“When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” -Sherlock Holmes
Science, whether it be physics or politics is about having an idea, a supposition, if you will, and then experimenting with the supposition, not to prove it true, but to try to prove it false. It only becomes viable after you have exhausted all the possibilities to prove it false. What makes it a true scientific inquiry is not taking the early results as an indication that the supposition will always work in any situation.
Why I brought this up is that the following recounting of the months and weeks leading up to my declaration to stop living and be seen as a man has a quality of both a scientific inquiry and surreal experience to finally bring me to the conclusion that I must transition now at all costs. This is the first time I have been able to adequately cover all of the basis, excuse my pun, that finally allowed me to solve a riddle that had been plaguing me almost my whole life.
Since I was a teenager, I would secretly, when I thought no one else was looking, to dress up in women’s lingerie and sometimes other women’s clothing to act out a fantasy of being the archetypal “Bond” girl. Sometimes I would dress up to do household chores or to take on the energy of the feminine side of me to create my art. Always in the back of my mind when I did that was that James Bond would find me, sweep me of my feet and take me into bed to ravish me. While I aroused myself, I would image my penis to be a vagina instead. I believed it to be a sexual fetish, when I found the term in a book or magazine article to describe what I was doing. Sometimes either my wife would come home unexpectedly and I would drop what I was doing, dash into my bedroom, and change back into the man she expected to see. There were many a close call where I was terrified that she might catch me literally, with my pants down, just like some of the dreams I had which began while I was in Junior high School and continued throughout my life up until the present.
Meanwhile,I kept my little secret for over half a century, through high school, college and even my wife for thirty-one of those years. It was only when computer technology and the world wide web made it possible for me to have virtually instantaneous access to just about everything that, one day, somewhere in the fall of 2011, I decided to do a Google search because I had heard that there was new data about my secret practice, which I had presumed to be a sexual fetish, deviant behavior, if you will. At the time, I was in the process of convalescence and rehabilitation after bi-lateral hip replacement surgery that summer, I found terms including transvestic fetishism which explained some of my obsession but not all of it. That led to the term “transgender” and all of a sudden I began recalling dreams and memories which seem to point to a common theme, that I had always believed I should have been a girl.
You can’t imagine my surprise at discovering that I was not alone in my feeling like an alien, not man or woman. I didn’t learn about non-binary gender non-conformism or the gender spectrum until after I began transition and made the study of gender and sex my vocation in order to learn as much as I could about recent thinking on the subject.
I was living, at the time, in a house of a fellow brother in the Mankind Project™. After 31 years of marriage, I had been separated from my wife since the previous February, which is a long story in itself, so I won’t get into it here. My MKP brother and I both had already been in the process of rethinking our sexuality and I had spoken about my thoughts about wnating to live as a woman. I asked him if he wouldn’t mind if I dressed up in some women’s clothing while in the house which I had bought at a thrift shop,. He consented. I began to surrealistically experience that there were two conflicting desires going on, to dress in women’s clothing and then back to men’s clothing and back and forth at random times during the day.
I became so confused that I didn’t know how to dress to leave the house, much less my room. I had a sense that there were two spirits in me competing for time in my body, mind and heart, one male, one female. I was afraid that when I was out that the other entity would want to dominate. I researched the topic of “two-spirited people” in native American traditions to possibly explain what was happening to me. The definitions didn’t seem to fit exactly. I asked the female spirit if she had a name and sat in the silence to wait for a reply. Then I heard a voice whispering in my left ear “I am Deanna.”
I looked up online to find meanings and origins for the name. There were references to Diana, the Roman Goddess of the Hunt and the Moon. The Greek name for her was Artemis. In Great Britain, where my paternal ancestry originated, it meant “Girl from the valley.” I was satisfied and let the name sink in. The battle for supremacy of my body mind and heart continued, I talked about my experience in my men’s group, which met at the house where I was residing. Thanksgiving was approaching and some of the men who had no other plans joined us for a Thanksgiving dinner and one man was bringing his girlfriend and her mother. I had debated whether to dress as Deanna or David and reluctantly chose the latter. Instead I scoured the bathroom I was using until it was spotless and added some additional things that women would appreciate like scented soap, a box of tissues and hand towels in a little basket on the sink/vanity, I then announced that my bathroom would be the ladies only bathroom, which secretly included myself. When I told the mother she confided to me “You mean it is actually clean.”
The dinner proceeded and after dinner the man who brought female guests began a discussion that escalated into a testosterone induced shouting match, which included the mother, so I took a walk outside for I don’t know how long and when I returned the dinner party was breaking up so everyone could go home.
Days passed and while in bed early on the Sunday morning after Thanksgiving, at about 3 AM, I must have touched myself in a way that my body convulsed several times and I believed I was experiencing a full body orgasm. Looking back on it now, I believe that it was the emergence of the being that had been trying to get out for nearly sixty-two years.
After my convulsions had quieted down and I got my wits together, I knew that the man I had pretended to be for over sixty-two years was gone and that Deanna had full charge of my mind, body, heart and soul.
I, Deanna, was here to stay and I wasn’t going anywhere.