Syrra's Life...in A Nutshell

[Guest Syrra]

This is, and is not, a reposting of my intro post. It is, because much of it is the same…it is not, on the other hand, because I have included quite a bit more. This is supposed to be the bio, right? There is no leaving anything out for the sake of brevity now.

I was born in 1964 to a German/Irish/Scottish Christian family. Though they were not strictly religious, there were only two accepted roles as far as they were concerned...male and female. That is not to say that the men were firemen and loggers and the women were housewives, nurses and checker girls. Perish the thought! My grandmother, for one glaring example, worked at the same job for nearly 40 years as a factory worker. My grandmother was actually my role model. She worked very hard, took care of the house, and was a fabulous cook. I learned a lot about cooking, crocheting, and sewing from her, as well as how to keep the boys in line!

When I was little, I did not know there was any real difference between boys and girls, other than names. No one spoke about the difference in sexes to us kids, and no one discouraged me from enjoying my Lego’s, hot wheels, Barbie dolls, and dollhouses. No one cut my hair, so I had gorgeous toe head blonde hair, long and shaggy. Everyone was fine with that, and I never identified as being either way, really. It was never a consideration, as I was never pushed to be either way, though as far as I can remember, I was more like a tomboyish girl than anything. One day, according to my mother, as she and I were sitting in a diner having a meal on one of our many excursions to Yosemite in her ’66 Mustang convertible, she said someone stopped as they were walking by the table and said, "oh what a lovely little girl!" She said that as soon as the trip was over, it was straight to the barbershop to cut off my locks and "boy me up". From then on, there was also a noticeable lack of what some in the family called "girlie toys".

At this point, I had not identified with either gender 100% so I was extremely confused...lost. I did not get why it was no longer okay and I did not get why my pretty hair was all gone.

I found ways to get playtime in with the dolls and other things I enjoyed when I had to make daily pilgrimages to my cousins' house during the summers. I always identified squarely with “Tammy” and “Lacey”. We played together for hours and days. There was no competition for anything (I hated the competitiveness of the boys in my neighborhood and in my family to the point it would make me physically ill) and we rarely argued...we were like sisters. It was also about this time that I learned the differences between boys and girls from a genital aspect. I was around 10 years old, if I remember right. Of course, I was a bit upset that I was no longer just like Tammy and Lacey, but nothing that could not be resolved with a comfy cup of hot cocoa.

It was at about that same time that I discovered the existence of the Skipper doll, and found it extremely curious. My grandmother called me Skipper. She had insisted she would never call me by my given name. Other relatives started to follow suit. When they did so, it always felt almost accusatory. Gramm said it out of love. Did she know? Unfortunately, it is now far too late to find that out.

Once I got into Junior High, things went from not that great to a daily nightmare. Changing and showers for PE was a special kind of Hell on Earth. I was very small at the time and hairless aside from my scalp hair. Well, except the very fine "peach fuzz" as my parents called it on my arms. I actually tried, multiple times, to shave it off. I was constantly made fun of for the small size of my genitals, my fairly feminine curves that had started to develop, young breasts that were taking form (though they stopped about 3-4 years later, giving me a permanent A-Cup with men's nipples). It got to the point that I started cutting gym altogether if I could not come up with an excuse for my parents to get me out of the class for a few days. It was during this time, as my body seemed completely confused as to what IT thought I should be, that I became withdrawn and almost chronically depressed. I started writing very bleak and black stories of "fiction" and "fantasy" as my writing skills developed into an outlet for the horror show I felt I was stuck living from behind my eyes.

My parents thought I just needed healthy encouragement to make friends and “go be like the rest of the boys”. I know they just thought they were being caring parents, but it was obvious to me that they had lost all touch with who I was becoming, even though it was happening right in front of their eyes. They signed me up for Little League 3 years in a row. I detested it. I finally got out from under that vicious boys club by telling them that I preferred soccer, which I actually did enjoy. Eventually I was able to prove to them that I was just fine so they would back off the pressure to play sports. I had made a few friends (not really, but as long as they thought it was true, I was safe from the pressure) so I no longer had to play sports constantly to prove I was well adjusted.

By the age of 13 or 14, I knew what I was inside; at least partially. I was still confused about loving girls and being attracted to them, along with feeling that whatever supreme entity or spirit that was manipulating things better be laughing it up good for the nasty practical joke it was playing on me for the body I'd been given. Through my teen years, most of my friends were either girls or very caring and sensitive boys. Interestingly though, at the time, my "best friend" ended up being a womanizing boy. It was only through later soul-searching that I realized I got so close to him as a friend because his overtly male persona allowed me to be more like my true self without attracting any real notice from others. It was as if he was "guy enough for the both of us." I had many girlfriends during that time, but when they wanted to become intimate, I usually pulled away, embarrassed about what I was physically. Often this caused me to lose them as anything more than a friend. Finally, just before I turned 17, I met “Cathy”. She never pushed, though she often tried to entice me to go further than kissing and petting. All she understood was that I was uncomfortable, sexually, with myself, so she never pressured me further. She was actually my first True Love. I still think about her and all the "what if’s” that we always go through as we get older. I actually found out, years later, that she discovered she was actually Lesbian. The what if thing hit me extremely hard when I found that out!

Even though I grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area, all during my formative years I was (as all us kids were) kept as sheltered as possible from those with alternative lifestyles. It was not talked about anywhere in the family, and the subject was I am guessing purposely avoided as far as what was shown on the television. Though at that time I had not realized it, I do know now that I helped matters not one bit. I already realized I was night and day different from everyone in the family, and they all seemed determined not to speak of things that were not "comfortable".

*

All of that was during a period of time most attribute to the growing pains of self-discovery and growing up. I can look at most of that matter-of-factly instead of with the pain of what was to come afterward.

*

By 16 years of age, I had taken to wearing oversized “stoner” clothing that consisted of large black jeans, oversized t-shirts, unbuttoned flannel shirts, and mechanic boots. I adorned my clothes with a myriad of angry and rebellious rock group imagery consisting of various buttons, stickers, and patches. I was listening to angry rock chick music like The Runaways, as well as hard rock and heavy metal of a vast and disparate variety. My hair was long and gangly, my demeanor was nothing short of introverted to the point of serious depression, drug and alcohol abuse, and contemplation of suicide (tried 4 times, as well). When I went to family gatherings (as if I had a choice), I stayed in the corner, away from everyone, and just did no talking. I physically could not talk. Every time I tried, I just felt like crying and running off. More than once I feigned being sick, and actually did make myself physically ill, just to get them to take me home early.

I think my parents truly believed that it was all just growing pains and seemed to change the subject whenever I tried to broach the topic of sexuality and identity…of what I was really feeling. I loved them, but I had lost all trust in their belief in me.

I started hanging out with more boisterous people at school, actually instigating us to do things that would get us into trouble, including cutting school, drinking and drug use on campus, and various other activities that had garnered the attention of parents and the police a time or three. I know now that it was mostly a combination of lashing out and actively trying to hurt myself.

I had a psych teacher in my junior year of high school who could tell that something was deeply bothering me. He could see the pain in my eyes while everyone else just saw the smile on my face. One day, he gave me a form for my parents to sign for an off-campus extra credit "field trip". He used it to get me out of the school, take me to his home office, and talk to me...get at what was hurting me. After some questions that I thought were rather mundane, he moved right into what I later found out were psychology tests (some of the earlier ones...this WAS 1980!) to determine if I was just a bit confused or actually a transgender. He told me what I already knew; that as far as he could tell, I was "obviously a girl inside.” He told me that no one would ever learn of it from him, but if I wanted any help with my anger or depression issues, his door was always open to me, even if that meant a referral to someone in a more specific field.

For a time, I felt a bit more at ease...one person knew, and they not only did not shun me or make fun of me, they were supportive. I wish, to this day, that more than one person could have shown the simple kindness and understanding he did.<br style="mso-special-character:line-break"> <br style="mso-special-character:line-break">

A year or so later, I confided in a few people about my feelings, my confusion, and my identity. It was almost like testing the waters. Though they never seemed angry, upset, or even curious, they never told anyone else (to my knowledge) about what I had said to them. They did slowly drift away, though, almost as if on purpose. <br style="mso-special-character:line-break"> <br style="mso-special-character:line-break">

As I hit graduation age, and a little after, I had encircled myself with a few people I trusted, though never completely after what happened with the others, and remained rather introverted otherwise. Cathy and I were still together, so I had an outlet for my burning desire to feel connected to someone in some way more than just a casual conversation, though my hate for my outer self had only grown. My mistrust of myself, and everyone around me, with the truth about me eventually drove a silent wedge between us.

I joined the Navy, and Cathy and I broke things off. She said that she was afraid I would meet someone else while away that could make me happier than she did. I knew that was hardly the case, but I had lost the will to fight for myself anymore. I did truly love her; I still do, I think.

While away, I became loud and boisterous, as well a huge partier. I wanted to fit in, outwardly, so as not to draw unwanted attention on myself. At times, when I was alone, I felt sick to my stomach for what I had become. I was still a virgin. I was that hateful of what I was...am...that intercourse was itself detestable. Over time, I worked to keep it to myself...to become the "man" that people expected me to be. I just went into self-preservation mode. I think, in many ways, I actually had it much easier than most transsexuals did, though. I was a man (on the outside) who loved and was attracted to women, after all. I just had the wrong body to go with my feelings about who I was. Was? Still am!

A year after joining the Navy I received a medical discharge for an unrelated issue, but had already become adept at hiding my true self out of sight. I could be “male" to people if need be, though confrontation and violence, again, made me physically ill. Most everything else I had little issue dealing with. I could work on a car, do heavy lifting and yard work (I am a BIG girl!), and all the rest. I finally lost my virginity during/after a very drunken evening of uncharacteristic revelry (I got so drunk I barely remember the evening at all) at the ripe old age of 22. I will spare everyone the gory details about any of it, as I want to conform to forum rules.

I actually got married to the second woman I ever slept with. Sex was not that frequent, though I did and do enjoy foreplay of both the mundane and exotic varieties. Tantra, bloodletting, needle play, nails, light bondage, and dom/sub all became part of my repertoire and I became quite adept at them. In times of reflection, I wonder if most of that is just to inflict physical pain on myself that could outdo the emotional pain that still permeates my every waking moment. That, I think, is what kept it going when many marriages would have fallen apart. We had a child together, even! My daughter is such a tough Goth chick while being a real sweetie at the same time. I had sufficiently suppressed what I was in order to move through life fairly well unnoticed, except in a couple particularly painful cases. I got divorced, had a string of bad relationships, one of which actually broke up because I was "too girlie" for her. She wanted a MAN! I know that was my fault as well and never once blamed her. If I had been honest up front, I would have saved her the bother and myself the added pain.

A short time after that breakup, I met "Sharron". She was lightly experimenting in alternative lifestyles such as light BDSM, Goddess worship, etc. She actually seemed, to me, to be a bit bi-curious. All of this attracted me even more. She had friends who were into Dom/Sub, Bondage, Cross-living, swapping, and other things. As we began dating, I immediately started feeling more comfortable, but still VERY guarded. I did not tell her what I was at first. I was afraid to scare her away before we had a chance to know each other at all. Eventually, though I had still not said anything, we got married. I was okay with never saying anything (or so I thought) for the rest of my life, if need be. She was happy, and I was somewhat less than completely hateful of myself. As I was reaching that point where I finally felt secure enough to share everything, she started to pull away from all of her friends. She stopped calling them, stopped having them over, stopped visiting, and actually stopped mentioning them at all. When I realized she had pulled away from the last of her friends with interesting lives (as I always referred to them), I died just a bit more inside. I shut down.

I spent the last few years in relative calm although I think what was happening is things were just becoming toxic within me. I had grown to hate myself for existing at all, and not just for my gender or physical appearance. Sure, I had contemplated suicide a few times when I was a teenager, but this was different. I did not want to end myself. I just tried to wish myself out of existence. I had gotten to the point that I was quietly crying myself to sleep at night every night. Thinking I had no reason to feel so desolate and sad only made things worse. I have a wonderful wife who treats me well, at this point two darling grown daughters, a decent job that I like, enough money in the bank that we are not living on Ramen noodles (though I couldn't buy a new TV if the old one went bad), and a roof over our heads.

Still, the burying and trying to forget moved inexorably towards a pinnacle of self-loathing, depression, and anger that I could not escape.

I started trying to channel, as I once did when I was younger, all those feelings into writing. I began writing Adult Fantasy and FanFic for many games and fantasy realms. Though it did help to lessen the feeling in some ways, in others it made it all move closer and closer to the surface. I got into "Mature Role-Play" at that point, during the height of my prolific phase of writing. People online only knew me as Syrra Coventry...or Sarah (Syrra is my fantasy world persona, Sarah my "real" name...who I am inside). My wife and I, by this time, had grown very far apart, almost as if we were just roommates and nothing more. She started, though, after while, getting very curious about what I was spending so much time doing online...

After a couple of days of "prying" (yes, I know she had a right to know) it all just boiled over like Mt. St. Helen's. I exploded into a tirade of not so much anger at her as all the hate for myself just finally tearing down the last walls and spilling forth. She learned everything about me on that day, all at once. After about a week of contemplation and asking me questions, and hearing the whole story of my life, she said, after judging my mood as accepting of whatever she had to say, "I had no idea I was a Lesbian, honey...but looks like I am," then kissed me. Our marriage became far better than it had ever been, though we have a TON of new hurdles to deal with.

She still finds it a bit difficult to talk about, as do I with people who do not understand.

I finally started coming out to certain people I felt I could trust, none of whom have been anything but supportive. "Katey", a woman I work with, has become my best friend...someone I can talk to when I have a hard time talking to anyone. She has never once judged me, and has been wonderful with advice. She has been a rock for me, and supportive of everything I have been going through. She is attached neither romantically emotionally to me, nor I to her, which is what I needed badly. Until that point, I had no friends...not even of the acquaintance variety. I started getting tattoos that express my feelings, my emotions, evoke perceptions of myself, etc. My artist calls me Syrra and refers to me as "she" in person... He only smiles big when I call him "hon" or "honey". The people there are so wonderful; it makes me well up just thinking of them. They took me in as if I was a family member.

Still, there is my family. My mom now knows about me, as do my older brother and my bio daughter. My mom, while being supportive in one way, has been trying to warn me off having my dad find out in any way. They are a very integrated family, but they always see me as "the first-born grandson" rather than just me.

A month or so ago, I discovered Laura’s Playground. I have spent some time, of and on, reading, evoking some smiles and some tears with every story. The other night, I made the decision to have the courage to join. I have spent my life in so much abject fear, depression, and loneliness; I just want that to go away.

I will likely never transition all the way, though I would at least like an upper... I do not feel the need for the whole package to be comfortable enough; at least not at this time. I've spent the last 46 years in a mostly male body (with many female tendencies to it) but I would like to be seen, at least by clothed outward appearances (that includes a bikini top if I can shed more weight!) as the real me... Syrra...Sarah...

I have no idea where I am going to end up, but as I try to let go of some of the old pain and disgust with myself, perhaps I can move in a direction that will ultimately make me feel more like the real me.

While I am sure there are tidbits here and there that are missing, I think I laid most of my past bare.

~Syrra

[Carolyn Marie]

Wow, that was quite a nutshell, Syrra. Must have been a Brazil nut.

Thank you so much for letting us see into your life. It takes courage to open oneself and one's life up for public inspection. I hope it helped you as much or more than it helped us.

A lot of people arrive here, myself included, never having told anyone in their world their inner secrets. The first few times opening up to strangers, even in an anonymous place like this, can be gut wrenching. You did just fine, and I hope you know that you are always welcome to share whatever you need to share. We are here to help.

If you have never seen a gender therapist, it would probably be helpful to do so. Not so much to open the path to transition, since you aren't sure that its right for you, but more to just help you deal with whatever issues and doubts still linger. I'm glad you have a supportive and loving S/O to be there for you. It is an uncommon gift.

HUGS

Carolyn Marie

[Guest Elizabeth K]

I agree with Sarah Marie. And also - one big ole nutshell!

But you are pretty much out - looking at all your websites and postings everywhere - and it seems you are proud of where you are, but are wishing your artwork was more lucrative.

You did mention this:

I will likely never transition all the way, though I would at least like an upper... I do not feel the need for the whole package to be comfortable enough; at least not at this time. I've spent the last 46 years in a mostly male body (with many female tendencies to it) but I would like to be seen, at least by clothed outward appearances (that includes a bikini top if I can shed more weight!) as the real me... Syrra...Sarah.

Grin -Its a PG-13 site but we use the word breasts rather freely here. You are seemingly pretty well adjusted to your gender dysphoria. But Like Carolyne Marie suggested, a gender dysphoria trained therapist can really help you be happier, I think. And transitioning isn't for everyone, so that is cool.

Again, we are glad you shared this with us. Your wife (we use the term 'S.O.' = significant other)is also welcome to be a member, although if you use the same internet server, then you would have to clear that with admin here.

Lizzy

[Guest Syrra]

~hugs~ Thank you. Actually, I spent a lot of time on the bio...I found it quite cathartic. I am used to getting my catharsis out in writing my adult fantasy stories, but I figured "In for a penny, in for a pound." Yesyes...family is going to be a daunting task, but eventually, they're going to hear it too.

It practically destroyed me, many times, over the course of my life to keep it locked away. I don't want to go back to that.

And thank you both about helpful terms... I appreciate it.

Though I'm comfortable with, and desirous of, where I'm going, I know that doing things like this alone aren't easy. I have lots of questions that will come with time. I still have trouble with the line between other people's feelings and my own. I still defer to others for the most part. I know I need a lot of work there before I can move too much further forward.

I've seen two GTs (can't afford a full time one right now) for a few pro bono visits each. Friends of friends type of thing. They both gave me some initial tests and talked with me, asking questions, giving me suggestions, that sort of thing. I'm sure it was about all they could do without it being on a professional basis. When I can afford it, I'll be looking to one of them before moving on.

Money makes things difficult at best right now, but as I said in my bio....it got to a point it wasn't staying hidden any longer. I hit a sort of critical mass. ~sighs~

I know that though my SO is supportive, she still has a lot of adjusting to go through too. She's emphatic that she wants to see it through with me, but I think she's almost more scared than I am about it.

I do know one thing, though. Finding this place was like finding a light in a void... I'd not know which way to turn if it wasn't for all the wonderful people here.

~hugs everyone~

~Syrra

[Guest sarahm74]

Hey Syrra,

Your story has touched me and I feel a great deal of empathy to you. I really wish you well in how things work out and you are in my thoughts.

Hugs,

Sarah