Vagabond

I’ve never read the book, Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus by John Gray. Other than the explanatory subtitle of “The Classic Guide to Understanding the Opposite Sex”, I know nothing about it. But the title has always been humorous to me.

You see, I’m not from Mars or from Venus. And I’m from both Mars and Venus.

I don’t fit in. Never have. Never will. What I was born with mixes everything up. It has from the beginning, or at least as far back as I can remember. I’m a vagabond.

It can be difficult, lying to everyone, all the time. “All the time” means every single moment of your entire life. “Everyone” means loved ones, friends, acquaintances, people you walk by on the street, and yourself.

No, thanks. As harsh as it is, I’ll take reality, please.

Except reality is rejected. Rejected by your loved ones, your friends, your acquaintances, by the people you walk by on the street, and even – especially – by yourself.

So, the guilt builds. Men are from Mars, but you’re not. Women are from Venus, but you’re not from there, either.

Then comes the astounding self-revelation: You’re not from either but you are one of the rare few who have a lifetime passport to both. You may like Venus better than Mars, but you speak Martian. Or maybe you like Mars better than Venus, but you also understand Venusian.

Okay, then. I’ll never be from Mars or from Venus. That choice was lost before I was born. I’m not to blame for that, regardless of what the Martians or Venusians think and say, or how they act. They say – sometimes shout – “You’re not from Mars! You should be ashamed to pretend you are!” Or they say – sometimes shout – “You’re not from Venus! Don’t be disgusting by trying to be!” And they’re right to say I’m not a Martian from Mars or a Venusian from Venus. I’m in between them.

Which makes me a human from Earth.

_______

I was born a boy. But for as long as I can remember, I’ve known I was a girl.

When I was five years old, every night in bed I begged God to turn me into a girl by morning. I mean; if God made me a girl, then no-one could dispute that I was meant to be a girl. Right?

When I was nine, I tried to “fix” myself. Wow, did that hurt! Our kids today are most grateful I didn’t slam the scissors closed that night. (So am I… now… since I would have bled to death.)

As children, my sister and I would play a girl game and then a boy game. We’d play Barbie for a couple of hours. (And how come Barbie and Stacey always end up having a fight, then make up?) Then I’d pick the boy game. My two favorites were “Store” and “School”.

As puberty approached, I felt incredible relief and complete certainty that now, now things would be made right.

Puberty arrived and things got worse – much worse. Instead of providing the correct body, puberty started a new norm: constant thoughts of suicide. They would continue unabated for twenty-five years. I imagined that driving full speed into a bridge abutment would be appropriate; I would grade each overpass support on certainty of death. More than a hundred times – two hundred times – I had to force myself to slow down and continue driving.

When I was twenty, in my unrelenting despair, I attempted to kill a man over a pointless fight in a parking lot. Only his friends pulling me off prevented me from ending his life. And I felt nothing either way.

Does some of the above seem familiar? It might. And there’s much more that would sound as though I’d been following you around most of your life. Things that are even more difficult to talk about; to admit to; to… confess to.

I’m sure you picked up on key concepts in both my short story Vagabond and in my little autobiography. Concepts like deception; loneliness; desperation; anger. And most of all, guilt.

No-one understands because they can’t. Nor do you truly want them to, for that would burden them and bring backlash on you. So you lie and deceive, which leads to loneliness and isolation. You eagerly hope for change, but when change comes, it’s the opposite of what you hoped for. Instead of finally becoming the gender you know you are, your body mocks you and becomes more of what you are not. And you despair. In that despair, the lies, disappointment, and hopelessness becomes a societal disconnect. A defense mechanism to ward off the unbearable. You lose touch with the reality that refuses to include you. So you begin to exclude it.

Riding you hard continuously is guilt. Guilt is the super-charger steroid for all your perceptions, all your actions, and all your thoughts. You are accused by Satan, the world, and yourself. And you know you are guilty. The disconnect increases and brings anger, focused outward (violence), and inward (suicide). You. Don’t. Care.

There’s a reason why over 40% of transgender people will make at least one serious attempt at suicide. I have friends in our so-called transgender community that have tried; many of them trying many times. I know a few who stopped trying because they succeeded.

Why didn’t I follow their example? Why didn’t I jerk my steering wheel left six inches and play chicken with an abutment at 90 mph?

_______

“We love because he first loved us.” – 1John 4:19

God loved me first… before I loved him. He loved me when I hated him. For all that a sin-cursed world had done in messing up my coming into this world, I was still a beloved child of God from the moment I was baptized. Because Jesus had paid for my sins – for all my sins – I could call his Father, my Father. I can trust in God’s love because he loves me as his very own.

A humorous tangent: In the movie The Fellowship of the Ring, Frodo slips away from his companions in a canoe to take the One Ring to Mordor. His loyal friend Sam swims after him. Frodo shouts, “Go back, Sam. I’m going to Mordor alone.” Sam replies, “Of course you are. And I’m coming with you!”

The crushing isolation of being transgender is understood here; some of us feel it as well. I’ve felt it my entire life. But each time I shout in anger or despair or hopelessness, “I’m going alone!” Jesus replies, “And I’m coming with you!”

Because God loved us first, we can now love. And that love is not a love of warm fuzzies. It is a love of action. God didn’t just say, “I love you; have fun in Hell.” God acted by sending Jesus to pay the price for our sin. And because God acted, we can, too. You are not alone in your loneliness. Navigating the winding, lifelong path of being transgender and following Jesus is a real path, and it is being walked by others.

Come, and walk with us.

And where does that path lead? Remember when I mentioned in the story that I’m a human from Earth? Well, that’s just one part of it. It’s the beginning of the path only. As the old hymn states, “I’m but a stranger here…

… Heaven is my home.”