#JusJoJan Daily Prompt – Jan 8th – ‘Mongrel’

This post takes part in Linda’s Just Jot It Jan

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The word Mongrel immediately brings to mind the song by Baha Men, ‘who let the dogs out’, especially the line, “come back you flea infested mongrel”. That’s the association with the word ‘mongrel’ I suppose isn’t it? As something impure, unclean, tainted or ‘less than’. I can remember as a child having discussion about a dog and being told it was a mongrel. I remember feeling that to me, a mongrel sounded far better than a pure breed. A mongrel felt ‘on my level’, authentic, relatable.

Looking at the dictionary definition, mongrel is defined as “a dog of no definable type or breed”,any animal resulting from the crossing of different breeds or types” or “a person of mixed descent” [offensive term]

Why does crossing breeds or having no definable breed have such negative connotations? Is this just my perception of the word mongrel or is its negativity a common assumption? Maybe my perceptions of the word speak more about myself and my moral standpoint than the word itself.

I am a person who does not like to follow the herd, although that’s not always been entirely true. As a child I felt pushed away from the herd as I didn’t fit, therefore I was  angry and resentful of the herd, I so desperately wanted to fit but I simply could not, no matter how hard I tried. Maybe this is where my initial sense of relation with the word mongrel comes from; I could empathise with the dogs labelled as such. In growing up, I have learnt to embrace living outside the herd and now to me, having no definable type and being a cross of different types is something I embrace.

My gender is male and my body has been changed to reflect that, but my biology will always show the female history, I will be forever a mix; I cannot ever be a pure breed. The closest I can get to being a “definable type” is in being transgender but I don’t relate to that ‘type’. I use it for ease in explaining my situation but I choose to define myself differently, I am a man with a trans history. Transition is the state of moving from one thing to something else and as such, gender wise I have never moved, I have always been male. Physically I have moved my body has changed from looking female to now, approaching my final surgery, looking completely male. Once this surgery is complete I will, for want of a better word, be “post transition” .Therefore to me, I am a man with a trans history.

However you look at it I am a mix, a crossing of types. I am a man but on digging below the surface you will see that I have no truly definable type, I am a mongrel through and through. Writing this makes me smile; I have always related and felt love for mongrels, now I understand why. Who wants to follow the herd anyway? What is so special about being of one definable type? I actually think that’s very limiting and to be frank, rather dull!

Here’s’ to all the mongrels out there, WOOF!

 

#JusJoJan Daily Prompt – Jan 3rd – ‘Warning’

This post takes part in Linda’s Just Jot It Jan 

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I, and others that know me, used to joke that I should come with a warning label. I thought this was an amusing and lovingly assigned description of my character but in truth it was because I was a complete pain in the neck and at the end of my drinking days there was nothing amusing about me at all.

Today I am unrecognisable as that person, when people describe me now; ‘warning’ is the last label I would be assigned. People remark on my calm nature, yes I can be very excitable and hyper, the new born child in me is very evident, but I am a person in control of myself and a person you can trust yourself to be safe around. I still find this an astonishing change in just six short years of mental health and addiction recovery.

In order to develop this calmer nature, I have had to create a robust and sensitive early warning system, an inner lighthouse to alert me when a storm is arriving or when the sea may threaten to thrash me towards the jagged rocks of mental illness. I have had to become acutely aware of the various things that threaten my wellness and very good at noticing the early warning signs and to this affect, the inner lighthouse will change from shades of yellow through to amber and red depending on the threat of the situation

The last month or so I have been inundated with warning signs, my inner lighthouse had been brightly lit  as a solid amber, but due to Christmas obligations, I haven’t had much choice other than to just ride the waves as safely as I can with mindfulness. However, today the lighthouse switched on to full red warning alert as I attended my medical assessment for my sickness benefit.

Attending these assessments, as anyone who’s had them will attest, is never easy, but then add being transgender into the mix and the whole thing turns into a cringe making, anger inducing mess. I sat there bewildered as the assessor first got confused that I was a man about to change to living as a woman. After correcting him and after he had picked his jaw back up from the desk he then remarked that I made for, “a very convincing transition” and that he, “had seen other people who were not as convincing and I must be very pleased”, He went on to then ask me if I would like to be referred to as he.

Wow, warning light on full flashing red mode, sirens, bells, whistles, the whole shebang.

I’ll be honest, I wanted to sob, I wanted to just fall on the floor in a heap, curl up into the foetal position and let my whole body convulse with reckless emotional abandon, but I can’t cry, I just don’t, it doesn’t come out and I am not one to indulge in dramatic emotional displays, at least I am not today but six years ago I may well have done.  I’ve had enough at the moment, Christmas has been incredibly tough being my first one single after a really messy breakup, add to the mix having to sit with a total stranger and explain my entire mental health history, my entire addiction history and then intimate details of my dysphoria and gender transition, all crammed into less than 40mins, to someone that had the tact and sensitivity of an array of hedgehogs.

However, the painfully crafted warning system served me well, one of the skills I have learnt in recovery is knowing which battles to pick and this one just wasn’t worth it. I spend a lot of my time educating people and this chap needed it but today had to be about first things first, my mental health, and so I  took a deep breath, answered as politely as I could and just got through it.

Thank goodness for my inner lighthouse and its warning signs, for lighting the way so that I can choose the path of least resistance and just make sure I kept myself safe. Now though,i t’s time to drop anchor, hunker down for a while and wait for the storm to pass.