Very rarely do I like to rant publicly, but this is disturbing for me. I applied to join The National Guard. Something most people, including my friends and family would think is insane. But I know that's where I'm meant to be. I've been searching for my passion for years, and I just have too many. That's why I will (not I want) join the Special Forces and wear the uniform of a Green Beret with honor. I know this is a highly selective and only the best make it into the SF, but I never give up. I find something, and I make it happen. Over 10 years ago, I wore a black hooded sweater everyday for almost a year. In the sun, the heat, the indiana humidity. I was uncomfortable and felt disgusting, but my bodys development was much more disgusting and uncomfortable than 97 degrees and 90% humidity. I got asked why, I always found an excuse. Anything to hide what I was becoming. Later, I chopped off my brown wavy locks, started dressing in clothing that was what I wanted to wear, decided I was not afraid and will not be bullied for holding my girlfriend's habd in the halways. I traded in my baggy sweater for a device called a binder. The goal was to place enough pressure on your upper chest to "hide" my unwanted body parts. It was certainly cooler, i could now wear t shirts, but i was in pain all day. The pressure was uncomfortable, the binder had 3 panels of suppression, add a shirt and youre already at 4 layers. I often had bruises and I had to actively try to get a full lungful of air. A year later, I forever gave up the identity assigned to me at birth when I set out for college. I started the long, deeply personal, and sometimes heart wrenching process of becoming the best version of me. I didn't want to spend the rest of my life hiding. It started with a year of therapy. Being interviewed twice a month to establish my emotional stability and to obtain the super controversial "gender identity disorder." Though I highly propose that how i feel about my gender is not merely a diagnoses nor symptoms of this categorization. It took me 2 years of waiting before receiving the letter I had been waiting for. Thousands of dollars spent on therapy, hours of my life all for one piece of paper to find a doctor that would approve me for testosterone therapy. My first doctor was farmiliar with individuals going through this process, but moved away suddenly without warning 6 months in. I was left trying to find another who understood gender, hormones and that would work with me. I found one finally, and refuse to see anyone else. During the first year and a half of my hormone treatments, I developed an evil disease called endometriosis. It felt like someone had put barbed wire into my abdomen and let rats free to run around and shake up the wire. That was the worst pain I had ever been in up to that point. I was in perpetual pain for a year. I saw all kinds of doctors, they did all sorts of tests, but no one would help me. The entire year of 2012 is a blurry mix of my monthly prescription of pain killers, smoking pot, and carrying around a bottle of clear tequila so it looked like i was drinking water. This is the only way I could function and work. It was either oblivion or writhing and literaly screaming for hours until I passed out. I still ont know how I made it through. Eventually I found a doctor that would help me. He specialized in treating transitioning patients through laproscopic surgery. I recieved a full hysterectomy to remove the endometriosis that had spread to other organs, at that point and additional adjustments to make future surgeries easier. I got my life back. No more pills, alcohol, pot, and no more pain! My voice was dropping, my face, chest, arms, even my feet began sprouting new and denser body hair. My body shape changed with redistribution of muscles and fats. I still had the binder because I could not afford another surgery, but things were looking up. I was still self conscious, but I was happier than I was a few years ago. I would find out later that I have a rare genetic clotting disorder exacerbated by the very testosterone therapy that was shaping me into the man I am. The official medical diagnosis was Acute Cerebral Venous Sinus Thrombosis and a Retinal Vein Occlusion causing Optic Neuritis. In laymans terms, I had a blood clot in a major vein that drains blood out of the brain once it has been pumped in, and one in my eye that was pressing on my optic nerve, affecting my vision. This discovery process took almost 4 months and multiple doctors of different professions to figure out what was wrong. My family doctor called while I was at work and said that I needed to go to the hospital immediately. Once at the hospital, I went through several types of therapy and a ten day series of self injecting this terrible terrible anticoagulant that would make a bee sting feel like a tickle. I now take blood thinners on a daily basis to compensate, but all of the doctors (my opthomologist, family practitioner, therapist, and neuroopthomologist all agreed on one thing: something or someone out there was looking out for me. I should have had pain, I should have had seizures, I should have completely lost my vision, I should have had a stroke, I should have cognitive degeneration, I may have even died. Looking back, I was rather cavalier, but apparently I survived a very rare medical emergency where the morbidity rate is close to 50% and the chances of cognitive impairment for those that survive is about 44%. I lucked out on that journey and decided to finally just be and do me without fear. I learned that my company insurance would cover a double bilateral mastectomy. I sprinted at the chance because I knew i would have no other opportunity. Withing a couple months, I was laying on a table, shaped like a cross, counting backward from 10 as my heart raced and my consciousness slipped away. I woke up, still a little woozy from the medication, I was dead set on going home (a 3 hour car ride away). My parents (whom I really have to thank for loving me so much and being there for me, not all of us are so lucky) proceeded to argue with drugged up me that we should stay in town for a night. During that conversation, trying to act as normal and coherent as possible, the nurse noticed my chest swelling. A major artery by my heart had ruptured. They immediatly called the surgeon back but the anesthesiologist was already long gone. I found myself again on the same cross shaped table, but this time a mask was placed on my face so I couldnt see and my wrists were bound to both ends of the cross. My feet bound as well. Without any counting back from 10, my heard pounding with excitement, or slipping away into nothingness, they opeppened me back up. I felt it all, the scraping, spraying of some liquid, sucking, the cauterizing, the needles as they stitched me back up. I tasted blood as I bit my lip. I screamed and screamed. I could hear everything they were doing. I could smell the smell of my own flesh burning.... Endometriosis and bee-sting blood thinner injections will never compare to that kind of pain or that experience.
Shortly after, I navigated the long process of getting all of my documentation changed, aside from my gender marker on my birth certificate. In the great racist, sexist, red state of Arizona, you must have full genital reconstruction in order to adjust that. So, I did what I could. Signed myself up for the mandatory Selective Service even. Its been over a year now. Im not scared, afraid, depressed, self conscious. I am brave, powerful, strong, confident, happy, positive, driven, bold, and proud of the man I am. I have been through a rare, if not incredibly challenging, physically painful, mentally painful and emotionally painful journey so far. And I am only 26. I am confident that there is no challenge that I cannot overcome. I am mentally strong enough to stay calm in high stress situations and be honest with myself and emotionally strong enough to be honest with myself and keep a level head. And physically, I am happier with my body than I have ever been. With some training, I am in pursuit of being the best version of me that I am capable of being.
Now with all that being said, some old guys in Congress, Senators, lobbyists, protester, and even our President (the most powerful man in the world), cannot say that they have been through the kind of agony I have endured tell me "You Cannot Serve, The Military and the Army does Not Accept Transitioned Transgendered Individuals," I put my foot down! I tell you my gender identification has nothing to do with the fact that I WANT TO SERVE. Still, you say no to one of this world's bravest, toughest, and determined people in the world.
I plan on changing that. I WILL serve. I WILL fight for my right to do so. I WILL not let the progress I have made in becoming the powerful human being that I am today, go to waste. Normally you become a Soldier to go to War. I am going to War to become a Soldier!
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