First post

Hi. You can call me Susan. I don't know if this is the appropriate venue for me to join because of my age but here I am. I'm seventy years old. I've been married for forty years, have three adult children with spouses and significant others, six grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren. I identify as trans. I live in the closet. I have been diagnosed with major depression, generalized anxiety disorder, and gender identity disorder. I'm retired but in my working life I worked at a state hospital before they closed them all, then I transferred to a different psychiatric hospital when mine closed. Old-style state hospitals took in any and all patients no matter the diagnosis. I worked with any and all disabilities who came through the door. I was licensed as a teacher and taught just about everything from regular academics to toilet training to behavioral control; anything that was needed as it was needed. Sometimes I changed adult diapers and provided primary care. Other times I ducked chairs being thrown at me. Once it was a bookcase. I don't know how many times my nose was broken but my jaw was broken only once. At my second hospital I often worked in a counselor role under the supervision of the clinical director.



I've been depressed all my life but was never diagnosed until my own psychiatric hospitalization when I was in my 40s. I couldn't keep the secrets any longer. I came out to my wife while in the hospital but was too afraid to really address my real issues so it mostly came out as “just” crossdressing. She was initially supportive and even bought me some lingerie but my needs overwhelmed her ability to continue her support. I was referred for evaluation and therapy at a gender program through the medical school of a major university. At that time, thirty-plus years ago, doctors and psychologists controlled everything. Still terrified at actually addressing this, I minimized my responses in the evaluations. I was given a score of 6.8 on the Harry Benjamin Scale and was sent home. Not good enough, apparently, to be bothered with.



Given the level of my depression, I was essentially non-functional but managed to go back to work. Nothing changed and over time I went through a number of therapists. My fear of committing myself to being transgender prevented any real therapy. I eventually returned to the university for therapy, by this time a well-established and well-known transgender program. Things had changed. After several years of group and individual therapy, I developed a comfortable female identity, carried credit cards in my name, and blended into the world exactly as who I was, a quiet, middle-aged, woman. On the advice of a therapist, I came out to a friend, at work, a psychologist. He betrayed my trust and outed me to co-workers. As luck would have it, those other co-workers were all therapists and they were actually supportive. I never shared personal information with my patients; I was very careful with boundaries but I was able to be more out at work than I was at home. The clinical director guided my discussions with management at the hospital about transitioning at work. She also protected me from myself a lot of the time.



I took the name Susan in honor of my lesbian cousin who was brave enough to live openly as a gay woman over fifty years ago. When I came out to her and her life-partner, they both recoiled in horror, told me to not transition, and to think of what it would do to the family. My confidence was shattered. At the same time my wife and I were attempting couples counseling. My wife took the position many of our wives take in this situation. She said no. She said that every time we had gone together to see a therapist she became the bad person, the one who would not accept my “issues” and she refused to be the bad person any longer. I don't blame her.



I'm seeing a new therapist. A very nice person, has a PhD, is licensed, certified, and credentialed but she's almost young enough to be my granddaughter. What can she really know? The obvious decision would have been for us to go our separate ways and build our lives from there. Even though the gender committee at the university had approved hormones and SRS, I couldn't make the break with my wife. We never watched Transparent. We acknowledge the horrible abuses Trump is re-instituting against the LBGTI community but we don't talk about it. I try not to look at the lovely clothes and shoes in department stores when we go shopping even though I really do. I try to not look at models on tv and in magazines or actresses in movies but I always do. I compare myself to them and I want to be them. I hate myself. I can't look in the mirror. I don't dress up. I haven't been Susan since I retired twelve years ago. I have constant chest pains, don't sleep, and I grind my teeth. I think about suicide constantly. I asked my family doctor for a prescription for low-dose estrogen to try and relieve some of my anxiety. He manages my psych meds but said he wasn't comfortable prescribing hormones. He said he'd refer me to an endocrinologist but I knew I couldn't really do that without my wife knowing so I said no. At this point I don't even know if I'm even depressed anymore but I dread getting out of bed each morning. I just feel awful all the time. I feel sick all the time. I hate myself all the time. My wife remains very angry but I love her and I can't leave her. I can't go through a divorce. I can't be who I am. I'm not supported at home. I live a lie and I hate myself. And I'm seventy years old. I don't know what to do.



Thanks for listening.



I'm Susan.

 

Hi, again;

Thanks for your notes and your support. I don't often have the privacy to get here and write but do today. Nice to be out, at least here. I am feeling old and will look at the places you've recommended. Thank you, thank you. And now that I'm here, I don't know what to say. I answered someone else's post a bit ago, about being a writer. I think of myself as a writer and have been lucky enough to get some publications under my belt. I rented a post office box before I came out to anyone and subscribed to a trans magazine called Our Sorority. They're out of business now. It was so long ago that, when I submitted some pieces to them, I copied them to one of those old five inch floppy discs and mailed it to them with no return address or identifying information. I used a phony name. I was really hiding. Months later I was reading my new issue and found my stories and poems in them. I was excited, my first publications anywhere! Last year I saw a call for submissions to another LBGTI-themed publication and sent in two poems. After a very long time, long enough that I don't even know the name of the publication, I received a note from the publisher accepting one poem and rejecting the other. I don't know when it'll come out but it was the first poem I've shared publicly as Susan. Is there a place here to share such stuff? I don't want to force myself on anyone but am happy to share. Ok, enough. Thanks for your notes.

Susan