I first got the appointment it seemed so far away, like some distant thing I didn’t need to worry about, much like the Scottish Referendum. Both sort of snuck up on me. On the plus side I’m no longer considering cancelling it and my nervousness about it has disappeared for now (I’m sure it’ll make a come back closer to the time). While I still haven’t decided if this transitioning is something I want to do, I am looking forward to getting professional advice and perhaps even some answers. They may also be able to help with my periods of recurring depression. Perhaps it’s linked to my transgender nature? Who knows? Though my gut tells me that my periods of depression are something I’m going to have to fight for the rest of my life regardless of transitions or not. Which if I’m honest kinda sucks, it’s very emotionally draining having to fight your own shitty thoughts.
Anywho that’s all for now. I’ll update again soon, maybe at the weekend. I should have the flat to myself Saturday and Sunday and I’m very tempted to buy my first dress.
Ok, so I was nominated for some blogging award thing. If I’m honest I don’t really understand it. I believe the general gist is to thank who nominated you. So Nour and Chaya, thank you. You’re also supposed to nominate other people, I won’t be doing that; I will however share some facts about myself.
- I can solve a Rubik Cube in less than two minutes.
- I can be stubborn to a fault.
- I’ve had some short works published.
- I have a hard time thinking of facts about myself
- I can be quite reclusive at times.
- My ideal home is a small house in the middle of the Scottish Highlands.
- I want to one day be able to make my own furniture.
- I also want to make my own chess set.
- I enjoy working with my hands.
- I have self-destructive tendencies.
- I hide how I really feel in my humour as a defence mechanism, often only being honest with people in a jokey way which causes them to be unsure if I’m being serious or not.
- I have a very dry sense of humour.
- I can whistle and hum at the same time.
Alas the weekend of Keira has receded to the annals of memory. The humdrum existence of the male has returned and in the void of femininity restlessness abides. Desire still prevails like a nervous tick, a nervous itch; the mind becoming a proverbial authority that the strikes the hand of the heart when it reaches for the blusher or polish.
It is often said that our minds work differently, that our brains are wired a different way from others. Perhaps there was a chemical imbalance when developing in the womb, a chemical soaked up by the brain like a sponge. Perhaps they’re right, but my desires don’t come from my mind, they come from my heart. It is it that aches, when the lip-gloss comes off and the shoes get boxed. It is it that aches, not my mind.
Maybe the mind is right to act in the way it does, for thoughts of friends and family finding me in my secret bring a colour to my cheeks that render blusher unnecessary. When an unexpected knock comes at the door it is my mind that makes my heart stop dead, yet beat faster and harder than it has ever done before. It is my mind that causes the hand on the locked front door to paralyse my body as it hides beneath the window, wishing the dear friend to depart and leave me to my shame. It is my mind that tells me to grab the face wipes and change the clothes, while gleefully whispering, “you don’t have time”. So instead I cower beneath that window. Instead I wait for the car door to close and the engine to start. Instead I peek from beneath the blinds hoping to find a vacant space allotted well-wishers. A void.
I’m restless as a write.
I’m restless as I look in the mirror and see what isn’t there.
I’m restless in the night, when I plan her allotted hours.
So when the weekend is over and Keira is put away with rest of her belongings, I’m left with a heart that aches and a mind that askes “what do we do now?” For life isn’t bleaker without her; for life is never truly that. There is always hope. Life isn’t bleaker; it’s just lost some of its taste, some of its colour. Muted and faded life goes on with a restless nervous tick, a restless nervous itch.