Stlalice
11-02-2006, 04:44 PM
A friend posted this on her Live Journal page and in many ways it says a lot about why we transition and go through the hell that our decision brings.
The Monster at the End of the Book
*****
There is a monster at the end of this book. Indeed. There are two kinds of people in the world, those that have read this book and those that need to read it. If you haven't, it's a children's book for say 4 or 5 year olds. Grover, one of the lovable fuzzy Sesame Street residents, is the protagonist who knows and informs the reader that there is a monster on the last page of the book. For fear of the monster, he asks the reader to please not turn the pages, as that will only be getting closer to the monster. You turn the pages, as you do with a book, and Grover resorts to asking, chaining the page down, building a brick wall, and eventually a sincere, heartfelt plea for the reader not to turn the very last page. But who is on the last page? Grover. The loveable, kind, sweet, gentle, caring, blue, Sesame Street MONSTER that he is.
All that fear for a word. Judgements made based on an idea, a concept, a mental picture.
I got on the road to cheering myself up after the events of the morning by making the bed and convincing my kitty there was a critter under the sheets. He chased the little mounds of air that would travel around the bed when I fluffed the sheet gently. That's when this book came to my mind. I find it describes so many parts of transition, in one way or another.
Pre-everything, we find ourselves inexorably drawn to turn the next page. Despite internalized societal laws and direct external influences that suggest some dire consequence being the only possible end to what we do, we keep turning the pages. We need to know, need to get to the end of the book, need to find the answer to what we are and why we defy what is normal. So we turn the pages, search the internet, go out dressed, watch any and every related movie we can get a hand on, read books. Then there's the last page. And we find out that the "monster" is nothing like what the word alone made us think when we began. And *boom* we understand. Lightning strikes somewhere along the way and we realize our own potential, destroy our own cookie cutter schema of what it is to be what we are, and decide to run with our own lives, despite what anyone else might say.
From Grover's point of view. Despite our own beliefs, our hopes and wishes, we still have this block on the word transsexual. We have accepted it in ourselves, but know/fear that others may not, and some others never will, for whatever reason. We find a reason, something that makes us different, and we still define ourselves as 'different'. We fear what comes when the reader finds this "monster" at the end of the book. We fear it because, well, you know and I know that I'm just a normal girl, but the ultra conservatives, the fanatics, the idiot who referred to us as tranny fags, the Jerry Springer watchers, some of our own family members can't see past the word. They will forever blind themselves and believe that we are far inferior and deserve to be treated like trash. We build walls, we seal things away with chains and locks, and in our own heads beg with all our hearts that no one finds the "monster" we're trying to hide.
But then, there, on the last page. There we are. We are one with the word and you know what? It isn't so bad. In fact, we're kind, loveable, caring, funny, cute, normal people. As a matter of fact, we are different. We're above average. We're so different than what the word brings up in anyone's head that we stun them into a totally new concept. Yes I'm a transsexual. No I don't wear cheetah print mini skirts, fishnet stockings , or bright purple eye shadow to my eyebrows in broad daylight. Yes I am a transsexual. No I am not a gay man. I am saving my life, not destroying it. I don't hate men, I don't hate women. I AM committed to fulfilling my sense of self with a passion you'll never understand. I AM smart, well spoken, clean, well dressed. I HAVE people that love me, people that stuck with me, people that have proven their true friendship when I was at the bottom of a well. Guess what? I want to be a cisgendered woman about a million times more than you want me to be. It's a lot harder for me than it is for you to deal with me destroying your negative imagery. And I will. Yes, I am a transsexual, but that doesn't tell you a g*d d**n thing about me. As a matter of fact, I'm going to shatter what you thought about me when you heard that word just by being myself. Listen to me and you'll never see that word again. You'll see me and my friends who are similarly amazing people, and you'll know that the rest of the world is wrong. You'll know the picture you were given is one of hate, one made specifically to torture people, and you'll reject it. I cannot say I am not different, I cannot say that I am not transsexual, but I can show you what that word really means. I am the monster at the end of the book, but I am not anything that you thought I would be.
The Monster at the End of the Book
*****
There is a monster at the end of this book. Indeed. There are two kinds of people in the world, those that have read this book and those that need to read it. If you haven't, it's a children's book for say 4 or 5 year olds. Grover, one of the lovable fuzzy Sesame Street residents, is the protagonist who knows and informs the reader that there is a monster on the last page of the book. For fear of the monster, he asks the reader to please not turn the pages, as that will only be getting closer to the monster. You turn the pages, as you do with a book, and Grover resorts to asking, chaining the page down, building a brick wall, and eventually a sincere, heartfelt plea for the reader not to turn the very last page. But who is on the last page? Grover. The loveable, kind, sweet, gentle, caring, blue, Sesame Street MONSTER that he is.
All that fear for a word. Judgements made based on an idea, a concept, a mental picture.
I got on the road to cheering myself up after the events of the morning by making the bed and convincing my kitty there was a critter under the sheets. He chased the little mounds of air that would travel around the bed when I fluffed the sheet gently. That's when this book came to my mind. I find it describes so many parts of transition, in one way or another.
Pre-everything, we find ourselves inexorably drawn to turn the next page. Despite internalized societal laws and direct external influences that suggest some dire consequence being the only possible end to what we do, we keep turning the pages. We need to know, need to get to the end of the book, need to find the answer to what we are and why we defy what is normal. So we turn the pages, search the internet, go out dressed, watch any and every related movie we can get a hand on, read books. Then there's the last page. And we find out that the "monster" is nothing like what the word alone made us think when we began. And *boom* we understand. Lightning strikes somewhere along the way and we realize our own potential, destroy our own cookie cutter schema of what it is to be what we are, and decide to run with our own lives, despite what anyone else might say.
From Grover's point of view. Despite our own beliefs, our hopes and wishes, we still have this block on the word transsexual. We have accepted it in ourselves, but know/fear that others may not, and some others never will, for whatever reason. We find a reason, something that makes us different, and we still define ourselves as 'different'. We fear what comes when the reader finds this "monster" at the end of the book. We fear it because, well, you know and I know that I'm just a normal girl, but the ultra conservatives, the fanatics, the idiot who referred to us as tranny fags, the Jerry Springer watchers, some of our own family members can't see past the word. They will forever blind themselves and believe that we are far inferior and deserve to be treated like trash. We build walls, we seal things away with chains and locks, and in our own heads beg with all our hearts that no one finds the "monster" we're trying to hide.
But then, there, on the last page. There we are. We are one with the word and you know what? It isn't so bad. In fact, we're kind, loveable, caring, funny, cute, normal people. As a matter of fact, we are different. We're above average. We're so different than what the word brings up in anyone's head that we stun them into a totally new concept. Yes I'm a transsexual. No I don't wear cheetah print mini skirts, fishnet stockings , or bright purple eye shadow to my eyebrows in broad daylight. Yes I am a transsexual. No I am not a gay man. I am saving my life, not destroying it. I don't hate men, I don't hate women. I AM committed to fulfilling my sense of self with a passion you'll never understand. I AM smart, well spoken, clean, well dressed. I HAVE people that love me, people that stuck with me, people that have proven their true friendship when I was at the bottom of a well. Guess what? I want to be a cisgendered woman about a million times more than you want me to be. It's a lot harder for me than it is for you to deal with me destroying your negative imagery. And I will. Yes, I am a transsexual, but that doesn't tell you a g*d d**n thing about me. As a matter of fact, I'm going to shatter what you thought about me when you heard that word just by being myself. Listen to me and you'll never see that word again. You'll see me and my friends who are similarly amazing people, and you'll know that the rest of the world is wrong. You'll know the picture you were given is one of hate, one made specifically to torture people, and you'll reject it. I cannot say I am not different, I cannot say that I am not transsexual, but I can show you what that word really means. I am the monster at the end of the book, but I am not anything that you thought I would be.