I am a Woman - hear me Raw

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I am a Woman - hear me Raw.

somewhat poetic in format; touching on the autobiographical; perhaps too many personal views and insights. This piece is written at the same time as "XY - Why crossdress".


I am a woman – and what YOU do and say to me makes me raw.
I ache, I hurt, I sob in the corners of my heart.
Who am I – what I see inside of me or what I let you see?
Who are you – are you what I think I see or does some of your underneath-you leak out?
Are you the person that others tell you you are ? Freak, different, beautiful, ugly, thin, fat,
Are you the person you know you are – with good points and bad?
I have to hear people, experts!, telling me that it must be because I’ve always felt like a girl trapped in a boy’s body.
No way is that enough.
I am a girl.
My body is wrong.
So cruelly, unfairly, wrongly wrong.
Do any of these experts have the faintest consideration of the pain that I am willing to go through to make my body have some sort of resemblance to who I am.
I do know what I will gain and I do know what I will lose.
And I have the cruel certainty that while the magicians of scalpel and chemistry can improve my outward presentation – I will never be complete.

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I will have to undergo castration – which may not hurt very much (can I ask the local bullocks if that is true).
I will have to undergo daily injections of damaging quantities of chemicals which my body refuses to make for me.
I will have to undergo minor surgeries to remove much of my hair.
I may have to have cheek sculpting, jaw-line correction, adam’s apple reduction, forehead-lifting to try to make my bone structure a bit more feminine than my cruel genes have determined.
I will have to do a real-life test showing my not-sufficiently feminine form to mocking youth and cruel tongues for a year or more.
In addition, I will have to talk endlessly to psychiatrists and psychologists eager to get inside my mind and confirm to themselves that I am not a real man.
Then there will be the intimate gut-wrenching pain of my filthy lump of flesh being sliced, diced, inverted, rebuilt from the inside out and then forced open by dilators of varying size.
And I am willing to have this done.
I am eager to have this done.
I need to have this done.
Because otherwise I will not be me.
How many ‘real men’ would endure that for anything other than a truly significant need.

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There is the strong probability of other hurts, despite media claims that ‘things have improved’.
I am likely to be paraded by the media –as a ‘wondrous fake’ if I look good or as a horror-show if I do not look good.
All judged by some unknown, undocumented, unproveable masculine scorecard.
I will lose my family – unless I am very lucky;
And most of my friends, colleagues and acquaintances.
There will be discrimination and likely intolerance at work, at prayer, at any clubs or groups I belong too.
I will possibly lose my job whatever the laws on discrimination.
I may lose even my wife.
I may lose my children.
I may lose my paretns and my family.
And yet these experts ask if I am sure that I want to lose my ugly dangling growth.
And yet I do need my inside skinside
And I need my hairside to suffer her-cide.

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What other reasons do I need to give.
I have felt sick when I saw my body reflected in a mirror – even a quick distorted reflection in a window was horrible.
I was forced by the genetic rules of my foul body to endure hair growing on my body.
To survive while my voice changed from a lovely treble to a grotesque croaking tenor.
Puberty was so wrong for me.
Where were the hips I needed?
Where were the breasts softly, gorgeously blossoming on my chest?
Where was the soft cleft and the sprinkle of soft hair?
Where were the long flowing tresses brushing my shoulders and across my skin?
The wonderment of feeling a nipple-tipped breast in each hand.
The glory of a body made with curves and comfort rather than ugly slabs of testosterone-fuelled muscle.

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So much of what I want was transient, transitory, temporary.
I love the clothes that girls and women and ladies could wear.
Never a costume – costumes are for pretence, acting on a stage.
I could wear anything I wanted.
I could even wear ‘men’s clothes’ and be applauded for my sense of style.
Skirts, dresses, blouses – the wonderful variety of colour and material that is denied to males.
The soft sleekness of skin-tight underwear.
Women have so many more words for things – shapes and shades, pleats and plaids.
Modern men have no idea what they were missing, what they had lost by following the drab dictates of a mourning Queen who ruled the most powerful nation on the planet for more than half a century.
Why is it that men (who have the power) no longer want the benefit of colour and flamboyance and peacockery.
All that exists beyond my skin, beyond my heart and soul is temporary – and I can suffer that loss as long as the worm is gone.

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What else would I gain?
Was I going to enjoy being treated as a second-class citizen – lower income, lower expectations. No that would not be good – but the change was worth every pain I was expecting as well as the pains I had not guessed at.
Would I enjoy abuse, unkindness, bullying, intolerance – but then I had suffered those while I was still pretending to be a boy. No – but Yes.
All the pain – all the gain.
I knew I would never be ‘a real woman’.
I would never give birth – but not all women can do that – and they hurt too.
I would never suckle a baby – again not the option for some women.
I would not bleed to demonstrate my monthly fertility.
I would never be a real woman – but there are real women who share one or more of my failings – are they no longer ‘real’?
What do these ‘others’ know about what I am willing to do to be free of this wrongly-shaped carcass.
To be free of that ugly wormlike semi-cancerous growth between my legs.

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I don’t want so very much.
I want acceptance by the intolerant and especially the Christians who are supposed to love everyone; rather they love everyone who is sufficiently like them. Hah.
I want acceptance that body-sex from masculine to feminine is a spectrum.
I want acceptance that mind-gender from masculine to feminine is also a spectrum.
I want acceptance that heterosexualit to homosexuality is also a spectrum.
I want to suggest that sexual activity from asexuality to megasexuality (nymphs and satyrs) is also a spectrum.
And I do accept that my life in the rich western world is beyond the concepts of the poor across the world.
Some of us have heard of the Red Indian ‘twice-hearted’; the Hijra of India, the ladyboys of Thailand, and there are others.
But I have to live my life in my own country – and my reactions are based on the community in which I live.
I am scared of so many people – and there is so much unkindness.
I don’t want to change my sex because I don’t like being a male.
I have to change my body because I am a woman.
Cross-dressing is not my intent.
I am a woman – and the deliberate cruelty to me and my like cuts me to the quick, oh so quickly.
I just want to be accepted as a woman, because I am a woman.

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I will gain in other ways. Feminine instead of Masculine.
I will allow myself to be emotional, to cry, to sob, to be joyful, to show love.
Men will make excuses for me because it is they who do not understand.
They will demonstrate their physical prowess because I am so ‘weak and feeble’.
Men will look at my boobs and not my face.
Men will look at my body (I hope) and fail to see my soul or my heart or my brain or my self.
I know that there are others like me
So I am no more alone and a little less lonely.
I don’t understand any version of god from Ahriman to Zeus
If it helps YOU – then pray for yourself, pray for me, pray for us, pray for tolerance, pray for love.

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I am a woman – hear me Raw.



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This story is 1482 words long.