Sunday, December 25, 2016
Monday, December 12, 2016
I keep a photo of myself as my phones wallpaper. The real me, staring back at me each time I open my phone, to remind me that this mask is temporary. I think also it is my way of shouting my independence, like wearing funny socks or underwear under a military uniform. During various times in the last couple of weeks, I have been able to dress how I like but I haven’t gone out. It’s too cold or not enough time to spend putting on cosmetics, of which I need in order to hide the shadow. The process is what gets me down, put on the cosmetics to hide the shadow, put on the hair to hide the other hair, put on the breasts to fill out the form. Sure, I like the end result, but I feel like I am hiding under a lot of fake to bring me out. At home, I am afraid to pull the wig off even if it is giving me a headache, the act itself almost like admitting that this is all somehow an illusion.Appearing foolish is my Achilles heel, not others pointing out my foolishness, my internal feelings of foolishness. I am my own worst enemy.
This weekend, I wanted to wear a nice shirt and leggings. I didn’t want to put on cosmetics, prosthetic breasts or wear a wig. I didn’t want to be made to feel that these things somehow make me more of a woman. I did have to shave, I hate facial hair, hate it. I was comfortable that day, inside my home, just lounging and watching movies with my wife and daughter. I would not have gone out like that, I want hair like my wig, I want actual breasts, I want to be pretty. I want to be seen as I feel on the inside. I also want to be like any other woman, to be a slob once in a while, to put on some loose clothes and just do nothing on a lazy day. This doesn’t stop me from feeling compelled to put everything on. I don’t want to wear any of the add ons, I want to already have long hair and breasts. I think that if I don’t do that, then my kids and my wife will think that I only want to be a woman part time, because they see me only wanting to wear all of this part time. I don’t know if any other MtF feel this way as well.
I really dislike that my wife (and other women) can just get out of bed and be slobs and still look beautiful and sexy. If I did that, I would look like a guy, exactly like a guy wearing an over-sized shirt and panties. It’s something I can typically ignore, compartmentalize, until I start over-thinking it later. Then the need for changing myself, HRT and surgeries, becomes amplified and I start worrying over how to pay for it all and how to be out of work that long, etc. I can seriously freak myself out with even the briefest of thoughts. I still have to lose weight.
Through the process of living my life, on top of being transgender and not knowing how to deal with it, I went through a horrible divorce and custody battle that I lost. I gave up on life, I was at a very low point for almost 10 years I don’t think I lived at all, just existed in the barest fashion. I used books and food as a way to escape. I gained a lot of weight and a fairly large library. So, now I have to learn to eat normally and not give in to it as a comfort. I want to lose weight before I start on HRT, before I start going through surgeries. I’m not looking for supermodel lean, just lean for me. I am afraid that I am using the weight as an excuse though, something I can keep pointing to in order to not start another part of my life. As much as I want to be fully realized as a woman, I have this anger/resignation about not already being genetically female. How dare life hand me this insult, how dare God or fate or random genetic disposition hand me this biological deformity that I have to alter now? It is easy to see the circle of eating/depression that this situation creates. Don’t get me wrong, intellectually I know I have it pretty damn good for my situation, however emotionally it’s not easy to reconcile.
Tuesday, December 6, 2016
I have heard this from my wife when we had a serious discussion about coming out, but I had heard it long before that, when it came from my own mouth when I was deep within my mask, years ago. “How can you [they] choose to be women?” My wife’s was in reference to Trump becoming president-elect and our world felt like it was collapsing in. Mine was long ago when I was in deepest denial and trying my best to be as manly as possible. Either way, there was a simple answer, the same one I gave my wife. “I don’t have a choice, any more than you have the choice of not being human.” The choices are not what our gender is; this is decided for us, regardless of the genitals dealt us. The actual choices are in how we deal with who we are.
I am choosing to come out, of that I have an option. Who I am coming out as, there is no option, I am only me. I chose to be me instead of the mask. There are times still when I choose to don the mask, work or family/friends that still don’t know. There will be a time soon when I choose to leave the mask behind entirely; even the memory of it will fade.
When my wife asked me the question in frustration, I was kind of hurt. I also understood that she didn’t mean why did I choose to be a woman, but why would anyone choose to be a woman now, in this political climate. I knew that intellectually she knew that I didn’t make a choice about being female. But it was still there, that question.
Just in case anyone may need a primer on why being transgender isn’t something anyone would choose.
Here are the great things I gain by “choosing” to be a woman:
Wednesday, November 30, 2016
Social media, interactive journals, the internet, when used properly can give you an outlet, provide help or the ability to help others. Used improperly, it can cause stress and anxiety for you and the people who read it. For example, my wife and her sister are having an argument on Facebook over the election. This has caused issues for both of them and for her parents who are reading the posts and now upset. My wife is now upset and feels ganged up on by the family. I’m not saying she should hold back on her thoughts, but if you post something on social media, others are going to read it and they have the option of reacting.
I’ve said this several times on my blog, this is a place for me to vent or to just talk it out to the world without necessarily expecting a reply back. I liken it to the virtual version of yelling over a cliff and listening for the echoes. There are those who respond, I am glad of that, giving advice or condolences or congratulations. My immediate family knows that I have a blog; they don’t know what it is called, where to find it or what I talk about in it. I don’t share this with them because I don’t want it to passively take the place of my talking to them directly about issues or problems or good things in my life. I’m not sharing my issues here, then waiting, hopeful that my family will read these posts and then suddenly understand me or my issues or come around and fix any of the problems I may have with them or others.
This isn’t the place where I am coming out to the world. I am coming out, little by little to the world on my terms and in person. I believe that writing letters can help you define your feelings and what you want to say to those you come out to. But I also believe that you should be present when they read the letter.
That said, in a way I am outing myself on Facebook. I hadn’t really thought about it before, but I was looking at my facebookpage and realized I did very little to hide who I am and where I am. For one, I posted my photos on facebook, photos of me as me, and there are a couple of photos of my mask, of “him”. A photo of my face is indeed my profile photo, so even with the wig and the makeup it would not be hard for the casual observer to notice the mask that they know. I didn’t really think about my mom, who is on facebook all the time and well everyone else, friends, acquaintances, or enemies. They can all see this photo, as part of the Facebook algorithm that defines “People you may know”. I hadn’t really thought about this as an issue, considering I don’t have any ties to this facebook and my masks facebook. However, this is not the case, I can see me from my masks facebook page and I know that others will see it too. I’m not going to change the photo though, unless I find a prettier photo of myself. I call it the “casual out”, where no effort was really put into hiding something that would out me, to friends, employers or family. I don’t think it’s the right way to come out; I am actually against this type of outing. However, it wasn’t my initial intent, I’m just not going to go back and hide it now. I’m not a perfect person, I have flaws.
I’m ready to come out, but the circumstances are not. I won’t lie though, if I am asked or if I am outed, I will freely admit who I am. I can’t control the world or how it reacts to truths that come to light. I can only control how I deal with them if they do.
Monday, November 21, 2016
I told you before, dear readers, about how my eldest son had stumbled upon me being, well me. He was taken aback, we talked and he took it really well. I knew that there could be consequences, not for him knowing, but for his knowing AND continued childishness and selfish nature. These sound harsh, but I was hopeful that he would grow out of this, he may still.
He has a drinking problem, which can be attributed to being 22 or truly has a problem with drinking. He was drunk with his friends, and his aunt (who is the same age as he). During this drinking binge he decided to out me to his aunt, who is still living with my in-laws. She told them about me and they are trying to find out if it’s true from my wife. My in-laws, I love them, but they are hard right republicans and I don’t think they would do well having this information. My wife has been frantically attempting to spin this into our sons drunken BS. I am resigned to them knowing. I don’t care if they know; I’m so tired of lying to cover things like this. I’m not happy about being outed. I think it’s a terrible thing to do to someone, especially family. I would think that my son would respect me enough to keep this to himself, even in his drunken state. But perhaps I am expecting too much from people again. Too much from a son with loose lips, too much from a wife that shouldn’t be so concerned about how this makes her look. This is how I feel, regardless of the way they may see it.
I’m trying very hard to be positive, to use this as a way to build on who I am. But I am feeling hurt and the more I think about this the more it makes me feel unimportant and like somehow I am the punchline in a joke. Being a fool isn’t something I have ever enjoyed, and I feel as if this is how I am viewed while I am not around.
Even if my in-laws are uncomfortable, I would rather my wife had just said yes, she is trans. This would have ended things;they would have questions and would have had an awkward Thanksgiving this week. But I think it would have been better. Instead, my wife is lying, asking my son to lie to cover for his faux pas. Spinning these lies only makes it harder later on. It makes this an issue, when it could have just ended. I feel like I have people making excuses for me, I don’t know when in my life I have ever needed someone to do that.
This isn’t a pity post. Don’t feel bad for me; just put this into your memory. When these things come up, they should be dealt with. You aren’t guaranteed a good result, just one you can live with. So now I have to find a way to tell them the truth without causing my wife issues. I didn’t want this, none of this. I came into the world, how I came in with no more control than anyone else. And I’m cursed with the consequences every single day. Frustration doesn’t seem like a strong enough word.
Friday, November 18, 2016
This election, specifically how it is going to affect me and the people that I care about, has sidetracked me from some things I have been wanting to post on here. So, I am going to put them together in one post, this isn’t to diminish their contributions, but more from my lack of initiative, I apologize. (I am not compensated in any way, this is for your information only)
Juno Medical, a german company that specializes in setting up overseas surgeries, including the transportation and accommodations. While they have done Dentistry and other medical surgeries, they are now offering SRS options.
Please take a look at the SRS Guide, see if it will help you. To me this sounds like a pretty awesome service, if they can deliver on what they say at a reasonable price. Understanding that most Transgender are scraping every last penny together in order to get these surgeries would go a long way to this company being able to help us.
The Pearl of Africa , (taken from the website) “is a story about Cleopatra Kambugu, a 28 year old Ugandan transgender girl. Biologically born male, but against all odds, transitioning into the woman she knows she was born to be. An intimate fight for love, in one of the most transphobic places in the world. Forced to leave her country and loving boyfriend behind. She sets out to fight for her right to love, and against all odds, to become the first accepted trans person in Uganda.”
I watched the trailer on youtube and it’s something I think many of us can relate to. Love is universal, no matter who you are.
The Pearl of Africa was screening at IDFA, on Nov 17th, in which both Cleo and Nelson attended. There was an extended Q&A at the event.
Again, I want to apologize to Tim, who is on the Business Development at Juno Medical. And to Louise EK, who brought The Pearl of Africa to my attention.
Tuesday, November 15, 2016
It seems like we are besieged on all sides, like we are regressing, going back in time to a less tolerant world. That is kind of the problem, tolerance. We (and other races, religions, etc) were tolerated, which to me is like saying ‘we allow you to exist’. I don’t want to be tolerated, I want to be accepted as worthy of life, of happiness and of love. We are people, not jokes or objects to be hated. We are not here to walk cis through their emotions, or to convince them that because we exist their existence isn’t somehow diminished. That is their problem; I don’t doubt my life because of their existence. I’m not in doubt of my gender because my body isn’t the correct gender, I’m not confused by my sexuality because others don’t share the same sexual desire.
A lot of people are asking, “What now?” What now, is you live your life pretty much like you already have. Is it more dangerous? Yes, it is. The people that are a danger to you were always there, but they were held back from fear of reprisal. This reprisal is a lot less now that there are people in office who support it, not so secretly. I know our president-elect said, “Stop it.” Instead of a plea to all those hate groups, to end what they are doing, to denounce them doing these things in his name. “Stop it” Two words that don’t end a 2 years olds tantrums, much less an angry mob mentality. So we have to account for his lack of care about what happens to us, and his running mates agenda which is to get rid of us entirely, shock treatments or lobotomies. Not sure what he has planned, at the very least he will try to pray the gay (or the trans) away, good luck on that.
It’s more dangerous for us. It’s more dangerous if we hide, if we let them have an inch of ground. Hate will not get us through, that is their tool. Anger is useful, tempered with love. We will have to stand up to be counted, to give LGBT a strong support. I know in the past I have said that LGB doesn’t have much T in it, that we are often left high and dry. This hasn’t changed, We still have issues within our own group, but it’s time to set that aside for now, to stand together. What now? Same as always, fight to be recognized as real people with real feelings. This is a battle we lost, but there are many battles to end the war, so we have to bolster ourselves and continue fighting. There are battles ahead that need to be fought and won.
I don’t want this, I want to just be a woman, but then I would be fighting misogyny. We all have battles, this is ours. Own it and deal with it, it’s all we can do.
Friday, November 11, 2016
My first thought was, "Oh shit, mad man in the white house, this must be a joke." Then my second and third and every thought after that for two days was the same exact thing. But the news kept reporting this like it was real, like they weren't playing the long game - joke on us all. Fuckers.
After all this came the anger, denial, etc. I was grieving. I was grieving for a country that so entirely lost it's way that it voted into office, our highest office, an idiot, braggart, racist, misogynist, lying, horrible human being. I am still trying to come to terms with this. We have all had these feelings I am sure. Had to endure a lot of cis, white men (and oddly women) telling us to calm down that it isn't that bad. Anyone else getting the WW2 vibe from this? I am. We don't have to be calm, we don't need to be calm. I will not be told by the people who benefit from privilege to be calm.
During this time, I had an appointment with my therapist (thankfully), and I was going as me, as Beth. I wasn't going to not be me just because Trump being elected gave what they feel is validity to bigotry and transphobia and every other bad thing that people have decided is alright. Though, I have to say, as much as I hate the idea, if a guy grabbed my pussy, for one instant I would laugh at his shock right before they beat me to death. It would be the one single time I would be glad to have a penis.
Anyway, I went to my therapist on Thursday as me. I enjoyed the day as me, truly free of my mask for the entire day. I was supposed to meet a friend, a trans-woman who I met online and seems like a really put together person, who is out at work which is what I want to be. Unfortunately, she was sick that day and had to cancel. I am still hoping to meet up with her and others. I want to get more involved, I want to make friends in the community. My mask is an introvert and a loner, but *I* may not actually be, I don't really know me that well since I have spent so much time pretending to be someone else. I hope that I can make friends with some people in the area, they don't have to be trans, just people who are accepting of me really.
I decided on Thursday, after pondering if I should hide again in light of the Trump thing, that I am not going to go back. I am not going to hide in my mask again. I am still trying to work out my employment, but I am going to continue my progress and not step back into the shadows. I'm tired of having to worry that other people won't like who I am or what I am. I am tired of it all. Trump is a tiny man who really wants to be more than he is, shades of Hitler here. I am not going to let fear of the anti-LGBTQ, race and female culture Trump is encouraging stop me from being me.
Thank you, Obama for all the things you have done for us, for the good that you have done, regardless of what happens and how this next president may undo your good works. You are a good man and a great president. You will be missed as President, but hopefully not missed as the first gentleman after the next presidential election. Please run for President, Michelle Obama.
Thursday, November 3, 2016
I have to wear the mask about 70% of the time now. This is an improvement from the 99.9%, but it could be better. I hate having to wear it while I am home. I try my best not to resort to being “him” at all, but when people come to our home I have to. I’m not ready to come out fully, mentally I am, but there are a lot of moving parts to life and I don’t actually get to choose when I come out. I can just throw caution to the wind; hope my mother isn’t too ill at that point to deal with my issues, that my job will still be there the next day. I don’t actually get to choose when to come out. But it’s getting closer and I am ready mentally.
I am going to my therapist next week, without my mask. I am excited and looking forward to not just my session, but being able to be me for almost four days. (I’m taking two days off and I get the weekend) Then I will return to the mask, my breath stifled by it, my vision limited, no longer able to look in the mirror and see myself. The brief respites, my times without the mask, are precious and few. I get depressed about the prospect of returning to the mask, but those times are getting fewer and eventually I will be free of the mask. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think my life is worse than others. We all have our troubles.
We are starting our annual Christmas gift baskets for family. I am making beef jerky, a small amount is made with Carolina Reapers, some of the hottest peppers on the planet. The peppers come courtesy of my brother S who mailed them to me last week. I’m making a small amount so that everyone doesn’t send themselves to hospital. The rest is made up of a chipotle marinade, which is my favorite. My wife and I are also baking and making Christmas candies for the baskets. It’s probably my favorite time of year, the making of the baskets, even more so than Christmas day itself.
I worry that my two brothers and my stepfather, who have put up with so much from me in the past won’t be able to deal with who I am. I think that my little brother P would be ok after a while, but I don’t know if S will be able to deal. I am probably not giving them enough credit, I tend to do that. Perhaps they will be shocked, I don’t know, once the shock is gone, will they think of me as their sister? That would be nice. If they look back and really think about our lives they should have noticed something was different about me. I remember once that we were playing a game of truth or dare, and during that game I was dared to wear our (then) stepmother’s clothes. I’m honestly not sure if I nudged the game that way or if they had come up with it on their own. Of course, I took that to mean her bra and underwear and a dress, along with high heels. They were a bit shocked that I didn’t just wear one of her shirts or something. It was my first time allowing my brothers to see a small part of me. It was fleeting and gone, I’m sure lost in a maze of memories they have made since then. Obviously, I hope for the best, but I am prepared to lose them if I must. It will break my heart even though we aren’t really that close anymore. I have to stop assuming I know how they will react, I’m already making myself sad over the thought of it.
My biggest problem is employment. I can deal with loss of friends and family, but losing the ability to pay for food, to provide for my wife and children would be a very big issue. This will be my final hurdle, employment. I have started searching for trans friendly work in the area, I think I might pass about 60% of the time so I can’t just get a job and hope they never ask or find remnants of my life before. I don’t like the idea of announcing that I am trans to anyone. The prospect of interviewing with an employer and using the entire time explaining what sex I am or who I am, frankly makes my stomach turn. Trans friendly would be optimal, but trans tolerant is worth considering. I hate that what I am, what I wear will overshadow what I can do or what skills I have. I don’t want to move, so my prospects are limited to the length of commute I am willing to travel each day. Of course, with fuel costs, that can enter into a scenario of diminishing returns. In the end, it won’t be the people I know and love turning from me that will delay my removing the mask for good, it will be my current of future employers. That can’t be right, can it?
Friday, October 21, 2016
Most of us live in two worlds. One is of privilege and employment; we are given respect and jobs often times based only upon the cut of our jibs. I know that I have enjoyed what I like to call “Implied Authority”. The other world is one of uncertainty and fear of unemployment
I unknowingly used privilege at work for years, in the corporation that I worked. It goes like this, I found a job I wanted to pursue and then I would speak to the head of that department (manufacturing). I don’t ask him for a position; I tell him what I am doing for his department. I tell him, because it is often “him”, that I am going to increase his area’s efficiency and find any bottlenecks in the production process (or repair process, depending on the area of the company I decided to work in.) Of course, since I am a man and I am telling them what I am doing, not asking permission, it must be ok. I do increase their productivity and streamline their process. I am actually good at process engineering, though I have no degree and was never hired to do this. I was a “firefighter” in my company for over 15 years; I went to different areas and fixed them, only reporting to the General Manager. I didn’t realize the privilege I was using. I just thought that if you were really good at something, you can pretty much do what you want, how you want. Having privilege means you don’t have to worry about privilege.
I used this in my personal relationships. In hiding behind my mask, in using my male body, I became the problem. Even being who I was on the inside, I assumed that the women I wanted also wanted to be with me, I just had to figure out how to convince them. Implied authority. I was such an ass. I convinced myself that every time was me being in “love”, that wanting a woman was the same as loving them. I would cajole and sweet talk and create situations in which I thought they would feel obligated. I called women bitches for not being interested in me; I called them crazy when we didn’t get along, or hysterical when they were genuinely upset. I used women, having sex with them and often never looking back, never calling back. I loved women, but I hated them a little too. I hated them for being able to be them. I managed to be the worst kind of man, I was a child. I was attracted to men as well, wanted to be with them as well. But that would have drawn attention to the mask, which I was convinced would fail upon close inspection. I pushed that part of me away, so deeply behind my mask that I disappeared.
I have heard the word “privilege” thrown around in the last few years. I didn’t really listen to what was said around the word, the sentences in which the word was used. Having privilege means you don’t have to worry about privilege. But recently, in the last couple of months, as I come out more and more, I am facing life without privilege. I am facing life in small amounts as a woman dominated and afraid of the men around me. In the end, I can take off the makeup, I could remove my wig, I could use my mask. So in the end, I could gain my privilege back almost instantly. I would happily trade privilege for my womanhood, then fight for equality instead.
I don’t understand how women, other women do it. They are so strong, so unbelievably brave; to live and thrive in a world dominated by men. They shouldn’t have to be, they should be held to the same privilege, as a human being. I didn’t really understand how strong my grandmother and mom had to have been to be the matriarchs of our family, and they were. Neither ever put up with men dominating them. This isn’t to say they weren’t punished for presuming to be equals. I know my mother was beaten by my father, I was beaten as well. My father had anger issues and felt trapped in a family. So at an early age, I learned to hide. I hid within my head, quietly existing so as to not draw attention, to not be beaten. My mother, she didn’t hide. She said what she wanted to say, defied him, though he would punish her. She stood up to him but didn’t have the physical strength, but mostly she didn’t have the privilege to not be punished for presuming to be equal. One day, he hit her for thelast time, and I stood in front of my mother who was lying on the ground. I stood there, shaking like crazy with fear, but standing. I told him that he wasn’t going to hit her again, that I hated him and that I wanted him to leave. It was the first time I spoke as me, as Beth, though I didn’t know my name then. I wasn’t speaking as a boy with privilege. I was speaking as a girl who was going to be equal despite the punishment I thought was coming. My first words to my father as me were the worst things I can remember having to say. I shouldn’t have had to do it, Mom shouldn’t have been punished, Dad shouldn’t have presumed that punishment to an equal is something he had a right to hand out. So, almost like father, I grew up with anger issues, with confusion. I never raised my hand to another woman. I never wanted to see another’s eyes looking back at me like my mother’s looked at my father during those times. I struck back at myself, wanting to die, holding my breath, not as a defiant child. Holding my breath, wishing to just go, so that I wouldn’t wake up again, like a child that was tired and broken. It was a child’s wish, almost like going blind for some children, to “show them”. It was over-dramatic and without purpose but to emotionally punish.
Saturday, October 15, 2016
I enter the bathroom, I turn on the wrong light, the one with the exhaust fan. I turn it off and turn on the other one, the lights over the mirror. I look into the mirror and for a moment, fleeting as snow on the tongue, I am me. But the moment passes and it's just the guy standing there. I turn away and go to the toilet. Sometimes, it's standing, sometimes it's sitting, it depends on how awake I am. Either way, penis is there, needing to be aimed. I ponder it, wondering what I did in another life to be punished in this way. I must have been a horrible person to be inside this body, to be holding this penis. Don't get me wrong I like penises, I like the thought of them anyway. If one was attached to someone I am attracted to, then I like them a lot. I don't like them attached to me.
I finish my business and wash my hands, sometimes. I turn out the light and go into the living room. If it is a work day, I take a moment to check my work phone for IT issues from work. Then I go back into the bedroom, get a pair of panties and socks. Then go back into the bathroom to take a shower. Again, the penis. Sometimes I masturbate then shower, sometimes I just shower. The masturbating is about tension release, it's about more sometimes. I love the feeling of soapy water on my skin. My shaved legs are slippery and I feel so feminine.
I get out of the shower, I dry off, and shave my face. Every single day, shave the face. It hurts, it's raw and I do it. I hate the feeling of stubble. I look into the mirror and focus on the eyes, I'm in there. I dry off and put on a nightgown and light cardigan I use as a robe. Sometimes, I will wear a wig, if I have time. Wigs leave marks on my forehead, and I have to re-wet my real hair and brush it so I have to have time. Sometimes I go out to the mailbox or walk the dog. I am almost daring cars going by to have a problem with me this damn early in the morning. Trans waking, please go on about your business.
I keep track of the time, minutes tick by. I will have to stop being me soon, sooner, done. I have to be him now, the mask, the guy. I go into the bedroom and turn on the light. My wife is usually up while I am walking the dog or checking mail. So she is on the couch. I look through my closet, part of it has pretty dresses, a few tunic shirts and some racy outfits for if I ever lose weight. I then look over at the other half and listlessly grab a mens button down shirt. I take off my nightgown and put on the shirt and a pair of womens jeans, so that I am not completely de-feminized. And I am out the door to work.
If it is the weekend, on Friday after work, I paint my nails. So the same thing, except when I get up and get out of the bathroom, I bemoan my nails with their sheet marks on them. Shrug and go about my business. I will get some tea made, then I take my shower. It takes much longer on the weekends, but I am ok with that. This is makeup time. I take a long shower, I don't usually masturbate. I just want to feel feminine and not touching my own penis helps. I get out and start my makeup routine. I go back and forth from the bathroom to the bedroom, to get the bra that I forgot, or the right blouse. I finish, and put on my wig. I look into the mirror and this time, the guy is in the back just visible, and I am mostly there. Not all the way there, but enough to where I can squint my eyes and almost see me.
My days are numbered, I count them down.
I'm not me, but inside me.
The mask is my prison ground.
I didn't want this, I wanted to be.
Thursday, October 13, 2016
My wife and I were talking about the current presidential race this morning, before I left for work. Mostly, it was about Trump, about whom neither of us are supporters. We agree on the politics, but it soon became apparent that we were heading into a different discussion. We both, support women’s rights and equality. And we cannot understand women or minorities who support a person so opposed to both. But where we differ is in what is happening at home. She understands logically that I am a woman, but as she says it sticks in her head that I am choosing to be a woman. That in this political climate it makes sense to be a man, she says she hates being a woman treated by men as if she is second class.
I can tell her that I am not choosing this, but it’s not about her knowing it’s about acceptance. It is taking some time for her to accept me or our son. Martin is FtM and my wife is still using the wrong pronouns and name, despite my using the correct ones. I think we are giving her time, I think we are trying not to rush her. But I can’t help but think she is holding on to the masks we wore (and I am forced to continue to wear 5 days a week) instead of the core of who we are. I have always been the sensitive, emotional and touchy-feely one in the relationship. This hasn’t changed, what has changed is that now when I hug her there are two pairs of breasts in the way and I smell lightly of flowers. When we kiss, I put my lipstick on her lips. That is what has changed between us so far. Eventually there will be changes in the sex.
What can change is her acceptance. She is good with homosexual, she herself is Bisexual. She is good with Drag queens and alternative lifestyles. But she is having trouble with her son and me. I know it is a lot, I understand that it’s double the coping because there are two of us. But Martin came out two years ago, and I told her a year and a half ago. I just want her to be ok with it, because I love her; I have loved her since we first met.
I know it’s up to her to be ok, I can’t make it happen. Doesn’t make it hurt any less to think that she doesn’t care for the real me, that she probably loves the mask more than me. Everyone wants to be loved for who they are, not for what everyone else sees. It’s unfair to her; I have these very high expectations of people, it’s something I am working on with therapy. I can’t do anything but wait I suppose, hope for the best. I am trying to normalize who I am, but things interrupt that. For instance, this weekend workers in a pickup were in the field next to our property. I wanted to go out and check on what they were doing. I hadn’t shaved my face, it was Sunday and I was feeling a bit depressed. I was dressed in an obviously woman’s shirt and pants. So, before going out, I changed those clothes with a man’s t-shirt and pants. This was, to me, an act of self-preservation (not getting beaten to death by the burly workmen) and to my wife, I suppose an act of putting on male privilege. So, perhaps my wife sees me as being a hypocrite or as not really wanting to be a woman. But women normally don’t have to shave their faces every single day, nor do they have to put on 5 pounds of makeup and a wig to look feminine. They don’t have to train their voices to fit their presentation. So when I did that, it was for me, self-preservation and not making my question to the workmen about me, but about what they were doing in the field.
I am guessing at her reactions on this, I don’t know how to read people. I am guessing that she feels I can just not be a woman. But I know what she tells me, that she still has the thoughts of why I would choose to be female. I can answer this way, though it’s not a choice, being female isn’t my problem; it’s that my body is male. I don’t have a choice on who I am.
Wednesday, October 12, 2016
This weekend, I put on clothes that I had ordered from Amazon, clothes that fit me and felt wonderful. I went with fall colors, browns and drab greens. I also got breast forms and a soft bra! I got C cups (Thanks Avril) and they fit me perfectly. Not too large, just to fill out my form, and I felt more like me than I ever had. Amazon is a wonderful tool for Trans, I believe. I can't imagine going to a public store in order to get clothes dressed as a man. The bravery that takes is beyond my comprehension.
We were out of milk, so I decided to go to the store to pick some up. I was feeling good about how I looked and felt. I asked R if she wanted to go, but she was tired and didn't want to get dressed. I still wanted to go, I thought that it may be better for me to go solo. I can't keep using R as a crutch. So, I got my things, wallet (front pocket wallet) and my keys and phone. I need a clutch very badly, I felt stupid trying to keep everything together in my hands.
I drove my wife's car to the store, and stopped for petrol. The hurricane was in SC at the time, but the winds were getting high here, so we had gusts at 25 mph. Not conducive to wearing a wig. While I was filling the car with petrol, my hair was going crazy, I don't know how women keep it manageable during these times. So I was pumping gas,rednecks on either side of me filling up their giant 4X4 trucks and I am trying to keep my hair down so as not to reveal my wig base and not look like a crazy lady. I was flustered.
I left there, according to my wife, leaving the gas cover open (the cap was on). And I parked in the store parking lot which is in the same area. I took a moment to gather my thoughts. I left the car and tried to get into the store casually, but then WHAM. The wind hit me in the back of the head full force, my wig stayed on but my hair went completely over my head into my face. I got in the store, frantically trying to put my hair right, while people walked on either side of me.
I ducked into a deserted aisle, which was ironically, the hair car aisle. Used my phones front facing camera to fix my hair and then calmed down, took some breaths and tried to just forget these issues. I don't do well in crowds, I never have doesn't matter how I am dressed. I took a moment, adjusted my clothes and went shopping. I got the milk, but I didn't stop at milk. I went shopping for a few more items. I didn't want to leave there feeling like I was dashing in for milk dressed in womens clothes on a dare. I wanted to shop as me. And when I went up to the self-checkout (my voice is not trained yet) I felt like me, I was just me shopping and paying for my items. I walked out of the store confident and unworried. It was a good weekend, eventually I hope to have good weeks. I am planning my transition with intent to not overthink.
Thursday, October 6, 2016
Step one, you say we need to talk...
You are humming the song in your head now.
So I went to the therapist today. She was very nice and jumped right into it with very little worry about paperwork before hand. I don't know what I was expecting, but I was pleasantly surprised when it was almost just like on the telly and in movies. There was a small couch, not for laying on. I really enjoyed our session, I got to talk about my life and how I felt. It was very cathartic. I'm not going into any details, but I was exhausted after only an hour and I spoke more about me in that hour than I had spoken about me in months to anyone.
I am going back next week. I think this will help me to understand me. I am how I thought, like a deep undercover detective who has spent about 46 years as a drug dealer. Eventually I started thinking like how I thought a man would think. I don't really know me very well. Am I an introvert, or is "the guy" an introvert because I am hiding and don't want to draw attention? Who am us, anyhow?
I came out with more questions, but on the right path. I have a good feeling about this and about where I am headed. I am getting to be me more and more, getting therapy and being positive about things. Wow, it's been a busy year.
Sunday, October 2, 2016
I don't have breasts yet, I am waiting for them to come in from amazon. I have small breasts, but they won't pass, so I made sure to cover up so it wouldn't be so noticeable. I was trying not to scrutinize every single thing or I would never make it out of the house. So we left the house and drove to the department store. This was a first in two ways, my first daylight drive and my first time walking into a public store. We parked and got out to go into the store, first thing a man walked by and looked me dead in the eyes. He had no reaction, just kept going. Whew.
We made it into the store, where my daughter said an older woman stopped on her way past us, turned around and then turned back to continue out of the store. Close one.
We shopped, going everywhere in the store. I was at a heightened state, but I was calm. Honestly I thought I would be more excited. After a few minutes I even forgot that I don't have a feminine voice and had to remind myself to speak softly to my daughter. It was the best feeling in the world, forgetting to be afraid or that I'm in a male body. I was just a woman shopping with her daughter. I'd say the best feeling in the world.
We left the store, only being clocked by the one woman, that we noticed. Then R decided that she wanted to do something else, so we tried for riskier and more crowded. Starbucks inside a grocery store after churches let out. We got there, and it was super busy. R ordered from a trainee who took a very long time, with people behind us getting testy. I was starting to panic, not really because I got the look from a guy who kept staring at me and one of the women working behind the counter who gave me the "go girl" smile, I was starting to panic because I have never done well with crowds of people. It was warm in the store, and I was wearing a long cardigan so with my beginning panic I could feel beads of sweat starting on my upper lip. Luckily the lady who had smiled at me earlier helped the trainee and gave us the drinks so we could be on our way. Not a great time in starbucks, but more because of my tight crowds issue.
Over all, the day was very liberating and I was glad that R felt comfortable with me and unworried. We had worked out a plan if anything happened, to walk with dignity straight to our car and leave if there were any issues. We weren't going to scamper off or cause a scene, but we would not put up with my being called out. Luckily, this didn't happen and it was a really good day. I have more confidence and a greater understanding of what I need to do in the future.
Tuesday, September 27, 2016
She was really nice, my therapist, I am going to call her Dr. L. Dr. L sounds nice and is excited to help me. She will be the first person, who isn't family, to know my truth, to know Beth! (sorry)
I'm not going as me, I am coming straight from work since it is the latest time she has available and I will be in my "the guy" clothes. I hope I get out of this what I want to get out of this. I'm not sure what I want out of this. I want to just be me, I want to be told that it's ok? or perhaps that I have been waiting for no reason this is perfectly natural? I don't know, I don't think I need her to tell me anything, I just want someone to listen to me and not judge me before hand on how "the guy" has always had to act or what he has said to maintain his manhood facade.
I am going to try my best to just be me, to tell her how I feel and where I have problems. We all have issues, and as with all transgender I tend to fall into a certain type. Depressed, introvert, untrusting and pessimistic, a few of my favorite issues. So we will see. I am just glad I am moving forward, like a pretty shark. It means everything that I am not standing still, that I am not just typing at this blog explaining over and over why I haven't done anything.
I don't judge anyone for not transitioning, I firmly believe you find your own balance with what you can handle and what life brings. But I can't not do it, I have to do it. Another step on the stairs to being me.
Incidentally, I would love to debate those who think that being gay or transgender is a choice, step into our shoes and see if you think that we would choose to work so very hard to just simply be. Preaching - Choir I know. I am excited and I have all these thoughts going through my mind.
Then I return home, and I want to get comfortable, so I change out of my business clothes and into a pair of shorts and a tshirt. I don't have long hair, I keep it cut short because of my position. So I would love to put my hair on, to feel just a bit more like me. But now I have to think about how my wife and my daughter will react after seeing me come in as "the guy". Or if we order pizza, or a vehicle pulls up into the drive looking for directions, a pizza man delivering our pizza, how will they react? I don't have makeup on, I have a 5 o'clock shadow and I'm wearing a wig, wearing womens shorts and a tshirt. Even I think I look ridiculous.
So, during the entire week I wear only what I can get away with, womens jeans and panties, the rest are mens clothes. I don't wear my hair, except for a few really early mornings when I have time. I worry about how I look, it bothers me that everyone sees "the guy". But "the guy" is who they accept as me, while Beth is what they believe (if they know) is some kind of temporary thing or what I might pull out for parties. (I don't)
If I transition, the fear is that I still don't get to be me, I get to be some version of "the guy" with boobs and in a dress. If my penis is gone, testes are removed, breasts enhanced, I am still somehow "the guy". It's not going to stop me, from transitioning, but it's a real fear that I have.
I have spent my entire life wanting to be loved for who I truly am. I dreamed about my body magically turning into a woman overnight, or hoped that when I woke that I had this nightmare about being stuck in a boys body. Now, I won't know if they love me, or the man that I have pretended to be all my life.
Saturday, September 24, 2016
Thursday, September 22, 2016
My dad wasn’t horrible, he was mean when I was younger, but he mellowed over the years. But for him I was a boy, so he treated me as a boy. This isn’t his fault; it’s mine for fearing him so much I never told him I’m not a boy. My fault for not pressing my mom, after briefly telling her I wanted to be a girl. I detested going to the department store with my mother, who would take me each year for school clothes. I was led into the boys section, a man would help my mother pick out pants and shirts and then I was to go and try them all on. She would ask me how they fit and if I liked them. I never liked them. They were not what I wanted to wear. It wasn’t the clothes; it was that they represented the opposite of what I felt. I was made to wear a big sign that said, “Here is a boy, let no one dispute this, for he is a HIM and never to be mistaken for she, her or girl!” I was made to stand there, embarrassed because I was in the boys section being pinned down as what they wanted me to be, what they thought I should be.
I have made a few steps lately, small changes for most, but big leaps for me. And I think I am ready to stop hiding in my skin. I’m calling the therapist for an appointment. I kept putting it off; I kept thinking not yet, that there are other things to spend money on. I have to do something; I am just playing house right now, dressing up at home and not actually living my life. So tomorrow, I am calling the therapist so that I can get some help on my journey into transition. Sounds grand right? It’s a long, hard slog I know, but it will never be over unless I start.