After a long absence and having lost the bulk of my prior blog material, let’s try this again!

My name is Charles. That is my current alias, which I’m in the process of legally changing…again. (I’ll explain in later posts.)

Go ahead, google my name and stalk me. I don’t care, I know the reality I face as I begin to seriously blog.

Today celebrates the third anniversary of my final sex change surgery. Yes, I am transsexual, born female yet now lives as a man, who uses “outdated” and “old-fashion” terms to describe my story.

I do my best to live life as any other typical guy in his mid-30s: work hard at my job, read, watch nerdy Youtube videos, be there for my family and friends. I occasionally drink at my local gay bar (albeit as a straight, trans guy—they don’t care), though otherwise I’m usually dry. I’m a bachelor, been a long time since I’ve dated, and I don’t actively (much less care to) date.

I grew up extremely tomboyish, and identified as a stone butch woman for 15 years (knowing I liked women from age 12, till I began to transition at the age of 27). I’ve had some in the family try to feminize me, didn’t work. I have suffered a double dose of “reparative” therapy, where the church I was forced to join (via an ex, my parents had no involvement) tried to erase my attraction to women, while forcing me into typically female behavior and roles (because of their belief in gender essentialism). Yea, I’ve attempted suicide several times as a result.

I knew since I was young I always wanted to be boy. I first heard of ”transsexual” and “transgender” when I was 16, after watching a special on hermaphroditism and looking it up online. From 2010/2011 till 2014 I identified somewhere between butch and agender, but it wasn’t until I was 27 to finally undergo my sex change to live my life as a man, when Janet Mock and Laverne Cox became headlines. Watching Queer as Folk followed by a stay at a women’s shelter confirmed I wanted to live my life as a man, not merely live as another butch woman. Once I qualified for health insurance through Starbucks, and finally getting my car fixed, I started undergo my sex change.

I obtained a double mastectomy (aka “top surgery” or “chest surgery”) in 2016, six months after starting HRT, and bottom surgery in 2017, not even a year later. My hysterectomy prevented me from getting metoidioplasty, and both the surgeon and gynecologist did not want to redo that surgery, citing poor candidacy. I live with my congenital vagina, but free of the reproductive organs that was a major cause of my physical sex dysphoria.

I call myself transsexual as opposed to “transgender”, because I feel, like the word “queer”, that the latter word has watered down to mean anything and everything, including gender variance, and I am reclaiming a term that specifically means someone who has gender dysphoria, and takes the medical, legal, and social steps to live as a member of the opposite sex. It is short, specific, concrete, no need for long monologues involving gender or queer studies. Whether transsexual is still a subset of the transgender umbrella, or just a related group, is up in the air, but I do not associate with the transgender community.

My documentation of my journey to manhood has been lost to time, with few posts still on the Internet archive under various old domains, some of which I was lucky to post to this blog (thus why this isn’t my blog’s first entry).

Instead, this blog will detail my thoughts, struggles, and life as a man going forward.

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