Monday, February 29, 2016

Time for me to Fly

I grew up watching musicals, it was something my mother and I enjoyed doing together. I have always loved musicals, even Xanadu! The Music Man, Singin' in the Rain, The Sound of Music, and many, many more. None of them quite caught my imagination the way that "Bye Bye Birdie" did. Sure, it is a trite comedy with little in the way of plot and a bit silly. But from the very beginning, where Ann-Margret is walking at the camera, I was caught in a web of jealousy/desire/longing.

I wanted so badly to be her, to be this beautiful girl. I wanted to be the one singing with joyful abandon, "how lovely to be a woman" and to move like she does. The lyrics cut me deeply, I wanted so badly to be this girl who wanted to be a woman. Even today this is my goto musical, the one where for a moment I'm this beautiful girl.

It's easy to become jaded and angry, to think of the life I have as one I was cheated out of by a chromosomal mistake. I don't deny I have railed against God for being a jerk, for being fallible. I have also wished on falling stars, every eyelash and a penny in every well. I have prayed, wished, hoped and nothing changed. It was all I had (that I was aware of), the wish, to dream and hope. 

I won't stop wishing I am that girl, the one who dreams of becoming a woman.
 




Wednesday, February 24, 2016

Hair, makeup and other sundry items

I received a wig in the post a few weeks ago, a HH wig that was neither expensive nor badly manufactured. It is less than shoulder length as I don't want it to seem like I am trying so hard to hide my features. Also, the previous wig is long, and still serviceable, so I wanted something that was a different style. I am still not sure which length is better for my face or frame. 

I also obtained some makeup, some ordered online, some bought in walmart. I have concealer and primer, brushes and eyeshadows. I have, in short, all the things one needs to make a girl seem less imperfect. Of course, this would be the case if I were an expert or even a trained novice in makeup application. At the moment, our 13 year old daughter is better than even her mother at applying and correctly matching cosmetics. I wish I could tell her, I waffle on telling her. Not just to get expert makeup tips, but because I don't like hiding who I am. And I should start these truths with my immediate family, I would think. I'm afraid of the look in my little girls eyes, as that look changes while she starts to understands what I am saying, then finally what it means. That me, the only father she has really known, isn't a man. She has already been let down by her biological father, a man who she can't really remember. I just don't want to let her down at all. But I digress.

I have shown my wife my wigs, shared with her my cosmetics and worn them when I am able. She doesn't say much about them, she acknowledges them, will give me advice on them, but I sense hesitancy, which is something I should just accept. I should appreciate that she isn't violently opposed to who I am.

I must give her time. I have had all my life to deal with this, to figure out what is going on.

Friday, February 19, 2016

Dresses and Treadmills

I bought a treadmill this week, I still have to assemble it, but I managed to get it in the house 250+ lbs of it. I'm glad, for this one instance, that I'm not on HRT right now. I will put it together this weekend. I have made a silent, but apparently not secret vow that I will not buy another dress, or blouse until I drop out of the plus size range. It's a personal goal, not a judgement on anyone plus-size.
I have modified my diet to include healthy proteins and veggies, with portion control. I did this before with great results, but my hiding who I am always put me into a depression, in which I stopped caring about what I looked like. 
I still need to find a psychiatrist that has experience with trans, not only to start HRT, but to deal with my eating for comfort through depression. It's not easy in the small mountain town I live in.

Saturday, February 13, 2016

My favorite song, of all time.


Just enjoy it, no agenda, no speech.

Me time! Reflection time.

My wife went to visit her mothers, and she took most of the children with her. Martin went to stay at a friends, so I had all of last night alone. I did the full thing, hair, makeup (most of it, I am still waiting for eyeshadow I ordered to come in) a nice dress that came in that day. I am trying to find boots that fit me, but I know that my wifes boots are just a little too small, so if I can find I think a size 12, I can make it work. I did my usual things, took the dog for a walk and checked mail. I watched supernatural and checked my email. I have to say, it was kind of nice just being alone for a bit. The house feels crowded now, so this was a nice change.

I sat outside on the porch, it was cold but I got to watch people go by, dressed as I wanted. And a cup of hot tea makes everything better. I have found that there is nothing quite as satisfying as leaving a bit of lip tint on a cup.

I keep telling myself that I am going to let the children know. I want to do it, but I also want them to understand that this isn't about a guy crossdressing, this is about a girl who is in a guys body. I think that focusing on the clothes is what is going to happen, instead of understanding who I am. This and I want to be in better shape, more shapely shape. I figure the more womanly I can present, the easier it will be to understand? I don't know. It's hard to explain to a little girl that finally has a dad, that her father is actually a woman in disguise. Again, I feel like she will think I was tricking her, or worse that I am trying to fool her now.

Sunday, February 7, 2016

The return of the prodigal son

So, yesterday our other son came home. Martin, who is TS also, is now moved into the same room as our eldest son. This is not ideal only because it is a very small room and anatomically Martin is female and probably doesn't want his brother to see him in various states of undress. Martin is fighting a binding battle with very well proportioned breasts that I would love to have. Is that weird?

Anyway, Martin doesn't know about me. I don't want to make this about me for his issues. It's sheer chance that both of us are TS, he is my step-son, though I never call them "step" anything. But there it is, two TS in the same house. We are still trying to find out if this is his call or he is pressured by the people he hangs out with/loves into being TS instead of just being who he truly feels like he is. It's a murky road we are traveling. I personally, just want him to be  happy and well adjusted. Being he or she or a combination, means very little to me in the long run. However, his mother is very much a black or white on this issue, I think she just wants to know that her little girl is still there somewhere. I don't have the heart to tell her that if he is TS, he was never that little girl, just a confused and conforming little boy.

I don't know when I am going to tell Martin, or any of the other kids. I don't really take steps to hide it anymore, I just don't wear dresses in front of them, and I wear a mans shirt. It's sad that it takes so little to hide who I am, that my entire presentation is female except a shirt and short hair, styled as a man. They probably don't care at all, parents are in this other world that we are shunted into when kids think they don't need us. But this is my story and he has his story, I will let him choose when I enter a scene and when the pronouns change. I don't need others to define me, I'm too old to let pronouns have much of an effect. I've been a she all my life whilst being called he, doesn't matter how I am presenting I won't feel any different about that. I know it is a tough hurdle to get over, just watching Martin and his mom, I know it isn't easy.

Something, I haven't let Michelle see me in my wig. For one, when she gets up I am leaving to go to work, and another I don't know but it feels like she will see it as the red nose on a clown. I would prefer my own hair, my own breasts, my own female body. But I have to make alterations to this body and I feel fake for using a wig. Don't get me wrong, I like wearing it, I feel so much more me. But I'm afraid of being seen as a joke, it's my major flaw in personality, I don't want to appear foolish. And this wig may not be me, it may look stupid and I just think it's pretty on me. It was a cheap wig and one I don't mind putting in the closet when I'm not using. I often just don't feel pretty, testosterone has pretty much done it's job on me.

Wednesday, February 3, 2016

Taking the time to breathe

I've got so many things going on right now. I've listed them all before so I won't go over them again. But I feel like I keep exhaling and I can't get my breath. I am waiting to start the yoga (there is NO place for it right now, waiting for our son to finally move out, again), we are getting a treadmill but I have to wait for that until taxes come in. I have a lot of feminization exercises, but again, space needed. So in a week or so I will be able to work off some of this tension and just get out of my head.

Everything is about work right now, I am just trying to keep everything going in a place I likely won't even be able to work in a years time. Nice that I'm putting in all the effort for a lot of people that won't accept me when they find out who I actually am. They won't care that I am the person who always made things happen, or that I was the one with the great ideas. My six sigma-lean green belt and all my certificates will just be confetti in the face of my being a woman. My gender, or the speculation of my gender will define me soon. I won't be me to them, I will be that <enter TS slur here>.

Is there a way to make someone understand that you have always been you? That despite the clothes and hair and makeup, despite the cosmetic changes, you have always been a girl? There isn't. While most people individually are smart and can be altruistic, put them in a group and you have the same people trying to throw a rope up in a tree because they believe that people with black skin aren't the same human beings as them. Mob rules are harsh and unforgiving, and the workplace is just another mob waiting to happen. I've made my peace with looking for another job, I'm trying to time it correctly and find a place that isn't so far gone into stupid that they can accept good workers as well, good workers.

I'm sad that the things that will change the most won't be me, it will be the people around me. I will just be changing my appearance, my thoughts and my soul will still be firmly female. The people I know will change in drastic ways, they will become mean and spiteful, suddenly religious-ish, or they will become so supportive that I will question their motives. I am sad that things didn't work out so that I did this sooner in life so that I could live longer not involved in deception.

I'm happy though, as well. I'm happy in my marriage. Not one day goes by that I am wishing I hadn't married my wife. I couldn't have ever said that, not even for one day about my previous marriage. I'm happy in my life, I'm happy that change for me is positive. That it may take a while, but I will be as me as I can get.

So, despite the stress and despite the sadness, I am basically happy and intend on it still being so in moments I will want to remember. Thanks for reading this, I actually feel better for typing it. A small breath, in this moment.