Thank you for taking an interest in my thoughts and ideas, guys!
I am honored to already have seven followers within my first month of starting this blog.
My regards and thanks to the following people for following me:
I am sorry, readers. I am just not able to post more than once a week with college classes and a job search in progress right now. Maybe I will get better at posting more often once my schedule becomes more stable.
Anyway, here is a post which I intended to make several weeks ago.
Some prose for your reading pleasure:
There was once a girl. This girl was unhappy.
Everyday she looked in the mirror. And she did not understand what she saw there.
When the girl looked in the mirror, she saw there a boy looking back at her. This boy smiled at her and he seemed quite happy. She did not understand why he seemed so. She was sad and felt trapped in her life.
A boy stared through a mirror at a girl. She did not seem happy. She never smiled, and her long blond curls were limp and dejected. No sparkle showed in her luminous green eyes.
The boy knew why the girl was unhappy. But he could do nothing to help her. He was trapped within the mirror. He understood her pain. He only wanted to make her free. But he was not free himself to tell her these things.
Day by day the girl looked in the mirror and saw the boy looking back at her. He seemed sadder each time she saw him and his reflection grew dimmer and more fractured.
Eventually, she could no longer see the boy in the mirror. She only saw a drab girl who did not understand herself. She saw sad eyes and limp curls. She saw a fake smile of glossed lips and a falsely bright and painted face. She saw lies and a facade put up by herself to try and protect the broken and bleeding soul within.
One day the girl went to the mirror and looked. A girl with painted face, bright jewels around her neck, fancy clothes, and freshly washed and done up curls. But the eyes within the face did not reflect the sparkle of the jewels. And the soul within rebelled against the paint and clothes without.
“I cannot live like this! The parties and fine clothes, the make-up and the manners. Everything I must do as my parent’s daughter is a lie!” the girl screamed at the mirror.
With that, the soul within the girl screamed for freedom. The girl found a blade, the flesh of her wrist was soon dripping red. “I will die before I pretend once more to be who I am not” she whispered.
She laughed a wild and hysterical laugh, putting the blade once more to her skin, thinking to finish what she had started.
But then she looked at the mirror and screamed. The boy, whose image had so long ago faded from reflection, was there. One of his wrists also oozed red.
She heard a distant whisper which seemed to eminate from within her head, “If you kill yourself I will die, too. I want to be free. Please help me to be free.”
The girl stared at the mirror for a moment and then asked, “Who are you?”.
“I am you.” the reflection answered simply.
The mirror shattered. The boy stared at himself and then at a peice of the mirror which was lying on the floor. He gasped. He did not see a drab girl with dejected curls and tragic eyes. He saw a boy. In a frilly pink dress with make-up and jewels on, yes. But a boy, none-the-less.
He smiled back at his reflection. “I know what will make things better.” He washed off the make-up, locked away the jewels, hung the dress in a far corner of the closet.
Then the boy put on his favorite t-shirt and jeans. They had been his brother’s. He loved them because he felt closer to his now dead brother, and because they felt right somehow when he wore them.
He took the same blade with which he had attempted to take his own life and cut his hair short. He put on some hiking boots and a leather jacket that used to be his dad’s and a hat he felt particilarly handsome in.
He went to another mirror and looked at the reflection staring back at him. The boy in the mirror smiled back at him with the biggest smile and he heard a faint whisper, “Thank you for believing in yourself.”
I was recently listening to Scars to Your Beautiful by Allessia Cara. And I thought of something powerful.
All girls, whether cis or trans female, are strong and beautiful. Studies have shown cis women to be a bit smarter than cis males (not knowing how much of the intelligence difference is due to hormones, I cannot say if this theory holds true with trans males), and all women are beautiful as long as they take care of themselves. Hell, being biologically female gives me an attraction ability somewhat superior to my cis male counterparts.
Point being, ladies, don’t look at magazine cover beauties to determine your status. Beauty is determined by your mind, your potential, your character and inner strength. Not by how skinny you are or how much makeup or lack thereof you have on.
So put down the razor, eat some food, don’t worry so much about your makeup or clothes. We guys find you plenty attractive without the makeup and even with those extra curves. Being a bit round through the hips and stomach can actually make you more attractive than a skeleton outline would.
Stay pretty and free, kids.
I hope I have some younger female readers, soon, to whom I can feel like I am directly speaking. Until then, if the ladies who are following me can share my message with any young ladies they know, that would be great.
Thanks readers. 😀
My apologies for not posting for a whole week.
You see, my dad is in a rehab facility, and it has been determined that he won’t be able to come back home to his apartment. Therefore, it is up to me to clean out his apartment.
I am happy about getting to clean out his apartment, because I get to keep his tools and electronics. My dad is great at picking out good tools which last for years. And I have always been a sucker for electronics of any type, especially ones with good bass like the ones my dad has.
However, cleaning out the apartment of a messy person who lived alone, like my dad, proves a challenging task.
I have also lost my job. I didn’t like it very much and the people in charge at the headquarters were not nice people.
However I am looking for a new job. Perhaps one in the automotive or IT industries. I have some experience and a lot of interest in working on cars from the auto class I took last semester in college. I also have skill with computers. I know a bit about coding, a lot about working with Microsoft operating systems, and a small amount about command scripting, which is basic computer programming. I might be able to find a job in the IT field, even without a computer programming degree, with my personal experience. I at least aim to.
A few more thoughts, before I post the blog I originally meant to post next.
I have recently discovered my passion for hard rock music. I especially like the music of a band called Three Days Grace. I have been listening to this band’s music all day, today. I have even taken to dancing about playing an imaginary guitar. Now I understand why I insisted I was going to be a rock star when I grew up since age 7. If only I had money for guitar and drum lessons.
I came out to my mom as tranagender. She is emensely saddened by the whole idea. As well as thinking there is something wrong with my psyche. She beleives my not having a good relationship with my dad, therefore not having a good masculine influence in my life while a child, is the root of my problem.
However, I beleive that gender is a matter of social construct. It is true that there are only four sexes (male, female, intersex, hermaphrodite) and that the presence or absence of of certain hormones which determines primary and secondary physical sexual characteristics (whether you have a penis or vagina, whether you have a deep voice or not, whether you have boobs or not, etc.) influences
I also believe that the type of hormones primarily running in your system, estrogen and progesterone or testosterone, effects in some small ways your mental and emotional tendancies. There are studies which find that female children exposed to high amounts of testosterone when in the womb grow up with male tendencies and lifestyle patterns, even if they identify as cis female.
Male fetuses do not respond similarly to in-eutero exposure to estrogen, however. I don’t know why this might be. It certainly seems that hormones have something to do with gendered behaviors.
Yet, I do think that gender is a cultural construct. How men and women are supposed to act and appear has always had a set struture. Until the post-modern era, at least. There are a few well disguised cases of transgender persons in the 17th and 18th centuries, but because these people were locked away in the insane asylums upon discovery, no one really knows of their existence until now.
Had I never heard the word “transgender” I would not have been able to understand why I felt different and like I had lost my identity as a person. I only ever felt whole while playing my book characters. These were predominantly tough, mannish females up until I began dreaming of being a tough yet emotionally sensitive male character. Once I had a template for the ideal male character (I take most of my characters and stories from my vivid dream life) I was happy because I had characters I could relate to better. I was also happy, because I could at least identify as my true self in my dream life. My dreams are the best thing about going to sleep, I find.
Unfortunately, because of my inability to express my problem and my fear of being an outcast or thought crazy if I expressed my odd feelings, I never felt whole. But now, since my discovery of the world wide web, I have fully understood myself and come to grips with my “otherness” feelings.
Anyway, gender is a social construct, therefore people may change it to suit their needs and preferences if they so desire. At least this is what I think.
Sexual attraction is also a matter of prference. Though male-female unions are optimal for population growth, in this age food production is the primary concern, not population growth. Besides, there are ways for other unions to have children. Surrogacy, sperm and egg banks, and adoption are all viable options for familial child generation. It may be possible to create children in a lab via genetic manipulation, someday, eliminating the need for male-female exclusive relations, entirely.
Anyway, those are my thoughts.
Currently listening to High Road by Three Days Grace. For the rockers who might notice my blog, check out this band. They are awesome and the lead singer has a wonderful, gravelly voice.
See you guys next blog. 😎
I have not yet shared my interests and hobbies. Below is a categorised list of facts about me:
Full Name: Kadyn Lance Maxwell
Note: I am a vegetarian, so I do not eat meat or shellfish of any type. I do, however, eat dairy products and some eggs.
Favorite Discussion Topics
Favorite TV Shows
Favorite Board Games
Favorite Study/School Subjects
And that concludes the summary of my interests. If you would like to know anything else about me, let me know in the comments.
See you next blog.😼
Hello readers. I want to thank my first two followers, Kira and Mary Job.
Thank you for following, guys. I really appreciate it.
To my current and future followers, thank you, and let’s keep making writing an art and a unique experience.
Happy New Year, everyone! I hope you have made some goals, and I hope you are able to stick to the, as the year progresses.
So … last year I accomplished a lot of goals. And a lot of change happened in my formerly unchanging life.
I turned 18 years old on May 7, 2016. It was awesome to finally be a legal adult. I have always felt so much older than my age. Mostly because I needed to be responsible for a large amount of things, whatvwith my mom being sick a lot.
I graduated high school. The whole graduation ceremony was boring. Well, the valedictorian and salutatorian speeches were funny. The salutatorian did a rap parody of some rapper’s song (I think it was Drake) and it was hilarious. The valedictorian had a very meaningful speech. Unfortunately, I remember very little of what he said. I graduated May 27, 2016. It was nice to be ready to start college.
Last summer I started my first job. As an electrician’s apprentice. It was with a small company which had done work on my mom’s electric in the past. The owner of the company, my boss, was a very nice middle-aged man. He was actually a bit like the father I never truly had.Which was nice.
I worked as an electrician’s apprentice for almost two months. I loved every minute of it. There was always something new and interesting to do, everyday that I worked. Sadly, I was unable to keep the job because my employer became in debt and had to let some of his employees go. I was sad to lose the job, but I hoped to find an even better one.
The job I found next involved working in the healthcare industry. I care for mentally and physically disabled people. I don’t particularly like the job, but hey, it’s money to enable my mom and I live. I hope to find a new job in the electronics industry. I love working with computers.
Fall 2016, August 24 to be exact, I started classes at my local community college. I am going for an associates in automotive technology. I’m basically a glorified car mechanic. Last semester, I had a math class, two different writing classes, and an automotive class. The writing classes were fun. I learned a great deal about effective essay writing from the first class, and I learned how to clearly and concisely write non-fiction, or “technical”, writing, which was not something I ever thought I would need to be good at. Wow, have those writing classes paid off.
The math class which I took last semester was interesting. The teacher wasn’t the best, but I really like math, so I still did well in it. The afore-mentioned automotive class was fascinating. I learned all sorts of interesting thing about cars, which I never knew before. I also learned how to change the oil in my car, how to operate the vehicle lift, and how to change the disk brakes on one of the other guys’ car. All told, I highly enjoyed last semester’s classes, and am excited to take this semester’s.
I started looking for a car as soon as I earned my drivers license, which was June, 2016. I looked in the papers and any time I noticed a car advertised for sale on the side of the road, I checked it out. While I was looking for my own car, I drove my dad’s van where ever I needed to go. June became mid September, and I had still not found a car. Until I noticed a beautiful, white, 1992 Cadillac Sedan DeVille.
Now, let me explain why older model Cadillacs are special to me. All the time I remember, growing up, until about age 12, my mom had this gold 1988 Caddy Sedan DeVille, and I always loved the thing. It had all this cool electronic stuff on the dash, and such roomy leather seats, and a huge trunk, and I just thought it was awesome. So, naturally, I was quite sad when the car finally broke down and became undriveable.
My mom bought a 2003 Dodge Durango, after this, and, while it is a great SUV, it never was the same as that Cadillac.
So, I found this awesome Cadillac, and I wasn’t able to pass it up. I bought it within a week of discovering it. I only paid $1200 for it, too. Sweet!
And so, I have done a lot of things this past year. I got a job, a car, and started a college education. I have started saving 10% of my income toward future college education. And, most importantly, I have discovered my transgender identity. I have been able to do a lot. Yay.
On to my 2017 goals:
To save $6,000 toward either transitioning toward my male identity (getting the surgeries and starting testosterone shots, etc.), or toward my future college education.
To gain 10 lbs of muscle mass.
To read at least 50 books.
To have 200 followers to by blog.
To create a YouTube channel and upload at least 20 videos to it.
To make straight A’s in all my classes.
To start testosterone hormone replacement therapy.
To find a job I really love.
To learn to play the drums.
To take up fencing again.
To write 400 blog posts.
And, that about covers my goals for this year.
What are you goals? Share in the comment section, below.
See ya’ next blog. 🙂
I always felt different. Since age eight I disliked my mom’s pseudo-Jewish religion, being homeschooled, wearing hand-me-down clothes, not having normal parents, our family, consisting of my mom, myself, and 20-odd cats, living in a mobile home which often needed repairs and living off the charity of our friends and church.
It was a tough life. There were good things about it. I learned to like school. I learned to work hard and be responsible and not complain. I learned to accept challenges.
But I also felt like a freak of nature. From age 8 onward, I would look at other families with kids, families of different races from mine, families with more than one child, and I would wonder what it would be like to be one of them. And then I would wonder what made me. Why was I born a girl and in my particular family? And then I would wish I were a boy and that I had a different family.
At age 10, I learned to clean the house, and wash the dishes, and take care of things. My mom started having mini-heart attacks on a regular basis. She doesn’t like hospitals or doctors, so she never went to one. I had to take care of her. And I became very afraid she would die.
Around age 12 was when things began to change a great deal. Because of a big mess with the septic system at our house, my mom and I began staying at my dad’s house. They fought all the time, and I really hated it. I started thinking about things which I had seen about my mom’s personality, about how she spanked me a lot, about how she threatened me, sometimes. About how I hated the work I had to do to take care of our house. I wanted to live with my dad. I wanted to go to public school. I wanted to be able to do the things I liked to do, like read and write and draw and eat all the sweets I wanted, and to watch TV. I didn’t want to be a part of my mom’s religion, anymore. I said that I wanted my mom to die because I became afraid of her.
So I lived with my dad for two months. My mom and dad divorced. I realized how much I missed my mom and how insecure I was.
I went to public school and loved the classes and teachers, but hated the kids. I kept to myself and enjoyed my books and studies. I hated the group projects. I loved PE because then I could be competitive. I hated being pitted against the guys in girl-versus-boy competitions. I always played with the boys on the playground.
But then my mom got custody rights, so I lived back with her. I told her I was wrong about everything I’d said about her and I stopped going to public school. I pretended to be all my characters. I stopped trying to figure myself out. I started being very girly and religious and trying to do all the “right” things. I really had no clue who I was or what I wanted to be. I had always said I wanted to grow up and have my own place and be a rock star and go to college and be a scientist. I didn’t have the internet or know how to use a computer so I couldn’t learn about who I was or wanted to be.
At age fourteen I went to a summer camp in Missouri, where I met my best friend. She was a writer, a science nerd, loved to watch sci-fi and all the cool shows and movies, and was very progressive and liberal minded. I found her and her ideas awesome and I wanted to be just like her. My mom thought she looked like a boy and that she must have terrible parents because of her strange ideas.
The fall after that summer camp I started learning how to use the computers at the library, and I took up fencing after having seen my new best friend’s skill at the sport.
It was awesome. Fencing was something I really enjoyed and was able to get pretty good at. Computers became my obsession, and a few months after first learning how they work and how to type, I secretly set up my first email address and facebook account. I used fake names and ages for both and started talking to my cool best friend. I never let my mom know what I was doing. I felt like the ultimate super spy. It was great.
I learned of my love for music at age 12, after my dad gave me a pocket radio. I learned how much I loved hip-hop, pop, and rock. At age 15, I became obsessed with music. My dad had given me a video camera for my 14th birthday. The camera he gave me for my 12th birthday, which I loved and learned to take great pictures on, had been stolen at the park when I was 13, so my dad thought I needed a new one. I used my new video recorder to record the music I loved through my dad’s car speakers so I could listen to it later. Then I found out I could, using headphones with the volume turned loud, record music off of youtube online. So I started making lists of the songs I liked by their lyrics, then finding them online and recording them.
About age 15, I started three things. I started becoming depressed and generally unhappy with my mom’s treatment of me, I started using all that music I had recorded on my video camera to dance to in stores when I went there to shop for my mom (I am quite good at dancing and I felt so free while doing it, so I thought I could achieve fame by dancing in public), and I started writing to my cool best friend about how helpless and futureless I felt.
I loved doing the dancing. I had so many people cheer me on and record me. I was even kicked out of Walmart a few times for doing it. But it was fulfilling. I only did it for a year, before I realized the possible negative consequences of my public displays.
The depression only got worse as time went on. I felt I had lost my identity. I thought it was because my whole personality was based on my characters imaginary ones and what my mom wanted me to be.
I talked to my best friend about my feelings. She sent me books and other things so I could begin learning all the science, technology, and culture things which I had missed out on, living with my mom. This really helped.
At age 16, I ran away from home and went to live with my dad. I got a computer and the internet, and an mp3 player to put all my music one. I started making dance videos and put them on youtube. They received no views, so I took them down. After two months of living with my dad, where we fought constantly, I went to live with my best friend’s family in St Louis.
I had a lot of fun, took several trips, flew for the first time, first discovered the word “transgender”, and discovered a lot of things about myself while living with my best friend’s family. I also went to a private school for ninth grade and learned a lot of things about dealing with other people.
However, I was still depressed and began to miss home, so in August 2015, I came back home to Texas.
I got a doctor and dentist, took antidepressants for a few months, and went to a counselor. I was then finally able to get back to feeling normal, being creative, and thinking about my future. I lived with my dad for a year.
I also started public high school in August 2015. I was able to complete three years of school in only one. I graduated with a 95.2 GPA. I made some friends, showed off my dance skills, and really enjoyed my classes, to the amazement of all my teachers.
And, in August 2015, I started conducting massive amounts of research into transgender lives and experiences, into the science behind trans people’s identities, and into how to transition into a female-to-male transguy. I started wearing more male-associated clothes, I kept my hair short, and I began expressing myself with much more confidence. I didn’t come out as trans to myself until January 2016. I came out to my dad and a few of my friends in March 2016. I came out on Facebook, in August 2016.
This is most of my story. More about this past year, my goals for 2017, and my personal hobbies and interests, next blog.
See you then.