Special Forces Of Life

I knew very young that I was genetically intended to be male. My parents were told I would be male and consequently named me after-the feminine equivalent of, upon my birth- my great, great famous grandfather, Jesse Clay Robinson. But for whatever reason, my fetal genitalia buds developed into something that would ultimately cause me profound confusion throughout the rest of my life.

Now, I am already picking up on extrasensory signals from everywhere yelling, "Is she coming out of the closet??" No. I am not homosexual. I love men dearly. Probably too dearly. This has nothing to do with sexual preference. It has to do with the aspirations that have driven me since childhood to become or be part of things that I will never really be able to achieve, due to having body parts "not conducive to objective accomplishment."

This comes into play much more than I've ever cared to notice. Now I'm not whining about how unfair it is to be female in a male-dominated world or anything of that nature. One day I may choose to take over the world myself to teach the naysayers a lesson. I'm simply stating that there have been things unavailable to me that I believe I would've been happier to have had or taken part in -had I been physically designed to withstand the inevitable obstacles in the roadways of say... being a Green Beret or an Army Ranger... or a member of another elite no-bullshit "society" of men who think like I do, see things like I do and possibly even feel things the way I feel them... sometimes choosing (happily) not to feel at all.

I've loved, hated, grieved, cried and clung like a true female. However, I realized through much self-study, that when I experienced those emotions for someone other than a person I would consider a brother-like figure, I almost always chose to feel them. Like it really didn't occur to me at those times that I actually felt the emotions because that's what my heart decided I needed to feel. It was like I felt them because I believed that I should. This has always led me to believe that I am somewhat insensitive or hardened by the stupidity in life, or that maybe I just don't need to feel as deeply as a normal female feels. Like a man, I guess.

Maybe it's a protection mechanism. Maybe I'm emotionally retarded in the literal sense of the term. Either way, I can't say that I care... see what I mean?

Now, how this all ties into the denial of what I thought would be my fate in this life is that I really think that people like myself, who don't have a problem being somewhat shut off from the rest of the world's emotional chaos, should automatically be selected in our adolescent years to be programmed and trained to become members of a certain kind of people. Kind of like The Bourne Identity but with more options of leading a somewhat -though always temporary- normal life. A kind of people who don't have a whole lot of use for feelings and the mundane reality of what it means to your existence to love for any other reason than because you've battled, struggled and should have died together. We should be yanked up by our bootstraps and thrown headfirst into a different kind of world where our stoic views can be revealed in a positive light. Somewhere where we won't be criticized and shunned by our normal friends, simply because we won't care either way. I'd love to be a mercenary. To take out worthless, sorry mother fuckers one at a time in total secrecy, and know that the rest of the world is a little better off as a result of my ability to choose to care only long enough to get pissed off and want to clean up some of the waste of society. I have many secrets. I don't need anyone to know what they are. I'd love to have secrets that have the potential to evolve humanity, with or without it's consent.

But you can't do all these crazy things, out in the elements/jungles/deserts for as long as it takes, when you come equipped with a vagina. A very touchy creation that, by design, cannot, nor will not ever put up with a lack of hygiene and whatever crazy mutilations of nature may find their way inside and disrupt the sacred balance of vagina chi. You can't complete a weeks or months-long mission in an environment like that if you've got to take time to recover from some ambitious bacteria colony that has overtaken your sacred orifice. I'm pissed. I know that I feel that emotion from my very core. From my vagina.

Why then would whatever God exists decide that manufacturing me with what I believe to be a male-thinking brain (for the most part) would be wise then turn around and drill out a vagina in place of the plumbing necessary to allow me to accomplish my heartfelt objectives in life? If you believe that God is male -which apparently, most people do- then was I created on a day when He was feeling like having a little chuckle? Was I a prototype that had no successors? Because the last time I thought about it, which was like 5 seconds ago, I can't say that I've ever known any females quite like me. Let's check the Merriam-Webster definition of "prototype":

Main Entry: pro·to·type
1 : an original model on which something is patterned : ARCHETYPE
2 : an individual that exhibits the essential features of a later type
3 : a standard or typical example
4 : a first full-scale and usually functional form of a new type or design of a construction (as an airplane)

The #4 entry made me laugh out loud. "Usually functional." I know many who would agree with that statement. Probably even my shrinks. But they'll never tell me that because the woman is afraid that I'm right and the man knows that I am.

I guess I just feel cheated. I want to be a Navy SEAL or something. But I'm not willing to have my vagina turned inside out and molded into a little stump of manhood. Jesus, I'm still paying for my boobs! I guess that means there's something I like about being female. I'M SO CONFUSED. Then again, I feel so at ease finally with who I am.

Can you understand what the hell I'm trying to say? If you can, for the love of God Himself, please leave a comment on this when you're finished reading.

Look... I fish, cook (I try), drink beer, love girly body lotions and heels but I can't walk in them, hate my fingernails painted but cannot stand it when my toenails are bare, I wear worn out jeans with girly shirts, drive a beat up 4x4 SUV and prefer it to anything new, cry alone until my eyes swell up but refuse to cry in front of anyone else for fear of being remembered as weak, cuss like a sailor, make love like a woman, wrestle like a man, learn the hard way but learn, nonetheless, absolutely melt when a baby smiles at me for no reason, miss my own babies but pay child support and love my freedom, relate to the desire to play a positive role in society but live and let live, am driven to protect but want to kill, respect others but hate them, too...

I think my DNA strands got twisted up with some future dude's and instead of carefully sorting through the knots, some lazy-ass God-assistant wanted to make sure he got home on time to watch The Colbert Report.

Who knows, maybe technology or science or some genius will discover a way to alter the critical balance of everything sensitive in my vagina in order to open new doors to my desire to live my predetermined lifestyle like a man one day, but still allow me to remain as feminine as necessary to retain my adoration of the male species for the little hotties they are. For now, I suppose I'll have to settle for donning my old BDU's and nailing friends with Airsoft ammo. At the end of the day, at least I know I'll be perfectly capable of washing the sand out of my "petals."

http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=68048981&MyToken=4cedc907-c854-4e71-a4eb-d7c909cd5eab