Wild Times at the Bipolar Genderbending Rodeo
Posted: Thu Nov 18, 2004 3:28 pm
So, funny story. Since at least HS if not longer, I've had fantasies about being a girl. I invented pretend girly names for myself, although none seemed really to fit, but I never let it get farther than that. Being a part of the gothik kultur made me feel like enough of a freak, esp. in so judgemental and choice-resistant an area as Saskatchewan (think of it as the Mississippi of the north). I've never been much with the courage. However, as I grew older and experienced more I continued to cherish the secret girl that I knew was inside me no matter how hard I tried to pretend to myself that she was no such thing.
I have since learned that I have a mild bipolar disorder. This accounts for the euphoria I can feel without need of any kind of drugs (though drugs are lots of fun too) and for the periods when life was so painful that getting out of bed just seemed like a waste of energy. One of the things that helped me most to cope with depression was my secret girl, I would imagine her free and happy without any of the issues and guilt and morbid obsessions which continually dragged me down.
About 3 years ago I started to descend into a suicidally depressive period of drug abuse and self-mutilation. I got into BDSM and that helped to relieve a lot of my anxieties, but my favourite uncle committed suicide. That made things worse, but it also brought out that a lot of the males in my family have mood disorders. I looked into it and I saw a counselor. She helped me to moderate my self-medication and recommended that I try using St. John's wort. Well, it helped a lot to stabilize my mood. But I still had these nagging feelings of guilt and inadequacy that just refused to go away.
Which brings us to the important part of our story: I was stupid and went off my meds. Then, the local goth bar was to holding a 'fetish night', specifically for local kinks, the kind of thing that hasn't happened in this province for as long as I've known what handcuffs were for. Well, I was certain to the point of monomania that *everyone* I knew was going to be there. I was obsessed with finding just exactly the right outfit to wear, one that would show me off in a light that nobody had never seen in me, but I just couldn't figure out what I wanted to do. Spiked collar? Harness and chains? These things were all standard attire, and I'm a poor starving artist; I don't have the kind of cash to buy elaborate tools and suchlike off eBay.
Then my secret girl whispered in my ear, 'you could go as me.'
Well, I fell and fell hard. I went on a big bipolar adventure to pick out the perfect outfit. I hesitantly approached my closest girl friend, who was a bit shocked (especially since I'd always been quite masculine and worn a huge bushy jesus-beard to hide my face) but was happy for me and offered to help me with hair, makeup, & offered her place to stay. I shaved my body and took off my pride & joy, my copious facial hair. Got myself all done up, and as I looked in the mirror I finally saw my secret girl looking back. I had never felt so attractive or desirable or secure in who and what I was. AT the same time, of course, I was so nervous I wanted to vomit. I was going to *show* this to people? When my friends boyfriend came in I panicked and hid in the bathroom. Eventually I was coaxed out and we got in a cab, down to attent The Underground's first and only Fetish Night.
And nobody came.
I WENT TO ALL THAT F@*%ING TROUBLE AND NOBODY CAME!!!!
Well, a couple of people from a local BDSM group and my one Angel friend, and an older Goth couple looking for something freaky. Other than that, the bar was empty for six hours.
I went home and cried and cried. I was devastated, heartbroken, that nobody would ever see my perfect secret girl.
Then I sat up, dried my eyes, and said to myself, 'To Hell with them. They don't want to come see me? I'll go see them.'
Since then, my secret girl has been a secret no longer. Her name is Violet Nightshade and she refuses to let borders constrain who and what she is. Who and what *I* am. I'll walk the street an a pleather mini and 3" heels, I'll go to the Underground and dance until my body feels like it's been beaten with mallets. My family and all of close friends have been introduced to Violet, and even the ones who have a bit of a problem with her, have to admit that she's so pretty it hurts. Not that I care what they think. But every time someone tells me how nice my hair is or how pretty I look in my newest acquisition, I can't help but smile.
Nobody can tell me it's wrong to be who and what I am.
I have since learned that I have a mild bipolar disorder. This accounts for the euphoria I can feel without need of any kind of drugs (though drugs are lots of fun too) and for the periods when life was so painful that getting out of bed just seemed like a waste of energy. One of the things that helped me most to cope with depression was my secret girl, I would imagine her free and happy without any of the issues and guilt and morbid obsessions which continually dragged me down.
About 3 years ago I started to descend into a suicidally depressive period of drug abuse and self-mutilation. I got into BDSM and that helped to relieve a lot of my anxieties, but my favourite uncle committed suicide. That made things worse, but it also brought out that a lot of the males in my family have mood disorders. I looked into it and I saw a counselor. She helped me to moderate my self-medication and recommended that I try using St. John's wort. Well, it helped a lot to stabilize my mood. But I still had these nagging feelings of guilt and inadequacy that just refused to go away.
Which brings us to the important part of our story: I was stupid and went off my meds. Then, the local goth bar was to holding a 'fetish night', specifically for local kinks, the kind of thing that hasn't happened in this province for as long as I've known what handcuffs were for. Well, I was certain to the point of monomania that *everyone* I knew was going to be there. I was obsessed with finding just exactly the right outfit to wear, one that would show me off in a light that nobody had never seen in me, but I just couldn't figure out what I wanted to do. Spiked collar? Harness and chains? These things were all standard attire, and I'm a poor starving artist; I don't have the kind of cash to buy elaborate tools and suchlike off eBay.
Then my secret girl whispered in my ear, 'you could go as me.'
Well, I fell and fell hard. I went on a big bipolar adventure to pick out the perfect outfit. I hesitantly approached my closest girl friend, who was a bit shocked (especially since I'd always been quite masculine and worn a huge bushy jesus-beard to hide my face) but was happy for me and offered to help me with hair, makeup, & offered her place to stay. I shaved my body and took off my pride & joy, my copious facial hair. Got myself all done up, and as I looked in the mirror I finally saw my secret girl looking back. I had never felt so attractive or desirable or secure in who and what I was. AT the same time, of course, I was so nervous I wanted to vomit. I was going to *show* this to people? When my friends boyfriend came in I panicked and hid in the bathroom. Eventually I was coaxed out and we got in a cab, down to attent The Underground's first and only Fetish Night.
And nobody came.
I WENT TO ALL THAT F@*%ING TROUBLE AND NOBODY CAME!!!!
Well, a couple of people from a local BDSM group and my one Angel friend, and an older Goth couple looking for something freaky. Other than that, the bar was empty for six hours.
I went home and cried and cried. I was devastated, heartbroken, that nobody would ever see my perfect secret girl.
Then I sat up, dried my eyes, and said to myself, 'To Hell with them. They don't want to come see me? I'll go see them.'
Since then, my secret girl has been a secret no longer. Her name is Violet Nightshade and she refuses to let borders constrain who and what she is. Who and what *I* am. I'll walk the street an a pleather mini and 3" heels, I'll go to the Underground and dance until my body feels like it's been beaten with mallets. My family and all of close friends have been introduced to Violet, and even the ones who have a bit of a problem with her, have to admit that she's so pretty it hurts. Not that I care what they think. But every time someone tells me how nice my hair is or how pretty I look in my newest acquisition, I can't help but smile.
Nobody can tell me it's wrong to be who and what I am.
You seem to enjoy who you are, but the drugs WILL change that. I've seen it!