Death to Life

This is the beginning to a new song I am writing. It is, of course, METAL!

Here's hoping you like it, if not...well you know what to do. I have directions to the nearest cliff from wherever ye may be.

Death to Life
© 2008 StrayVision Media

Oh for the cool, dark cover of death
To wrap my soul for an endless sleep
Where not so much as a single breath
Or the cold, wet touch of a blood red worm
Could ever disturb the watch I keep

Yet who should lie upon the bed
Beneath the shroud of dark, black peace?
The one or the other must be dead
For the one remaining to reaffirm
Life. And such a life which will not cease.

How Can You *Feel* Like a Woman?

This question was asked once by someone sho did not understand gender identity: "How can You *Feel* Like a Woman?". I will try to answer that as best as I can.

Gender differences have been scientifically proven to originate in the brain. Yes, the specific behaviors associated with male and female are by and large taught and invented by society, but without physical and psycological gender differences in the first place, these sociological differences would never have arisen.

Women are wired in the brain differently than men and visa versa. They are two equal entities with different traits. Society is the influence which shows preference for one over the other. But that does not negate the fact that the genders are intrinsically different. Therefore, the feeling of being a woman is born in the brain (and some would say the spirit, or soul, but that is a philosophical discussion for another time) and is expressed using whatever norms are in place in the transgendered person's society.

Love, Sarah

From Boy to Girl in (n)Step, Part(1)

Introduction

   I've discoved treasure recently - a treasure which I found a long time ago and then buried for fear someone would see it. And now I wish every day that I had taken advantage of the riches I had found then instead of hiding it away. What was I afraid of, really? That someone would steal my treasure? No, this is not the kind of treasure that can be stolen. That someone would not see my treasure for what it is and laugh at me for holding onto something so worthless as to be looked down upon and ridiculed? Yes. That's it. I buried this nonpareil for just that reason. Shame is a great motivator and it forced me to hide my pearl in fear of being denounced for cherishing it. But a prize as great as this cannot be hidden forever. I finally could not bear to be without my precious treasure any longer. I dug it up in a moment of ecstatic rediscovery.

   What is this treasure you ask? It is me. The real me. I am a girl who was born with a male body. The treasure I buried for so long was the knowledge of this. I can no longer keep it buried. I have dug it up and placed it on display for the world to see and if that means being ridiculed then so be it. My name is Sarah Lynn and I was born male.

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Part I

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 When I was young, about six or seven, I used to play with the boys, like any other boy did. I ran and jumped and climbed. I rode my bike and played at sports. But there was something different about the other boys from me. Notice I didn't say that I was the different one. I never felt different from other boys, I always felt the other boys were not like me. This something different was that they hated the girls and would have nothing to do with them. I, on the other hand, enjoyed girl's company. I liked to talk to them and play with them. I would play house and dress up. They seemed to enjoy dressing me up in princess outfits and the occasional tutu which I did not mind at all. It was perfectly natural. The other boys, even though they did not know about the dressing up, teased me endlessly about associating with girls even going so far as to accuse me of being a sissy. This torment continued.

   At ten, the torment did not end. I was smaller than most boys with a gentle demeanor and a shy, quiet way of speaking. I was endlessly afraid of being beaten up by other boys for being a sissy and so I determined to masculinize my behavior yet all the while I kept my true self hidden, never truly letting go of my feminine nature. I practiced every day at making my mannerisms more like the other boys'. I stopped giggling and used a heartier laugh. I trained my self to not speak so liltingly. While this mitigated some of the teasing, it did not eiminate it and I continued to privately drift toward the feminine side of things.

  Once, in my room, and I remember this distinctly, I and my younger sister were alone in my room. I had a nightshirt given me by my grandmother which had red, orange, pink and white thin vertical stripes. It fell to just below my knees. It substituted for a dress in my mind so, telling my sister to wait, I stepped into the closet and closed the door. A minute later I came out of the closet in the nightshirt and a pair of pennyloafers. Grinning from ear to ear, I looked at my sister and exclaimed "Look! Instant girl!". She was delighted and resonded with a resounding "Yes!" This was the start of my awakening to what I was. This was the first glimpse of the rich treasure I would later so callously bury away.