* Flashback to June, 2018 *

This post is especially hard for me to write. As someone who has been working in emergency medicine for 25 years, I’ve developed a…let’s just call it a “less than flattering” view of people who commit suicide. I’m sorry, I can’t help it. I’ve done CPR too many times. I’ve comforted a screaming mother too many times. And I’ve definitely shoved a stomach tube down someone’s mouth way too many times so we could try to pump out the pills before they could be digested and possibly kill the host. I thought they were cowards, taking the easy way out. Until now.

My egg had indeed cracked. I see the significance of that statement now. I’ve described this as having a dam that had been holding back the water for forty years, and now a crack had developed. The water was coming, the crack was getting bigger, and any moment now, the shit was certainly going to hit the fan.

I had never truly experienced anxiety before, at least not the kind of anxiety that was life changing, crippling, and debilitating. Add to that the depression that seems to go hand in hand with the anxiety. Wow…where the hell had this anger and rage come from?

It is amazing how the simplest things that most people can just simply laugh off were now catastrophic. I’ll try to keep it short (too late?) with one example, which unfortunately wasn’t an isolated incident. My short term memory has always been horrible. I would often remind myself on my way out the door to grab my sunglasses, then I’d walk right by them and not realize it until 10 minutes down the road when the sun hits my face. In the past, I’d just blow it off…not anymore.

“You’re a f***ing idiot! How could you be so stupid?!” I’m screaming this at the windshield as if the idiot looking back from the rear view mirror had some sort of explanation, or at least would be able to say, “they’re in the center console, dumbass!” No such luck. This was quickly followed by anger, and RAGE. Rage so intense that I would pull over into a parking lot, scream at my stupidity and half-mindedness, pounding the steering wheel of my truck, yelling until my throat hurt. It sometimes took me 5-10 minutes to calm down enough to pull back on the road, but then I’d spend the rest of the day obsessing over my ineptitude.

My poor children. I have two wonderful loving boys, who were 9 and 10 when I was going through this, and my 10 year old has Asperger’s. I was such an ASS! I would yell at them with the kind of volume and timbre that would make a child’s joints ache. It still pains me to remember how I would leave my fragile 9 year old wailing after I’d dished out a verbal lashing that even R. Lee Ermey would think was too much. Especially when I wasn’t even yelling because my son needed it. I was yelling because I needed it, and he was an innocent victim. Even now, I cringe and get emotional when I remember the sound of his cry. It was the sound of pain, pain that I inflicted, and still haven’t forgiven myself for.

How the hell do you stop something when you’re not completely sure what started it? What’s the answer? Is dying the only answer? Is a bullet the only way to stop this torture? I couldn’t believe the thought had even emerged, but there it was. For the first time in my life, I actually contemplated suicide as an option. I can’t be transgender. I can’t put my family through this. My wife would be better off not seeing her husband become her wife. My children need their dad, my parents need their son, my brother needs his brother. If I can’t be those things for them, then what good am I? Right? RIGHT???

Thank God for my family. Thank God for my friends, and the friends I call family. If not for the love I have for them, and the love they have for me, the thought of suicide as an answer might have lasted longer than the few seconds that it did. By the end of the week, I had spoken with 3 different therapists over the phone, and was on my way to see the one I felt the strongest connection with. She literally saved my life, even though she told me something I wasn’t sure I was ready to face. I finally accepted what I’ve known to be true ever since the day I was so jealous of another girl’s dress in Kindergarten. I’m a Transgender Woman. As soon as she started to refer to me with she/her pronouns, I lit up. It felt so good, and so right!

If you ever feel like suicide is the answer, it isn’t!! Please contact one of the following organizations if you feel there is nowhere else to turn.

Trans Lifeline is a national trans-led 501(c)(3) organization dedicated to improving the quality of trans lives by responding to the critical needs of our community with direct service, material support, advocacy, and education. Our vision is to fight the epidemic of trans suicide and improve overall life-outcomes of trans people by facilitating justice-oriented, collective community aid.
US: 877-565-8860
Canada: 877-330-6366

The Trevor Project is the leading national organization providing crisis intervention and suicide prevention services to lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer & questioning (LGBTQ) young people under 25.
1-866-488-7386

* Flashback to May 7, 2018 *
“My egg cracked” …What?

I’d never heard of that before I started reading trans posts on Reddit. It made sense though, the more I thought about it. Now, I’m not sure if this was the day it actually “cracked”, but it was a pretty amazing experience.

It was the second year in a row that my wife and I went to the New Orleans JazzFest. If you’re a Cajun food and all around music lover, I highly recommend it. Sunday morning, I was putting her on a plane to fly back home, while I was staying until the end of the week for an IT conference, and had a couple days to do my own thing in between. As we’re walking past the gay clubs doing drag shows, she makes the comment, “If you’re going out tomorrow night, please be careful,” then looking at me, says, “I’m not stupid, I know you brought your stuff with you.”

Holy shit…she really had me pegged. Not only that, she pretty much gave me permission to turn it loose and have fun! Woohoo!

I think she expected me to hit the drag shows and what-not. But, that actually has never really been my thing. I don’t feel comfortable in that type of setting. All I’ve ever really wanted to do was fit in, blend in, be normal, feel normal. I took a chance, got completely transformed, and went SHOPPING! Such an exciting day! I stopped for dinner (I don’t remember where), went to a movie, and went back to my Airbnb for a few glasses of wine before crashing for the night.

The next day…and I’ve always wanted to say this…I got up, put on my makeup and something pretty, and got ready for my day. Wow, this was turning out to be pretty amazing. I’ve never gone to bed as a woman, woken up that way, and then spent the whole next day doing the same. I’ve never in my life experienced this kind of happiness and nervous excitement. It was time to pack up the Airbnb, because the next 3 nights would be spent in a hotel closer to the conference center.

But first, I had one more day to myself…as myself. So, it was time for my favorite breakfast spot in NOLA, The Ruby Slipper! Dear God, this is breakfast from Heaven washed down with a couple Bloody Mary’s. With some liquid courage in my tank, it was time for something I had planned for a while. I was spending the entire day at the National WWII Museum. Holy Crap, that place is AMAZING! If you’re even close to being a WWII history buff, that museum is a must see. It was also one of the greatest days of my life. I heard Ma’am and Miss the entire day, and even had doors held open for me. I was on cloud nine!!

As the day started to wind down, I knew it was time for me to, as well. But first, I had to navigate the hotel lobby. Like I said, I’m here for an IT conference, and there were quite a few people there who I know professionally. And while I’m a day early for the conference, I know for a fact there were others arriving too. So, I walked as “normal” as I could muster up to the desk, presented my corporate credit card and driver’s license, and put on my prettiest smile. The young lady looked at my cards, then at her monitor, smiled wide and said, “Yes ma’am, I’ve got you right here Mrs. _____, welcome to New Orleans! Up to my room, I went!

Holy shit…what a day! Time to wrap it up and get some dinner at a place I knew on Chartres St., then head back, change back to boy-mode, and drown my sorrows in a few glasses of good whiskey. I always hate changing back…crawling back into that closet that has been my home since I was so young. I had no idea at the time just how much was going to change over the next year. For now, though, such wonderful memories.

Wow, so here we are. The last thing I ever thought I’d be doing is writing a blog! My therapist will be so proud, after finally giving up on me journaling my thoughts. This will just have to suffice. Welcome to my journey, I do hope you hang around and find some inspiration or clarity amongst my rambling; or maybe some entertainment as well, as I am somewhat known for my anecdotes and story telling. I’ve never thought of myself as an inspiring person, though. But, I guess many of the people I’ve been following since this all came crashing down about a year ago never thought they would be my inspiration either. It’s been a tough road worth traveling, as I transition into Becoming Renee.

So, I guess introductions are in order…I’m Renee (duh?), and I’m a 46 year old transgender female living somewhere in Texas. I have a wife who I love dearly, two young sons, two older daughters, and a granddaughter.

No, life isn’t all rainbows and unicorn farts, especially when you have a wife who never intended on having a wife of her own, and family who has always known you by a different name and gender. Living in a state with their time machine still stuck in reverse doesn’t make life easier either. But, that may be remedied soon as you’ll see eventually.

I’m going to take a different approach as I start this timeline. It’s now May 7th, 2019, but part of the catalyst to what the last year has become happened about a year ago. So for my next few posts, I’ll start off with the approximate date the different thoughts and actions took place in order to establish a timeline. In Transgender lingo, it’s when my “egg cracked”. Eventually, after I shed a few tears gong back over some of this, I’ll circle back around to the present, and we can keep on keepin’ on.

Cheers, y’all!