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Gender Reassignment Surgery. It is necessary for me to sustain and maintain life. I do not/will not be in the wrong body for the rest life.

Hi...

Goal: $18,000 for Gender Reassignment Surgery
Location: Thailand (least expensive play to perform surgery with adequate results)
When: By June 25, 2013 on my Birth date (Reborn again)

My name is Stephanie Joy. I was raised in poverty in a situation that I was never able to express. I knew about my gender condition since I was 4 or 5 years old but grew up in a household where I could only express it in private, when no one, not even family was around. I am writing a book on my journey to help other in mt situation. I have been transitioning for almost 4 years but have been unable to save money for my surgery. Not living in the correct body to match my brain has almost cost me my life on several occasions. I just can't bear it. I was moderately successful in my past role, portraying a man, and went through 2 marriages that both ended the same way. I just wasn't able to lock my true feelings up and throw them away. I needed to be true to myself and now I am. But obtaining work has proved difficult. Please I ask, help me in my journey so I may feel at peace and harmony with myself and so that I may finish my first book, which ends at surgery. I will then write another post surgery. I desperately need your help. I have included little pieces of my book for you to read, below. Enjoy...


November's Rain December's Pain – A Woman’s Plea for Life.


November and December are the absolute hardest months of the year for me as I desire something I may never again have. I hold dinners for both holidays(Thanksgiving and Christmas), for people who have no family to turn to or for people who want a change and to enjoy friendship, which is very fulfilling for those 2 days of the year, but what about the rest? There is still a huge void in my life that I wish to fill. For this reason, I am not and may never be happy again during the holidays.

I miss my mother Kathy Joy, my son Kevin Joy, my grandma and grandpa Holbert, who are no longer with us, my aunt Theresa, and I miss some other family members even though we were never close, my cousin Kaleigh Marie Lindsay and her brothers of which I have either never met or met only as an infant, my aunt Darlene Lindsay Garner , my brother Jason Joy, my father William Richard Joy and my grandma and grandpa Lindsay and there are some family I have never met, unfortunately. All of which I wish had the opportunity and/or desire, to really get to know me today, to find out what was suppressed for so long inside. I have changed a lot over the years and my only Christmas wish is to somehow reunite with my family and allow them the opportunity to get to know the REAL me. It would be the grandest blessing ever, for me and I think people would really like the real me inside. I love you all.

You see, I never was a model child. A model for JC Penny's, but not to my family. I grew up fighting a battle I thought I'd never win. A battle which most will never understand. It's kind of like men not understanding how women can be so moody or emotional and how women can't understand why most men aren't more emotional or in tune with their feelings. I guess it's the balance of the universe. The Yin and the Yang. So, where do I stand. I know who I am and what I am and knew so as a young child, as early as 4 or 5 years old. Unfortunately I don't have much memory prior to that, for many reasons. Where did and do I stand? Is there some narrow bridge linking the Yin and the Yang, that I somehow managed to cross or get stuck in the middle of at birth?

As a child, I would watch TV or look around the school and see all the girls and wonder, why do I have to be so different? I am really just like they are but I can't act that way because it would be wrong. See, my mother, father and other siblings, as well as the doctor when I was born, deemed me as a boy. So I had to live up to that, no matter how I feel inside. If I acted the way I felt (and there were times it slipped in front of family), I would be called a "sissy". Well I knew what everyone thought about "sissies" and I didn't want to be treated like that. So what do I do, I asked over and over. Well, it was pretty simple back then, or so I thought. I have to act like a boy, regardless of how I felt. So I did. I put these feelings behind me and did just that.

My childhood consisted of growing up and trying to meld in with the boys/men. Watching people in public and on TV, figuring out what my role was supposed to be. In kindergarten, I got in trouble for looking up the teachers dress. I did this thinking there must be something unique about a woman. After all, men were always looking at girls in provocative ways and still do to this day. I wanted to know what was under the clothing. I needed to know why the boys like women’s bodies so much. The desire was not that of sexual arousal, it was to see what I was missing. I knew I felt like a girl deep inside as far back as I could push the feelings, but I needed to know what separated her from me. I had to know why she can act and carry herself the way I wanted to act and carry myself, but couldn’t. It just didn’t seem fair and I was curious as to why this was. Obviously I got in trouble, I’m sure I was sent to the principles office, but I can’t recall what happened after that. Well, I didn’t find out then, the answer to my question. Later that year or maybe even in first grade (I can’t clearly remember, so much of my memory has been blocked out), I was watching TV and saw the men and women getting married. Well, I thought that’s what I was supposed to do. So to prove to myself that I was a boy, I was going to give a girl a ring and ask her to marry me. So I did just that. I took my mothers engagement ring from her jewelry box and took it to school and gave it to a girl. Shortly after, my mom noticed her ring missing. Then, the phone rang. I believe it was the girl’s mother. She told my mom what I had done and that the ring I gave this little girl didn’t look like a toy ring. At that moment, my mother knew what I had done. I knew I was in trouble. Although I knew I was in trouble, I just kept thinking; I’m a boy right, that’s what I’m supposed to do. I knew that boys were not only mischievous; they were supposed to have a wife. So there, I did it. I am a BOY.

Second grade came around and I was in the principles office every day, sometimes twice a day, for fighting. It became apparent at this point, when the boys and girls were more separated, that I couldn’t be with the girls because they thought I was a boy and therefore I was gross. At the same time, the boys didn’t want to be around me because they were scared of me. Even though I was doing what I thought all boys did, fight and get in trouble, I still seemed to be the outcast. I didn’t feel comfortable with the boys anyways. It was just the place I was supposed to fit in to, per everyone else’s standards. When I fought and went to the principles office, I had several paddles broken over my back side and I soon became somewhat numb to the pops. I picked fights with everyone. I was a big boy like the ones on TV, and I was going to prove it. I was going to beat this feeling inside me and show everyone, including myself that I am a boy. So I fought and I fought. It seemed like the more I did it, the more I was proving to everyone. Then there was a problem. The problem was, although everyone else was convinced and “knew”, I was a boy, I wasn’t convincing myself. I would lie in bed at night, looking at this picture of a doll, hanging on my wall. I would notice the pretty blue dress she was wearing and the pretty blonde curly hair, the pretty red lips, and even the pretty blue eyes. I wanted a dress; I wanted pretty curly blonde hair; I wanted to wear the red lipstick. I just couldn’t understand why, I couldn’t be like that. I cried many a nights under my pillow as to not let my parents hear, especially my father. Crying was completely unacceptable. Boys and men don’t cry. It’s just not right. Boys and men were made to be rough and tough. I could only imagine what he would have done, if he knew my secret. The secret that I knew I could never let out because I knew he would have beaten me. A pain I felt all too much already. With this being bigger than anything I ever did wrong, I couldn’t fathom the thoughts, anger and rage that would go through his mind, if he knew. So I never told him. I never even told my mother. After all, this is my mother and father we are talking about. Aside of the arguing that happened, they were married and are going to stick together, right? So I continued to keep it bottled up inside and only let it out at night while looking at the picture and crying under my pillow.

As the years went by, I managed to keep things pretty well hidden with the exception of a few things which were duly noted with common responses from all. One example that went on and on, I even think it became kind of a running joke within the family, at times was; “Are you a sissy? Why are you walking around limp wristed? Are you turning into a sissy?” Those words continuously echoed in my head. If I were to ever tell anyone that I felt like a girl inside but was angry because I couldn’t show it and be myself, I knew that I would be the joke of the family. I was so depressed that I reached out in so many wrong ways for attention. I guess I was looking for the attention I thought I was supposed to have if I were a boy. I was getting into trouble like other boys did. I got into so much trouble that I was always grounded. However, secretly, that was okay with me. I could go to my room or another room where no one would bother or talk to me. Then, I wouldn’t have to deal with criticism if anything slipped. At least mentally I could dream about being a girl, in a girl’s body.

About this time, it started to become increasingly harder to suppress my true feelings. During the summer, when with my mother, I would wait until everyone was going to work and I would get up before my brother so I could go to my mother bathroom and look at all her makeup, clothes and jewelry. I was mesmerized by all the beautiful things. When I was in middle school all the boys would always talk about my mom and were always telling me how lucky I was to have such a pretty mom. It is true; my mother has always been a very beautiful woman. I used to watch grown men practically break their necks doing double and triple takes as she walked by. Wow, what a role model for my transformation, I thought. I knew I was supposed to be just like her, beautiful and vibrant and an image that no man would want to miss. I wanted to be like her. I am just like her. So, why can’t I look like her? It bothered me so. As I gaze through all the beautiful colors of makeup and jewelry, I started to put some on. Even before I finished putting any makeup on, there was this liberating feeling about just being able to do it. This feeling of comfort emerged. Once I finished putting on my mother’s makeup, I would gaze into the mirror with this feeling of happiness. I thought to myself, if I could look like this everyday (although, it was honestly hideous, because I was not brought up as a girl and had no idea how to properly apply the makeup) and be able to show my true inner feelings; I would be so much happier. Needless to say, that first time of putting on makeup and not even a dress or anything of a feminine nature, is all it took. At that moment, I knew without a shadow of a doubt, I was a girl. As summers went by, anytime I had a chance, I would run to my mother’s bathroom to put on makeup, even if just for five or ten minutes. It didn’t matter, because for five or ten minutes I felt free; I felt normal. For however long that moment lasted, I felt better about myself than I ever had. A burden was temporarily lifted off my shoulder. The pain and mental agony was gone. I just felt right. It was a feeling that I would never forget. I was even caught by my mother on a couple different occasions, with makeup on, that I didn’t quite get off.

Then, reality sticks it’s nose back in and reminds me that although I feel free now, I will once again be imprisoned by the world around me. My feelings of joy, happiness and femininity would soon have to lurk in the shadows. For at the time, it seemed as if my reality that would continue to be fictitious or nonexistent to others. I would quickly fall back into depression, knowing that I would have to turn around and face the world as a person that truly was, fictitious. That fiction or fictional character was a boy. A boy that everyone knew as a trouble maker, which was nothing more than a façade within itself. I character derived from watching others and assuming the traits of my physical gender. A character in which continued, to cause me to be more and more depressed. It caused me to lose my childhood in a fashion of uncertainty. A manner in which I would become a recluse other than the times to cause trouble, reaching out for help and attention the only way I knew how. I yearned for the times to be at home alone to lift the burdens of society’s reality of who I was supposed to portray. I held these moments tightly, one after another, often with tears of mixed emotions. The tears represented me in forms that could not otherwise be expressed. Tears of joy, happiness, anger, confusion and disbelief, filled my face as I tried to figure out the meaning of my life and who I was. What life has given me and why. How will I survive this life, I thought. The answers never came to mind. The answers I wanted seemed so far fetched, that I’d rather die than live a lie. Living with the depression and frustration of being untrue to myself, eventually weighed measurably on my health as you will read later.

This story is only the beginning. The beginning of a journey that I once thought would be impossible. Unbearably, there are still parts of my journey that I am scared will never become a reality such as gender reassignment surgery. This often unbearable frustration of the inability to align my physical appearance with my inner self still creates depression. Although I am extremely appreciative that I can live my life today, as me; I cannot avoid the frustration and depression knowing what I know. That when it all comes down to it, although my license says female; I still have to live with a piece of anatomy that causes me much grief and because of this I am unable to gain the full respect as a woman. However, I continue to strive to reach this point in my life before I die. I hope I get there. I hope I can complete this journey. I hope that one day; I can align myself completely, to be the woman I am. I also hope that you read this and share it with others especially those who don’t understand. I want everyone to know, that this is not a choice, not for me. Unless you are speaking of the choice between life and death, in which case it is. Only, because the reasoning behind life and death is either, accepting and living as myself for who I am inside, or allowing myself to self destruct living for who I am not. I do not wish to self destruct. I wish to enjoy my life and the company of my family and very few friends. I wish to one day lead a wholesome normal life not deemed by society rather by our own individuality. I choose life in hopes to one day see my sister-in-law, niece, nephew and cousins for whom I have never met. I choose life in hopes that someday I may reunite with all of my family and offer them the opportunity to know me and to one day find a man who will accept me for who I am and not what I am; to one day marry and be able to spend the rest of my life with a man I love. I choose life, so that one day, myself, my hopeful future husband and family, can sit together with the rest of my family smiling and enjoying each other as a family should and to be able to look past the past and any indifferences and accept me for whom I am. This book will be dedicated to my family that is no longer with us, as well as the ones who may never allow themselves the opportunity to meet the person that has been hidden for so long. Whether you chose, to accept me and love me for me, not the fictitious character you once knew is in fact your choice. Regardless, I will always keep you in my heart and mind because I love you all and I always will.

I hope you enjoy the brief overview of my future book(s);
November's Rains - December's Pain – A Woman’s Plea for Life.

Stephanie Rose Joy
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