-nym.
It a part of a word. Parts of words can mean many things, and often people will take the parts of a word and construct a new meaning for it that wasn’t there before.
But -nym is a kind of special one. As some folks know, I have a fondness for the letter “y”. Which, simply because it has that letter in it, makes nym something i like.
Yeah, its that silly.
-onym means “name”, ultimately. We have patronyms, matrinyms, antonyms, anonyms, pseudonyms, and more.
Some folks may have noted I use various terms like e-nym or netnym — little neologisms I’ve been using because they are more effective at saying “the name one uses online as a sort of nickname or ‘Handle’”. I’m settling more and more on e-nym, because it has that same quirky quality and carries a social connotation of internet usage by borrowing from the “e-mail” thing.
Its related to -onymy as well — so when you see words like that you can generally get the idea that they have something to do with a name.
A specific name, usually — or lack thereof as in the case of anonymity (the lacking of a name).
Names are important. Names are Labels. Names are nouns. They are the way by which a person is identified, separated, singled out, distinguished from others.
In some cultures, some names are common. They are ordinary, everyday. John, for example. Most of us in the USA can be said to know more than one person named John.
So we add additional labels to them. How many John A.’s do you know? How many are John Aaron?
Names are important that way. We have an entire industry dedicated to figuring out what your name is going to be, and we have rules and policies for dealing with your name. Identification without your name does not describe you, it describes people who have everything else in common with you.
Names — labels — are important. They are critical to communication. If I said “so, did you like John’s show last night?” to you, you might think of a John that you know, but unless you and I know the same John and both of us are aware that John had a show last night, you wouldn’t really know what I was asking you.
That’s a frame of reference, btw.
Others will be aware that I am anything but proud of the person I was prior to my transition. I’m slowly coming to terms with things to be proud of — accomplishments and feats — but in general I dislike that falsehood under which I lived so greatly that I am putting as much distance between it and I as I can.
There are some things that stand in my way. I’m somewhat resigned to the difficulties of changing my name on my degrees. And it’s kind of nice at times to have them separate, as I still on occasion use that name in some writing and that gives me the ability to separate my “public and personal” views from my “professional” writing to a degree that would otherwise be hard to achieve.
I’m fairly resigned to the unwillingness of the military to change my DD-214. It’s not critical.
Some odd things have come up, though. I can’t change my name on my state GED records. Not because of any great wall set up in front of me, but because somehow or other the state up and lost them. This isn’t a big deal — I have a DD-214 available to me from a time when to join you were required to have such. It provides the evidence needed.
And there has been the burden of my PayPal account.
I opened my paypal account up a long time ago. They required some matching information — something that otherwise I had managed to avoid online – and so I had to use *that* name.
In personal conversations, I don’t usually say “that name”, I say “him”. Because I really do dislike him.
It was interesting, as well. I had set up a business that operated as a shell ompany for three other businesses that ultimately let me operate under a DBA as the name I was using at the time online.
My Official excuse was to provide anonymity ’cause you know how bad them internets is. My actual reason was I was living online as a woman.
weird, yes, sorry, pick on me if you must, but phbbbt cause I don’t give a damn.
In any case, I ended up with a paypal account that was His.
I am funded primarily through paypal. Hence the little link there to the side of the page that says “donate”. I get my money through there. MY paypal account is appropriately connected to various things — a credit card in my name, a bank account in my name (that is currently closed due to not working for so long and owing money to the bank), the assorted stuff that goes along with all of that.
And what it meant was that I had a paypal debit card. Two, in fact. I had chosen and operated under my name long before I actually changed it legally. So I had a card in his name and a card in my name and life was good and when I checked into changing everything on paypal a long while ago, they had a series of hoops to jump through to change my name that would have required me to give up documents I didn’t want to give up.
Besides, I reasoned, nobody sees it but me, anyway.
I’ve moved a lot over the intervening years. Last night I removed some 12 different addresses on my account.
That meant, though, that cards were “lost” because they were mailed out to the wrong address. Odd stuff like that.
And then, earlier, when I went to NYC, it was at a changeover point. My “real” card, the one in my name, went to an address and was destroyed. His card had long expired and a new one not requested because, ultimately, if pushed, I can’t really prove I was him short of a fingerprint check.
Yes, I went to that great a length to erase my connection to my past.
So suddenly I was without access to my paypal account via debit card. This is, for me, tantamount to not being able to access your bank account. No ATM, no Checks, no bank branches, even ones with agreements.
I’ve been there before, and, thanks to my boyfriend, had a way around it that he rapidly reinstated.
And so it was that one day I get a card, as expected, that is from Paypal and it has His name on it.
I was revolted. It freaked me out to have such a strong reaction to it.
That wasn’t me. Why was I getting this? I wondered — aloud I’m told, to the humor of my roomie.
And then, because I’d reported too many lost or stolen (that mail issue) I wasn’t approved to get a second card.
One with the proper name on it.
What was I to do if asked for ID? ”Oh, it’s my husband’s card” works, but is kinda deceptive to me. And I’m avoiding that.
I was stuck with a bit of nymic dyssonance because of paypal.
Well, last night, I looked up the rules for doing changing one’s name. And things had changed.
Now they would be satisfied with me emailing the documents they wanted to them, *and* they had changed the documents needed. All I needed now was an ID in my name and the court order, and I could easily scan them into the system and send them.
And then, 3 to 5 business days later, they would let me know if they would do it.
So, late last night, I did just that.
I sent them copies of each page of the court order, and the ID.
And then sat back, expecting it to be a hassle but hoping that since I’ve been with them for like *forever* they wouldn’t have a problem. After all, they have the full history of my account there — they can see what I’ve done and I’ve used the name for some time even there.
And then, much to my surprise, on a Saturday (which is not a business day) morning, I got an email from paypal.
It had the right name on it. After all this time.
I have no clue if I will get a new paypal card with the right name on it. And, really, I’m not all that worried about it. I’m not asked for ID when I withdraw cash, which is how I did things before, during the days when things were less pleasant, early in transition.
But I am very happy that they changed it. It makes me grin. To look at His name is almost painful physically, and certainly is emotionally. I avoid it as much as possible. It’s why I’m conflicted about my degrees, why I’m conflicted about my DD-214.
It is not my name. It is not my label.
And so now one more little piece of him is gone. One more little bit is killed off.
And, evil bitch that I am, I’m happy about it.
Some would say that I’m talking about Self hate.
To which I will respond that was never my “self”, that was a fabrication, a fiction, a shell game. And if you want to say I hated that lie, you certainly are welcome to do so.
But I don’t hate my self. That’s what I fought to be.
Let’s call that Consonance.

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