The Journey from Then to When

A look at who I was, who I am, and who I hope to be

Content Warning: talk of homophobia, transphobia, fat-phobia, body image, suicide, addiction, gangs, mental illness, sexual trauma, and abuse.

More than just a Bridge

My art therapy assignment this week was to paint a bridge with what we are leaving on the left, where we are heading on the right, and what obstacles we’ve encountered along the way under the bridge. The above painting is what I created. It’s a mixed media piece on canvas with acrylics, cold wax, magnetic poetry, and old Grape Dutch blunt holders I’ve held onto since 2007 with the intention of using them in my art someday, but haven’t until now.

It’s supposed to somewhat represent the Zakim Bridge in Boston, which often has purple beams of light at night. Sometimes they change the colors, but I usually see purple. The Bunker Hill Memorial is right behind the bridge and the bridge is shaped to look like it, which is what that middle part is.

Winter Hill in Somerville would be on the left if that were the actual Zakim Bridge. I spent years there in my late-20s through mid-30s hanging out with low-level gangsters. Yes, that is the same Winter Hill that the Winter Hill Gang is named after. I don’t know Whitey Bulger or even any good gossip, but I do have a lot of distant connections to the gangs of Boston. Back in 2007, I was in my early transition and I almost joined a gang in Winter Hill. I was hanging out with them all the time because they had weed and were the only connections I had to get it from.

Between starting testosterone, losing most of my support system, smoking an insane amount of weed, and drinking myself into blackouts, I was a mess.

I originally met a couple of them in The Pit in Harvard Square when I was buying weed off them. They were artists and rappers and I was too. I had just started rapping and didn’t have any friends who were into hip hop the way I was, so I thought I hit the jackpot to meet a crew of creative and talented weed dealing friends. We had a lot of fun together and we always smoked Grape Dutch blunts, but I got myself in over my head. Between starting testosterone, losing most of my support system, smoking an insane amount of weed, and drinking myself into blackouts, I was a mess. I lost touch with everything that grounded me and kept me connected to society. Add in the fact that I was hanging out with criminals who were literally at war with other gangs all over Boston, and I was drowning in legitimate paranoia which drove me to madness. I had two full-blown psychosis breakdowns where I thought I was the Godchild, sent to save the world, and I was petrified that I’d fail. In full disclosure, I still wonder about it a lot. I’ve never been fully convinced that it’s all just a delusion. My book, The Godchild: My So-Called Delusions (external link to Amazon page), is about that time in my life and the events that led me to believe I was in the middle of a giant conspiracy. It’s a memoir, but I published it as fiction because there are too many things that might just be my mind playing tricks on me and I don’t wanna be called a liar. It’s all true as to how I remember it though, and I don’t think I’m that far gone. It’s also a psychological thriller and the first book in an already written (but not yet published) trilogy, so I figured a fiction genre might make more sense for it.

I guess I’d say that the bridge I painted is supposed to show that I’ve left those old friends and that era of my life and am heading towards “The Garden” which is both symbolic of The Boston Garden and the garden of heaven or something peaceful like that. It’s the idea of happiness. There’s a fallen cigar case to the left of the Bunker Hill Memorial symbolizing several friends who died, either in the streets from violence or from addictions. On the right, they are part of what’s holding up the bridge. This is symbolic of how weed has basically saved my life as a medical treatment. I haven’t been suicidal since I started smoking it daily. It saved my life by making me not hate being in this world so much. Once it was legalized, I was able to break free from my gangster friends and I escaped the life I was so close to. Now I keep to myself and I’m incredibly picky about who I’ll allow into my life and into my home and personal space in general.

Now I keep to myself and I’m incredibly picky about who I’ll allow into my life and into my home and personal space in general.

Most of my old friends were transphobic, misogynistic, and racist. They put their anger and hatred into my brain even though I’m not like them at all, at least in those ways, but the things they said still come into my brain all the time and it makes me feel shitty to even have their voices there, saying things I’d never say. This past year those fucked up voices of my old friends have become louder and louder and harder to ignore. I had to stop rapping because I’m afraid I’m gonna lose control and say a bunch of fucked up things, like I have Tourettes, and then I’ll get canceled just as I’m finally starting to get somewhere. I guess, technically, it’s a form of harm-OCD. The things I’m afraid of saying would not only get me canceled, but they would hurt other people too, and that’s just not me. I hate hurting people. Even if I found out I hurt an enemy, I’d probably feel bad, not that I have many enemies, at least that I know of.

I do know a lot of people hate me based on things they’ve heard from my abusers, but most people who know me well enough to actually really know me, know I’m one of the easiest people to get along with. I’m open-minded, understanding, considerate, generous, funny in a non-offensive way, honest, kind, etc. I didn’t always give myself credit for it though. I gave my gangster friends more credit and more love than I gave myself, but I eventually moved forward. I came to know myself through my spirit and inner child who I let out through my art. I began to realize that I needed to spoil that part of myself and treat myself like I’d treat a child if I ever had one. There was a time when I wanted children, but I’m over it and I take care of my inner child instead. Doing that has taken me further into the city, metaphorically, and into the world of art where I’m now a known artist in the Boston art scene. It’s been a wild ride.

More than just Gender

Speaking of wild rides, my gender journey has also been rather interesting. I don’t know that I was even thinking about that part of my journey when I did the painting, except for maybe what’s under the bridge and what I’ve been through, but I wanted to share more about this as well.

I was born intersex in 1978 and was operated on at birth. I was assigned and raised female even though I was basically a little boy until I began puberty at eight years old and by middle school, I was a sexually active straight girl from all anyone could tell. Due to my early puberty but still being far too young to know better, I experienced a lot of traumatic shit that has stayed with me forever.

I was assigned and raised female even though I was basically a little boy…

I realized I might be bisexual at age 15, and by 17, I’d decided that I was a lesbian and came out to my parents, which didn’t go well. I wanted to be friends with boys and date girls. I thought that being friends with guys was “normal for a lesbian” and I didn’t even consider that it might be because I was male. I only knew of two trans people back then: a trans man, and a trans woman who were college-aged kids my older friends knew, but I didn’t really know them well. I never considered I might be trans though. I did, however, feel competitive with men. Most of the people I looked up to and tried to dress and act like were male, but transgender existence just wasn’t something I knew enough about to connect with. It wasn’t until I began looking for surgeons to perform a major breast reduction that I found the FTM community. I’d spoken to a surgeon who charged me almost a thousand dollars just to meet with me and tell me that the smallest they could make me was a D cup. I wanted my chest removed entirely and they told me, “No way. That’s crazy. You’ll regret it.”

I was devastated because I’d been dreaming of having the surgery ever since I was about eleven years old and was told I had the biggest boobs in town. My nickname in sixth grade was E.L.B. for Extra Large Boobs and even my friends called me that. I felt like that’s all I was to people and it was all they would ever see. By my early 20s, I was wearing GGG cup bras which were still far too small but it was the largest I could get.

I stumbled upon the FTM community when looking into top surgery and I found all these people binding their chests and having double mastectomies after being diagnosed with Gender Identity Disorder. I wondered if I might have that too. I never felt like a regular girl but I wasn’t ready to go there yet. It wasn’t until I was 23 years old, right after 9/11/01 (my 23rd birthday) that I was tested for PCOS. I was in and out of the psych ward with addictions and suicidal thoughts and I had a counselor who had PCOS. She thought I may have it too, due to my weight gain, mood swings, and hair growth on my face.

I felt ugly as a woman, like no one would ever wanna be with a fat, hairy, plain-looking person with giant sagging boobs.

I was actually getting laser treatment to try to remove the hair from my face. I felt ugly as a woman, like no one would ever wanna be with a fat, hairy, plain-looking person with giant sagging boobs. I had no problem getting boyfriends in middle school and early high school but I’d gained a hundred pounds from Lithium and depression when I was sixteen and people were cruel. It wasn’t easy to find someone who’d overlook my appearance. Many people told me, “Sorry, but you’re just too fat for me.” I was miserable, lonely, suicidal, and just a total mess. I met a very sick woman in the psych ward around the time I was in and out of there and we fell in love and had one of the most toxic relationships in the history of the world.

I got tested for PCOS and it turned out I didn’t have it. I was told I was born with an intersex condition called Congenital Adrenal Hyperplasia. They said I was most likely born with a micro-penis that was removed at birth. It was after finding out that I was born with a penis and male chromosomes that I decided to transition to male.

More than just Surgery

Transition wasn’t easy. I had a therapist promise to write me a letter to diagnose me and recommend me for top surgery, but after I’d already put down a thousand dollars towards the surgery, my therapist took back her promise, saying I wasn’t ready. I left her and almost killed myself. One of the social workers on the psych ward felt bad for me and he knew I was gonna kill myself if I couldn’t have the surgery. I felt I couldn’t live while drowning under my giant chest. No one ever saw me for me. They just saw boobs and I knew that it was what I needed to start to feel better. The social worker understood what I was saying to him. He was somehow able, as a straight, cis man, to consider where I was coming from and he had empathy, which I find so rare, even now, but especially then, 17 or 18 years ago.

The social worker wrote me a letter even though he wasn’t technically qualified, and my surgeon in Maryland accepted it. I flew out to Maryland and had top surgery. She said I was one of the biggest chests she’d ever seen. She removed 16 pounds from me and I woke up with the biggest smile on my face that I’ve ever had. Sure, it was partly the drugs, but I was happy, and there has not been a single moment when I’ve wished I hadn’t done it. I’m still completely happy with my decision nearly two decades later. I do have one kinda funky-looking nipple, but I don’t care. I love it in comparison to what was there before.

She removed 16 pounds from me and I woke up with the biggest smile on my face that I’ve ever had.

My relationship with my wife, who I met in the psych ward, came to a dramatic train wreck of an ending. I spent the year after she left drunk and suicidal, but I eventually began moving in the right direction. One thing I knew was that I didn’t want another romantic relationship for a very long time. In fact, I ended up going maybe twelve years without a relationship. I had friends that were in and out of my life and they were enough relationship for me. I didn’t want more until things came to their dramatic ending with them too, and I thought maybe I should start over and look for a partner.

More than just a Date

It had been so long since I dated anyone that I didn’t know what I wanted. I began by looking for monogamous relationships with women, but after trying relationships with three different women (one at a time), I was quite sure that I was actually more interested in men.

I’d been living as a trans man since before my wife left me and I was hanging out with those gangster friends I mentioned, which, of course, wasn’t the most queer-friendly environment. Several of them were gay on the down-low, but they weren’t out. They had internalized homophobia and honestly, it spread to me too. I was afraid for the longest time that even though I was out as being trans, my friends would stop respecting me as a man if they knew I had sexual feelings for men. Maybe I was also afraid that if I was sexual with any of them, they would start to treat me less like a friend and more like a “side bitch” (as they called women they had sex with but didn’t care about) and that was more or less what happened in the end. Things got romantic with my best friend and he started treating me like trash. I also didn’t wanna have to come out to my family a third time. They didn’t react well when I told them I was a lesbian or when I told them I was a trans man.

Eventually, I started dating men and a couple of them talked me into trying an open, polyamorous relationship, and that is where I’m at now. I was with a local cis man for a few years, but he was kind of shitty to me in a lot of ways. It wasn’t until I met my long-distance trans boyfriend that I realized I was worthy of being treated the way I wanted to be treated and that there were indeed people out there capable of loving me right. We’ve been together almost five years, and then this past September, I asked out a trans/non-binary friend that I’ve known for about 25 years online. I realized I liked them and that I thought we’d treat one another the way we deserved to be treated. It’s going well.

It wasn’t until I met my long-distance trans boyfriend that I realized I was worthy of being treated the way I wanted to be treated…

Ever since dating the cis man and having a couple of awkward and triggering sexual encounters, I’ve decided that for now, I am happy being asexual. I do not crave or even usually enjoy sex with other people. I know how I work and how to get that sexual source of pleasure, and I’d rather do it alone. My relationships are platonic and in a lot of ways are more like friendships, but that’s what I want right now.

As for my future, I feel I’ll become more of what I’m meant to be, and I now see myself as a non-binary trans man. I still feel more male than female, but the part of me that experienced so many female-type experiences will never go away, it’s a big part of what made me who I am. After writing my books, which have gone deeply into my past, I no longer feel like just a man, but a non-binary trans man. I don’t think I’ll change my name from Jymi or my pronouns from he/him, although I don’t mind being called they/them if people don’t know I’m a he/him, but I prefer he/him. I definitely don’t do well with she/her, nor do I like being called “a she/he” like my former therapist just called me before I dumped her ass for more than just that.

I wonder if someday in my future I’ll find someone I feel safe being sexual with, but it’s not a hugely important goal to me right now. I like things the way they are at the moment. I’ll certainly change and evolve if I need to. Nothing has stopped me so far. I live to become what I’m meant to be.

I live to become what I’m meant to be.