The Crudeness of Gender Identity Disorder

Long stemmed artichokes labeled navel oranges.

Gender identity disorder - A condition marked by a long lasting feeling of discomfort over one’s gender. The feeling usually begins in childhood with gender identity problems and may appear as a teenager or in adulthood as asexuality, homosexuality, transvestism, or transexualism. –Mosby Medical Encyclopedia

My social work career would have to eclipse the century mark before I could possibly encounter a more tortured soul than Jean. Suffering from the peculiarity of gender identity disorder, Jean alternates between referring to herself in the third person as Jean or Gene. The switcheroo depends solely on whether Jean considers herself more masculine or feminine at the time of speculation. I never know which name she will spell out for me.

Born with female sex organs, Jean looks are double mirror androgynous. Adding to the confusion, she dresses like a man, wears short cropped haircut, and facial stubble. Her entire wardrobe consists of imprint NASCAR tee shirts obscured by denim overalls. In a nutshell, Jean directly blames her matronly mother for her own wretched existence. She wishes she were never born into this world as an in descript gender. Her heartbeat alone is a continual reminder to her unwanted existence on the planet. She loathes life and all those living happily. It makes me sad just comparing my life to hers.

Before medication administration, Jean displayed selective mutism. Outside of a few saving grunts or nods, Jean refused to answer any and all personal questions. Recent medication tinkering have only recently prompted her to talk. Emotional outbursts now curse people from mumbling to yelling at the top of her lungs and disturbing the peace The objects of Jean’s venom are often people she has no contact with, has never met, or who have long been dead: Reading the obituary of the third grader who called her a freak three decades ago. The old man who cut in front of her at the checkout counter to redeem a winning lottery ticket in 1991. Rocky Balboa for being a loser who made the grade. A cute little pigtailed school girl who dressed too feminine for Jean’s own liking. These are some of the people she now verbally lashes out at daily. A treating psychiatrist and anger management classes have yet to scratch the surface of her hatred.

Arriving for a field visit to her home, I had no knowledge that the floodgates had been opened. Unaware of the medication's success, I assumed I would be meeting with someone who would show selective mutism and ignore my every question. As I stepped through the front door, Jean stood on the staircase quite literally frothing a white foam at the mouth.

“Momma, if you didn’t kiss Daddy I wouldn’t be born.” snarled Jean at her elderly mother. “Then I wouldn’t be here scratching my beard wondering if I am a bleeping man or woman!”

In social work, success is often like unraveling an onion.