The Mirror Makes No Sense

   Ok, so it didn’t quite happen like that, obviously I couldn’t talk then, for crying out loud, I didn’t know what a boy or a girl was, infants in general know no gender. It’s a shame that genitals are the leading factor for the marker on your drivers license. Yes, I was given a female name, dressed, and raised as a girl, but to tell you the truth, I never really felt like one. I hated the dresses, the dolls, all that girly stuff. It was a nightmare, a never ending one. Until 38 years later, I discovered what was wrong with me, I had gender disphoria. So you are asking yourself what is that? Well, here goes: gender disphoria in short is when you mind and body do not match. You see yourself as the opposite sex from the reflection in the mirror.

   Hence, the mirror makes no sense. No, were not crazy, demented or confused. We don’t need the exorcist, nor a shrink. This is a real disorder, a birth defect. Trust me, it sucks. How would you like to get up in the morning, look down at your privates and oops, they were gone. There you are, all your life thinking you were a male, every breath, every beat of your heart is thumping "I am a man". Yet, you woke up one morning you guessed it, with a vagina, getting clearer? As hard as it is to understand, we’re not freaks. We are regular human beings with a chromosome problem. Mother nature played an awful trick on us, or she must have had too much to drink the night before. Either way, its no picnic. This condition is world wide, there are over 2 million transsexual males and females in the world and the numbers are climbing. Why haven’t you heard about this before? Because society looks down on people like us, almost like the plague. They think we are freaks, defiantly behaved individuals, that have nothing else better to do than to change their sex. They keep us underground, not providing much needed information and treatment to help us integrate in to society. Religion plays a major role in our isolation, by preaching hateful remarks and alienating us from our community. Instead of embracing Gods creation, and understanding the logistics of our disease.

   As a child I could never understand why I could not urinate standing up like my father. "Ok, lets try this again, bring the pants down grab my privates and aim. Oh -oh, I did it again, piss kept dripping down my leg. Why cant I get it inside the toilet? I must ask dad, how he does it." To my disappointment, after many years, I figured out I won’t ever get it right, I had the wrong equipment. A child’s mind is so complex, we have ways of make believing till it becomes true in our minds. Yet grown ups can be so cruel, and with little compassion and understanding. " Maritza, you are not a boy, you are a girl, stop acting like one". Mother yelled for the hundredth time. Haydee was a beautiful woman, proud and coy. Her skin was ivory soft, her eyes were green and vibrant with a sad look that overshadowed her soul. All her life she dreamed about having a girl, she wanted a best friend, a confidant. So, obviously I was a disappointment to her from the very start. She went out of her way to make me look and act like a girl. Mother had special dresses made for me, they were extremely girly with all the ruffles and bows. I wanted to wear pants and shorts, and of coarse, no top. I wanted to bare my chest, like my dad. The dolls she gave me, quickly became cars. As I moved them across the table. I would envy my neighbors, the boys across the way, who got to play, and rough it, as I could only dream about. When playing house, I always wanted to play the man, every role had to be masculine. No ballerina or nurse for me, I had to be a fireman or a doctor. The disphoria hunted my every being. I could never quite understand why my body was different from the boys, but my mother quickly reminded me, that I was born a girl. I was born in Havana Cuba, the communist regime was going strong. We struggled like everyone else did, barely having enough to eat. However, my father may have had many shortcomings, but one of his greatest virtues, was the ability to provide food on the table. They both wanted the best for their baby "girl". " Maritza, don't get dirty, that's a brand new dress you have on, you know girls don't play that way." Mother was such a nag, God forbid I would have any fun. Although Castro stripped every thing we owned, my parents still managed to keep some dignity and pride in our home. Mother was very clean, in excess it seemed. Things had to be kept neat and tidy, no questions asked. This was her way of controlling our world. Although my memories are vague, I do remember my home, my neighborhood, and some distinctive faces. The morning we were getting ready to leave Cuba is very vivid in my mind.