Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Trans Trending-Who is Transitioning

TS-Age 19

BM-Age 21


EZ-Age 16

Ash-Age (youth)

CS-Age 15

CT-Age 20

Kin-Age (youth)

RC-Age 22

What these young women have to look forward to in the next coming years: Transgender Stealth Anxiety Disorder for starters.

The Primary Symptoms of Transgender Stealth Anxiety Disorder are as follows:

  • Hypervigilance
  • Anxiety
  • Paranoia 
  • Hypersensitivity (to perceived criticism)
  • ‏Narcissism/Egocentrism
Secondary Symptoms
  • Mood swings/Moodiness
  • Depression
  • Relationship difficulties (with peers/partners/families)
  • Anger/Hostility
  • Defensiveness

Sunday, October 19, 2014

Another Fallen Transman: Karlyn Lotney-Health Woe's & Money Pleas

Like the once popular successful ex lesbian Pat Califia, another seemingly successful ex lesbian now trans female Kinky Karlyn Lotney is also in ill health and seeking donation funds from strangers online for personal financial support.

Lotney was a college graduate, had a book published, spoke and has written about lesbian and trans female sex in many different media (some well known) venues.

Then Lotney began her transition (testosterone injections) around 2001, by 2005 she suffered a cardiac event, a year later breast cancer.

She had a double mastectomy, beating breast cancer and continued with the ongoing process of transition where her mental and physical health continued downhill along with her previous successes.
Now on state assistance, Lotney recently found a doctor who would take her tax paid insurance so that she could receive surgical weight loss surgery for her debilitating obesity.
But like the instant gratification she sought transition for and its failure to deliver, instead mentally/medically compromising her life, the weight loss surgery has nearly killed her as well.

 The latest update was posted two weeks ago:
Sadly in our post queer theory, post Trans Trending lesbian nation, this story of the once successful lesbian ball breaking the glass ceiling who then transitions, only to flounder later on in health, finance and opportunity, is fast becoming the norm. Dare we ask "who's next?" Testosterone not only isnt living up to the long term expectation of trans females, it is killing their past lucrative careers and killing them as well.


Wednesday, October 15, 2014

Transgender Stealth Anxiety Disorder

With inept diagnoses, unthought-out monstrous treatment, no forethought or care for post treatment day to day living, tragic though it is, we shouldn't be at all surprised that the treatment for Gender Dysphoria (GID repackaged by the DSM) creates other disorders while claiming to cure the original (GD).

After the first small wave of early Trans Trending females (post queer theory) and the massive transition of trans females (mostly lesbian youths) in the last five years, one such NEW disorder has arisen to stalk/plague the Trans female community-Transgender Stealth Anxiety Disorder.

The primary goal the female who transitions aspires to, is passing as the biological sex they were not naturally born. Relieving dysphoria is a by product of the primary goal, despite it being the primary goal the Mental Health Community outlines in the DSM. Great care, study, and effort goes into passing not merely before transition but years and years into the life long treatment that is transition.

Like an actor researching for an Oscar worthy role, the trans female patient studies the males around her, on television, in the street and wherever she encounters them for clues on how to be a something she knows intimately that she isn't-a man. Once she begins passing as a biological man to the general public/strangers etc, with lightening speed her mind darts between men and herself, herself and men.  This ceaseless, sizing, measuring, quantifying herself against a male backdrop creates an endless pathological inner hyper distressing dialogue. The question at the end of each of these inner conversations is something like can they tell I'm not a real man? There is a deep pathological fear of being found out for who SHE truly is once she begins passing.

The Primary Symptoms of Transgender Stealth Anxiety Disorder are as follows:

  • Hypervigilance
  • Anxiety
  • Paranoia 
  • Hypersensitivity (to perceived criticism)
  • ‏Narcissism/Egocentrism
Secondary Symptoms
  • Mood swings/Moodiness
  • Depression
  • Relationship difficulties (with peers/partners/families)
  • Anger/Hostility
  • Defensiveness

Currently this disorder has no known treatment or cure.


Sunday, October 12, 2014

Doing a different Doing Woman Different: Rose Williams

Rose Williams 1909-1996
Rose Williams was the slightly older sister and later muse to the great American playwright Tennessee Williams.

When Virginia Woolf imagined (1927/8) to herself what would have happened if Shakespeare had a sister (Judith) as equally gifted as he, the Williams family couldnt have imagined their first two children would play out Woolf's supposition to a near perfect tee.

Rose and Tom (three years her jr) were said to be as close as twins are often perceived. Part of that closeness may have been in reaction to their father who was violent when he drank, which was often and their mother the stereotype of the aging southern belle still full of the southern/Victorian proprieties she abused her daughter with. Both Rose and Tom were highly sensitive, introspective, intelligent and imaginative. Because Rose didnt go on to be the star her brother would later become, her biographical information isnt as detailed.

What we do know is puberty was difficult for both Rose and Tom. Tom, due to his budding homosexuality and Rose for her female sexuality which was forbidden by her genteel/prudish mother/society. Tom escaped into writing and dreams of being a writer while Rose was subjected to the dutiful good girl daughter role for which there seemed no escape. Somewhere between her being standoffish toward interested boys, laughing out loud (unrefined), hunching her shoulders inward hiding her breast and the perceived 'hysteria' from her unladylike spiritedness, Rose's mother sent her away to school in Vicksburg in 1925.
Around age 18, Rose suffered from stomach issues which became increasingly worse after not garnering marriage proposals or employment. She was later diagnosed by a psychiatrist as having a fear of sex. Tom went on to college and working on various writing works. Rose remained at home, subject to the ongoing fights between her parents and her mother's constant disapproval. In her mid twenties Rose was sent to a state mental hospital and diagnosed with Dementia Precox (Schizophrenia).

On a home visit Rose accused her father of sexual abuse/rape and spewed obscenities at her mother. Both parent forced her back to the hospital, said she was hysterical and her mother demanded the doctors to "Do anything, anything to shut her up!" Rose's mother signed papers for her to be the recipient of the new cure for various mental illnesses-a bilateral prefrontal lobotomy in 1943 behind her son's back.
For all intents and purposes while Rose would exist another 53 years in a mental hospital, she stopped living the second her mind was hacked to pieces. The following year Tennessee Williams' play The Glass Menagerie based on Rose would launch his writing career for decades to come.

There have and remains dire consequences for doing woman different. Doing woman different means risking the pathologizing of your natural behaviour/actions and desired potentials for your sex. It has gotten hundreds of thousands of women committed to mental asylums where they receive a lifetime of horrors in the form of insulin shock, electric shock, torture, brain mutilation and an execution of mind altering drugs for which there is no escape. Psychiatry has changed little since its inception several hundred years ago. A discipline created to first qualify and then modify any behaviour the culture of the day deems abnormal/unnatural by any means possible. As it was created by men and used for men, women were and are its primary targets.

The truly amazing thing is, some women have the bravery, tenacity, genius, talent and above all LUCK to do women different and succeed in their field. Women who have been featured here in just these posts. But the reality is, far more women, like Rose Williams who did woman too different, are lost forever.

I dedicate this post to all the women who were/are pathologized for doing woman different. Who fight and fought like hell against the diagnosis subjectively stamped on their life with permanent ink, till life was stamped out of them. There is no metal for bravery for those unarmed women who did/do woman different, when their difference was normal ONLY to them. But there should.


Saturday, October 11, 2014

Trans Trending-Who is Transitioning

CS-Age 15

CT-Age 20



KB-Age 21

RD-Age 20


TBV-Age 13

KH-Age (youth)

What is horribly sad about trans female videos is whether it is their first video or a 10 year anniversary video, the underlying deep sadness present in the first videos remains in all future videos.

"The vase reconstructed/houses the elusive rose." Sylvia Plath


Wednesday, October 8, 2014

FTM Bottom Surgery: Fibula Free Flap Phalloplasty

The fibula free flap bottom surgery for trans females came about for several reasons. While the radial forearm flap became the prime trans female bottom surgery standard, it was however fraught with difficulties for both doctors and patients. The forearm of the patient is horrifically/permanently scarred, the surgically created phallus often developed fistula's (the shaft springs a leak) when used for urination, multiple surgeries required if the phallus is desired for penetration and even necrosis (death of the phallus) from poor blood supply.

The fibula free flap phalloplasty hoped to eliminate most issues that were reported in the radial forearm flap phalloplasty.
This surgery was inspired by the actual bone that is in a dog's penis (practiced on 33 cadaver legs) in effort to make the constructed phallus permanently rigid (hard) and therefore eliminate another surgery for phallic implant stiffeners. There a several steps to this surgery, first a tube (catheter) is inserted into the lower leg and gradually larger and larger catheters are used, forcing the lower leg to grow additional skin thickness. Second, a piece of the fibula bone is removed from the lower leg to be used to wrap the extra leg skin around, forming the rigid dog like phallus.
The issue of the unsightly forearm scar is solved with the fibula free flap surgery IF you choose to never wear shorts again, perhaps consider moving to a cold climate?
How well does this surgery work? A case study and short video.

In this case and any/all information I came across, the surgically created phallus has to be "slimmed" down in thickness for a more realistic penis appearance. The phallus has to be dilated (something shoved in and out of the phallus regularly) to keep the hole from closing. The phallus must also be daily shaved because the leg hairs on the phallus will continue to grow and grow more often/thicker due to testosterone injections. The leg where the bone is removed remains weak to a great degree, impairing normal function for the life of the patient.

Like the radial forearm flap, the fibula free flap leaves atrocious scarring, poor appearance, a multitude of additional surgeries, poor urinary/sexual function including impairing a healthy leg.


Saturday, October 4, 2014

Doing Woman Different: Anne Sexton

On this day in 1974 the American Pulitzer Prize winning poet Anne Sexton took her life.
How It Is
By Maxine W. Kumin

Shall I say how it is in your clothes?
A month after your death I wear your blue jacket.   
The dog at the center of my life recognizes   
you’ve come to visit, he’s ecstatic.
In the left pocket, a hole.
In the right, a parking ticket
delivered up last August on Bay State Road.   
In my heart, a scatter like milkweed,
a flinging from the pods of the soul.
My skin presses your old outline.
It is hot and dry inside.

I think of the last day of your life,
old friend, how I would unwind it, paste   
it together in a different collage,
back from the death car idling in the garage,   
back up the stairs, your praying hands unlaced,   
reassembling the bits of bread and tuna fish   
into a ceremony of sandwich,
running the home movie backward to a space   
we could be easy in, a kitchen place
with vodka and ice, our words like living meat.

Dear friend, you have excited crowds
with your example. They swell
like wine bags, straining at your seams.   
I will be years gathering up our words,   
fishing out letters, snapshots, stains,
leaning my ribs against this durable cloth
to put on the dumb blue blazer of your death.

Like Maxine Kumin, fellow poet and best friend of Anne's, we'll momentarily rewind Sexton's life.

Sexton was born in Massachusetts in 1928 to a middle class family who didnt recognize her poetic talents, her mother according to Sexton even belittling them to the point she gave them up. Regardless, after high school Sexton for a short bit did attend a women's liberal arts college and did some local modeling. 
Not quite 20 years old, Sexton did what was expected of her and married in 1948. Having her first child Linda in 1953, Sexton soon after suffered her first breakdown-likely postpartum depression combined with grief over losing her beloved great aunt "nana." In '54 after the birth of her second child Joy, Sexton suffered another breakdown and hospitalization. On her birthday in 1956 Sexton attempted the first in a long occasional series of suicide attempts. Sexton's psychiatrist Dr. Martin Orne suggested to Anne that she try to write poetry again as a means of writing her way back to a healthy mind. 

You Dr. Martin

You, Doctor Martin, walk
from breakfast to madness. Late August,
I speed through the antiseptic tunnel
where the moving dead still talk
of pushing their bones against the thrust
of cure. And I am queen of this summer hotel
or the laughing bee on a stalk

of death. We stand in broken
lines and wait while they unlock
the doors and count us at the frozen gates
of dinner. The shibboleth is spoken
and we move to gravy in our smock
of smiles. We chew in rows, our plates
scratch and whine like chalk

in school. There are no knives
for cutting your throat. I make
moccasins all morning. At first my hands
kept empty, unraveled for the lives
they used to work. Now I learn to take
them back, each angry finger that demands
I mend what another will break

tomorrow. Of course, I love you;
you lean above the plastic sky,
god of our block, prince of all the foxes.
The breaking crowns are new
that Jack wore.
Your third eye
moves among us and lights the separate boxes
where we sleep or cry.

What large children we are
here. All over I grow most tall
in the best ward. Your business is people,
you call at the madhouse, an oracular
eye in our nest. Out in the hall
the intercom pages you. You twist in the pull
of the foxy children who fall

like floods of life in frost.
And we are magic talking to itself,
noisy and alone. I am queen of all my sins
forgotten. Am I still lost?
Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself,
counting this row and that row of moccasins
waiting on the silent shelf. 

Dr. Martin discussed Sexton's poems with her, encouraging her to enroll in John Holmes poetry workshop. 

For John, Who Begs Me Not To Enquire Further
Not that it was beautiful,
but that, in the end, there was
a certain sense of order there;
something worth learning
in that narrow diary of my mind,
in the commonplaces of the asylum
where the cracked mirror
or my own selfish death
outstared me.
And if I tried
to give you something else,
something outside of myself,
you would not know
that the worst of anyone
can be, finally,
an accident of hope.
I tapped my own head;
it was a glass, an inverted bowl.
It is a small thing
to rage in your own bowl.
At first it was private.
Then it was more than myself;
it was you, or your house
or your kitchen.
And if you turn away
because there is no lesson here
I will hold my awkward bowl,
with all its cracked stars shining
like a complicated lie,
and fasten a new skin around it
as if I were dressing an orange
or a strange sun.
Not that it was beautiful,
but that I found some order there.
There ought to be something special
for someone
in this kind of hope.
This is something I would never find
in a lovelier place, my dear,
although your fear is anyone's fear,
like an invisible veil between us all…
and sometimes in private,
my kitchen, your kitchen,
my face, your face.

Holmes, like later male critics of her poetry were at first horrified, then threatened by the confessional nature of Sexton's work. What Holmes and others couldnt comprehend was that for Anne, poetry wasnt about creating aesthetic beauty. It was at first a device used to learn something more about herself in "
that narrow diary of my mind." But in that learning, the poems Sexton was writing were/are beautiful! Or as Sexton put it herself "out of used furniture I made a tree."
At first Sexton's work was all about her, using poetry to look inward. But through her success as a poet Sexton became an example and inspiration to other troubled people to utilize poetry as they would a therapist, to uncover and re/cover from remembered and forgotten wounds. As Sexton's fame grew, she received letters from those who identified with her from all over the world. She often responded to as many letters as she could, hoping others would find poetry as important and life inspiring as she did.

In 1967 Anne won the Pulitzer Prize for poetry for her book Live or Die. 

Sexton would end the book with these life affirming lines: "I say Live, Live because of the sun, the dream, the excitable gift".

Sexton was woman different. She was also a woman who pre-feminism, despite all the beauty she created with poetry (for herself and others) and the insights it provided for her about her wounded psyche, somewhere between the clutches of patriarchy's right hand (psychiatry) and its left (society)-she was strangled eventually to death.

Her Kind

I have gone out, a possessed witch,   
haunting the black air, braver at night;   
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch   
over the plain houses, light by light:   
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.   
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.   
I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods,   
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,   
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:   
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.

I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,   
learning the last bright routes, survivor   
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.   
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.   
I have been her kind.

ANY women past, present or future who dares to do woman different has been Her Kind.