Trolls and Birthday Parties

Troll: Phallus size: Fairly Small. Testicle size: Small (Icelandic Phallological Museum, Reykavik, 2024)

Last Thursday, I turned 35 and, let me tell you, it was an awful week. 

There was a torrent of rain—

My roof was leaking, 

My kitchen faucet leaked all over the floor, 

I couldn’t open my front door—

swelled up so much with water. 

It would take about 5 minutes 

Ramming against, throwing my weight back—

Just to get in and out. 

The thought of other people? 

Of celebrating 35… 

Oi, celebrating 35… 

How is it you can simultaneously 

Feel like you’ve accomplished so much, 

And so little, 

And still feel behind? 

I never imagined making it to 30. I didn’t really have plans. I just knew how to survive. I knew tunnels and being trapped under bridges. Now, I know how to get out of them—for the most part. I’m sure now that I’ve said it, I’ve probably jinxed myself and will find myself in a deep one. I’ve spent years trying to find my way out… 

Now? There’s all these things I don’t know about myself. Some of it from just being in survival mode and others, just aspects of life everyone else takes for granted that you, as a person who started transitioning at 30, are just now discovering for yourself. Like the fact I’m just now, at 35, starting to understand the difference between sexual attraction and all the other sorts of attractions. As someone who has worn a black Ace ring on my finger since high school, it’s both a wonderful surprise drawing and writing horny things and very frustrating how hard I have to work at allowing myself to be in that space. It’s something hidden from me by layers upon layers of dysphoria and sexual abuse and this morning, I found myself crying again (queue the single tear or two that testosterone allows) after an awful dream because, well… I don’t have a dick!

No dick and balls to speak of. 

But I’ll save that for another day.

No—

I’m proud of myself. 

I’m proud of myself for giving myself the birthday I needed. 

Not the birthday I wanted. 

I’m thankful I gave myself this opportunity to heal and rest. To not work, unplug, discover my voice, and discover what I actually like—not what I think I should like. 

I think, I’m surprised by how much time it’s taken and I don’t feel like I’ve even scratched the surface. I’m fortunate enough to be able to take that care. I’m fortunate enough to be here in Spain and to have hiked, even the 4 months, on the Appalachian Trail, even though I find myself kicking myself for not completing. Everyone hikes their own hike. The trail provides just enough for your journey. My path, miraculously, by way of meeting Wings on the trail, took me here to southern Spain. 

And I want to work. I hate feeling like I’m not working even though I’m a student, occasionally freelancing, painting and writing. I feel that desire more intensely and sometimes it rushes in— in intrusive thoughts about finances and cruel self-talk about being lazy. But, I spent nearly a year waiting on paperwork and now, I have to wait longer. It’s like the universe telling me—not yet, not yet. There’s more you still need to do. Something you haven’t discovered. 

Like the fact I’ve been trying to compromise with myself. Don’t make the creative journey—go back to engineering. After all, with bottom surgery here in Spain being 50,000 euros—you need to sell your soul for a body part you were born without. And maybe I will go back to engineering but if I do, I want it to be because I wanted to. Because I was missing it. Because after much self discovery, I realized it was something that truly was what I wanted—not because I thought someone else would be proud of me. 

Truth is, turning 35 has been upsetting because even though I’m here, and I’m so thankful I’m here, I imagined I would have been married with a child by now. You can always think you won’t reach an age but still find once you get to that age, societal expectations crept in. Do I actually want to be a parent or is it the thing I’m just ‘supposed to do’? Before I transitioned, I’d have day dreams of being a parent but the thought of being a mother? That set off a round of vomiting spells like no other. And now? There’s times I compromise with myself and say if it’s not meant to be, I accept it—I accept it. After all, it’s a ton of work. I love keeping to myself, I love my hobbies, I love traveling. And after all, with how sensitive I am to noise? Would I be walking around with ear protection all day long? But there are days, I can really see myself being a dad. I’d love to one day be a dad. 

I want to see them learning how to walk, how to ride a bike—learning how to share. I want to help them with their homework and do science experiments with them—like creating rock candy on a bit of string and volcanos with baking soda. I want to see them discover who they are and discover how they see the world. I want the hard conversations. I feel like I’m ready for them—as ready as you can be. And I even want to see myself make mistakes and kick myself for them, give myself grace, apologize to my kid. 

I want them to understand—I’m still learning every day too. 

And as frustrating as it is to still be learning life lessons…

Fucking—it’s a wonderfully, beautiful thing!

Even appreciating the mundane. 

But, in the meantime, I’m learning how to give my inner child that childhood. Trauma is a really bizarre thing. After hospitalization in my 20’s, it felt like I had reverted back to being a child. I couldn’t control my emotions. I was scared all the time. There was who I was before hospitalization and who I was afterwards. I felt like I was trapped in an adult body, with the mind and experiences of an adult, but reliving events over and over again as an eight-year-old. Something would happen in the present, but I wasn’t there. And I don’t even remember much of my childhood…nor my 20’s. Just sort of gaps where I show up and then disappear and then show back up. Just a ton of pain. I couldn’t put together a timeline. I’ve tried starting and each time soon giving up. Massive gaps. Some, are slowly coming back. Like climbing the wall with my friend Blake to jump on our neighbor’s trampoline and being scared to jump down off the wall. If I try hard, I can vaguely remember the house on Tiago Drive. And now… I’m a teenager again… I feel maybe 14?

I’m emotionally and mentally exhausted. Healing takes a lot of time. Rediscovering your body and getting to a point where your own thoughts—not the noise of social media or your mother’s judgements about your body and your ‘sinful’ thoughts—but your own thoughts that tell you you’re loved and to pay attention and connect with the world around you…or even the silly thoughts as I smile as my head sings about boobies, dicks, and balls—thoughts I’m no longer filtering with fear of judgment. Even stopping to take in the flutter of finches, the caws of the hawks, or the magnificent magentas of the peonies and petunias. All of that takes a lot of time and energy to climb back to. 

No— 

That’s not quite right—

I’m not climbing back. 

I’m climbing there— 

I’m climbing forward—

To a place I’ve never truly been—

Except for maybe when I was a kid. 

I’m doing it for my child. 

I’m doing it for my future partner.

But most importantly, 

I’m doing it for myself. 

Because I love myself. 

I love myself enough to have given myself this healing journey. Initially, when you’re suicidal, you find exterior things to keep living for—I owe it to Justin who died a couple weeks after I came back from hospitalization. Or, I want to live so I can see the birth of my nephew. Or, I want to do this trip so I can give stories to my nephew so he can dream too. When you don’t love yourself, when you’ve been trying over and over again and nothing is working… the only thing you can do is surrender control. That point of I’m not sure if I’m beyond help but fuck, I need help. 

Little by little, I’ve come to discover myself—I’ve learned to love myself. I love myself enough to give myself rest. I love myself enough to just be. I’ve been fighting and surviving for so long I never had a real chance to discover me. It comes with overwhelming exhaustion and so, as much as I want to play and be free to finally be me… I need to allow myself to rest—without judgement. And when it’s time to start moving again, to discover, to play, to explore my own thoughts without judgment. And it’s been this cycle of resting, moving, resting, moving again. From a stable, boring job to one I hoped would renew a lost love. Move, rest, move, rest…moving closer and closer to being able to finally see me. 

I love myself enough to tell myself, “it’s ok. Hey, hey, it’s ok. I’ve got you.” I love myself enough to hold his little hand and tell him “I’m here with you. We’ve gotten this far. We’ll do this—we’ll get through this together.” I love myself enough to get down on my knees and give him a big hug and tell him, “you did the best you could and you did a good job. You did a good job and I’m here. Let’s do this together.” 

I love myself enough to be his biggest cheerleader at his violin recitals. I can be who he needs, weeping in the stands, telling him afterwards I’m so proud he put himself out there and did a scary thing. 

I love myself enough to let that little boy play. 

I love myself enough to play with him. 

I love myself enough to walk down scary memories with him—

Even to uncover ugly truths—

Even when I’m afraid. 

It’s in these moments—

I get to be strong—

I get to be brave. 

I love myself enough to tell him, “look kiddo, a B or a C, even a D…and F… it’s ok. Life goes on and I still love you. All that matters, all I want for you, is to see you show up. That’s all I want. I will keep on loving you as long as it’s you who shows up. I don’t want to see anyone else.”

Things get scary. Sometimes they get so scary you hide under a table or in a closet. It has a habit of making the monsters madder and scarier. I don’t know why. It’s just monster logic. Sometimes, it’s just you with your imaginary friends. But when the screaming stops and when there hasn’t been screaming for a while because maybe you’ve grown up and you’re safe—it’s really tempting to go back and hide when things look a little bit similar. But I’ll be right by your side. Together we’ll see another blue sky, hear the birds sing, dance a goofy dance, dream of big adventures and discoveries and even far off worlds…

So thank you.

Thank you, kiddo. 

Thank you for protecting me. 

You did an amazing job. 

Let me hold you now. 

It’s ok. 

I love you.

Little Rex, I hope these years I have shown you how much I love you and how much I’ll keep fighting for you. I’m sorry you had to go through so much. I’m sorry you went through so much alone. I’m sorry you were surviving and didn’t get to play. I’m sorry you were yelled at for playing. I’m sorry you watched over your body all these years without living in it. I’m sorry I didn’t know how to love you. I’m sorry I’m still learning.

I love you and I would love to hear you play.

I love you, I love you, I love you. 

You and me—

I just want to walk this life with you.  

And I know I will need to read this—

To myself over and over again—

Tomorrow and maybe even on my 40th birthday—

And that’s ok.

And now, this is for you, kiddo—a story I’m working on about trolls.

Trolls

A long long time ago, 

There used to be trolls under bridges. 

Trolls loved munching and grinding 

On bones all day

But most of all,

They enjoyed 

Tormenting souls upon their bridges. 

They’d whisper to boys, girls, and unsuspecting passerbyers. 

“Look—

Do you see— 

What’s on the other side—

Treasure.

Tell me—

What is it you seek?

I know all the answers. 

Just cross this bridge—

The crevice isn’t even a little deep.”

Lured by desire,

For all the right answers

And treasures that they seek,

They stepped onto the troll’s bridge—

Cautiously. 

Ahh—

Relief!

The bridge did not even squeak! 

But half way across the bridge,

The troll called out—

“You’re so incredibly weak—

No wonder why

You’re out here looking for answers!

Everyone looks down on you,

My god—

You’re so weak. 

If you were smarter,

Even just a little,

You wouldn’t be on this bridge

As we speak. 

Isn’t it true—

Your father is ashamed of you,

Your friends look down on you,

Your lover will soon replace you. 

Just look at this bridge’s edge,

Not even that far down—

Look—

It paralyzes you!” 

And as the traveler

Gazed over the edge,

The waters seemed to pull him—

Drawing him in. 

And before he had a chance 

to snap out of it—

The troll leapt onto the bridge—

Knocking him over the edge! 

The trolls stripped the coins

From his pockets,

Swapped out rags for fine,

Feasted—

Picked the bones clean. 

Laid back down—

Flossing its teeth—

Clean. 

Then one day,

A dragon flew by. 

Bored by his riches

And a fat 15 cattle-meal— 

He swung on by

the troll bridges. 

“Hmm what an interesting past time—

But can’t you see,

This is incredibly inefficient. 

What if there are no weary travelers 

Coming by your bridges?

You’ll be waiting all month—

A whole month— 

For your next delight.

What if I told you,

Instead of one a month—

In a day—

You can have, say, twenty?”

The trolls perked up their pointy mangled ears— 

With delight. 

“How? How? 

We must know this new trick!”

“As long as you promise,

I get a measly 20% of your keep.

This secret is worth much more than 

All the riches in my fine hoard.”

Slithered the snake. 

“Yes, yes, whatever you like.”

Snickered the trolls in reply. 

“Very well—

All you need to do—

Is keep them on this bridge—

Just a smidge longer. 

Look into their eyes—

All throughout the night—

And by day break,

You’ll be walking in their skin—

Free from turning into stone

At day break.

Then head along that path—

To the towns,

To the cities,

There will be pickings a plenty!”

And so the dragon,

Delighted in a new toy

And the thrill of a prize—

Showed the trolls 

This new technique. 

The next time a traveler

Stumbled by the troll bridge,

The troll held him that much longer. 

It left by daybreak

To the nearest town 

And then to the cities,

Trapping the traveler’s soul

Underneath the long, dark bridge. 

And that is why

You will find no more trolls

Underneath the bridges

For they are all in towns and cities—

Piling on riches to the dragon’s hoard,

As they gorge on souls aplenty.

While the traveler’s friends

And family—

Look upon the same face—

A stranger—

Wearily. 

Yes indeed—

Young one,

Every traveler comes across 

a troll bridge sooner 

Or later. 

Some bridges are short and shallow—

Others cover long—

Winding, deep gorges—

Sometimes—

The other path will take months—

Not days.

And sometimes—

It may seem to be— 

The only way across. 

Try not to look down,

Put one foot in front of the other. 

But between you and me—

I’ve found myself

Under quite a few troll bridges. 

Even now,

Sometimes you’ll see

My eyes grow dim—

Darkened with obscurity.

But trust—

I will always find my way out—

Of deep, dark caves 

And from under troll bridges. 

I will always find my way—

Back to you.

So don’t you worry young traveler—

In this poem,

You have everything

You need to know

About troll bridges. 

And don’t you worry—

A soul trapped

Is not trapped forever. 

If the soul can find its way—

Under the darkness of the bridge—

To the light—

On the other side—

Not only will they have the answers 

That they seek—

But they’ll be reunited—

Joy—

Hugs and kisses—

The sweetest water—

Ever tasted—

I couldn’t ask for a sweeter reward.

Many times,

We have to cross many

Troll bridges— 

To find the answers

We seek—

Always hoping to return

From our long, harrowing journey—

No— 

Not everyone returns.

Even I—

Lost for years—

Did not know how to find the light.

I believed I knew what was right. 

The more I insisted—

The further I fell—

Took wrong turns—

Forgot the touch of warm light. 

But when I returned—

What did I find?

A troll hasn’t done too much

With my life—

You see—

They don’t climb up mountains—

They tend to be—

Incredibly— 

Quite lazy indeed.

As for the troll?

Don’t you worry—

He’ll be trapped 

Once more. 

Turned to stone by daylight’s

Break. 

So be on your way,

Remember to follow the light,

And if it ever gets too dark to see—

Wait and rest until daybreak. 

And if you find yourself—

Trapped on a deep, dark path,

Along the way—

Reach out your hand—

Ground yourself—

Follow the wall—

Don’t let go—

It will always lead you out. 

Your journey home,

Might be long,

And even really scary—

But always remember—

There are dancing forests elves—

Don’t dance with them for too long. 

Good earth witches,

Dirt underneath their nails,

With a fine brew of hot chocolate—

Even a bed for a night or two.

And dusty robed,

Long haired wizards

You’ll meet along the way—

Offering plenty of advice—

Even help—

Along the way. 

The trail—

Yes, it does provide—

You might even find—

An angel along the way. 

Here—

Take this amulet—

A symbol of safeguarding friendship—

Don’t forget your map—

A gift from those who have explored—

Before you. 

And never forget,

There are many ways 

To build a fire— 

Light the path—

Before you. 

Compass in hand,

Remember to have fun—

Run with the wolves,

Dance with the birds,

Say hello to every small snail

A friendly tortoise

Along the way. 

Remember to always hike your own hike—

It’s your journey to take.

Now—

Let me give you a big hug— 

And a kiss,

Write me plenty of letters—

Even super short ones are fine!

Just to let me know you’re alright.

And remember—

This isn’t forever’s good bye.