Friday, March 25, 2016
I am sitting at a computer, using a fake name, typing on a blog, because I am afraid to come out to the world. (which is only fake, again because I am afraid of losing my job by coming out) We aren't LGBT anything, we are just T. If you are trans and gay, then you are still just T. We are a minority, and frankly no one wants us at the party. Homosexuals weren't banned from using the bathroom, being gay is supported in spite of the conservative agenda. However, when it all comes down, once we are out of the way, once T is hidden away where we "belong", then it will be the conservative agenda to eradicate homosexuals. We are an easy target, dealt with first, then they move on to their harder to hit targets. You need to remember that we all fall apart if we stand alone.
It starts with a bathroom, it will end with us.
Thursday, March 17, 2016
Secrets (secrets) are no fun
Secrets (secrets) hurt someone
Let me tell you how it all began
A little secret got out of hand
I am a waffle, well no, I am a pancake. But I do waffle about. I vacillate between telling my children and not telling them... yet
I want to tell them, just get it out, just say the damn words. But I can't help feeling like this is opening a lot of issues for them, and yes for me. I don't want to hide something from them, but hiding is my default setting.
There are a few times this last week where I would have just told them, I was on the precipice. And I backed away, I didn't jump. I don't know why I have this feeling like I would lose any respect I have fought hard to keep in the face of my (step) children. I hate using "step" anything. They are my children, for one of them, I am the only father she has ever known. I don't want to lose respect and authority. I was brought up by a dad that was not the best at being dad, he had a hard time in my earlier childhood being a man who wasn't a boy, an angry boy. So my want to be a good father, a loved and cherished father, is pretty strong.
I shouldn't feel this way. Being the gender I am should have nothing to do with my ability to be a parent. But I am just as affected by societies views of transgender as anyone. We are made to feel marginalized, separate from even the people who are allies. The fallacy of the LGBT grouping is in the view that somehow we fit into that situation. Sure some of us, myself included are sexual-orientation fluid, or gay. But a lot of us are straight, so how does our gender play into sexual orientation? It doesn't, so we don't actually fit, we are the square peg in this scenario. So, yes I feel bad for being what I am. I feel like I should just be able to get over it, or ignore it and it may, some day go away. (in 40+ years this hasn't happened) Want to take bets on if this will ever happen? Want to see if, at the very end of my life, I'm not feeling exactly the same as I always have?
I don't get to choose what gender I am, any more than you can choose to be a giraffe.
So, I want to tell my kids. I want them to accept me as I am, not as I present currently to them. I just don't want to lie to them anymore, I don't want to hide. So I am going to have to woman up and just do it. It's better now than later, they should know before I take any more steps to becoming somewhat what I am inside.
Wednesday, March 16, 2016
I have a small thing to talk about and then a fairly large thing to talk about, and I’m going to mush them up together here in one post. I know, I’m crazy – it can’t be done, what am I thinking, right?
My wife, I love her and I adore her, but she is driving me up a bloody wall. When I mention something, such as cheap pantyhose that fell apart, since it had no reinforcement at the toes, she invariably responds in what I am sure is an unintended condescending way. “All stockings are cheap”, however that isn’t really the case, some are better than others and I’m not brand new to the world.
This is entering into the area of now that I am starting to be perceived as a woman or at least feminine, she is treating me like a lost doe in the woods. I have been a female all my life, yes there are some things I don’t know, but stockings isn’t something I am likely to have questions on. Also, she knows that I study, analyze and overthink everything I do, so she knows I’m not uninformed about material objects that actually have a measurable, quantitative value. I don’t know if this is her way of pointing out that I’m “not really a woman” in some passive aggressive way, or if this is just her way of trying to be supportive and what I am hearing is pure imagination.
No idea. I know there are things I don’t know, but it’s about things like how to apply cosmetics or how to walk in heels. I need to just adjust my pride and ego and accept the help at face value I suppose. I love her and I appreciate her for putting up with me in the first place.
Ok, so that was the small thing, now to the larger concern…
I work at a place that requires a cleanroom. For those of you who do not know what that is, this is a room in which the air is filtered to exclude dust, and the air inside is constantly recirculated through HEPA filtration and kept at a positive pressure so if any leaks occur, air leaks out of the chamber instead of unfiltered air coming in.
The problem for me, occurs when we have to enter the cleanroom, there are a series of rooms, one in which we disrobe, removing all clothing except our underwear (in this case, panties) and then we enter another room in which we put on cleanroom smocks, pants and shoes. Thus far, the cleanroom hasn’t been at a level in which we needed to disrobe, merely put on cleanroom garb over our clothes, but in the new facility, this is a higher level cleanroom now.
We have not gotten or proper cleanroom garb yet, so we are still using the over-the-clothes style, but very very soon, we will be disrobing. And I’m not sure how to handle that. I have toyed around with different ideas. Hide a pair of male underwear in the IT room that stays locked, so I can change into them if I need to go in the cleanroom. Just keep my panties on and try to time it to where no one else is in there. Either way, I have shaved legs and I am NOT giving that up. Also, I am just uncomfortable being undressed in front of men. I did this in the military, but I was deep in hiding and had the hairy legs and kept up the machismo to a stupid level. I can’t go to my bosses with my being uncomfortable. They won’t care, and they will indeed drum me out of here. So, I think I will have to purchase a pair of boxers just to leave here so I can change into it when needed. Hopefully I can avoid ever going in there, but I doubt it. I’ve already had to go in there 14 times in just one month. Anyone else reading this work in a facility with a cleanroom? How did you deal with it? Any ideas at all, I am not above an invisibility cloak right now.
Friday, March 11, 2016
My wife is gone this weekend for a conference. So I am going to ramble a bit about things.
At one time, I would have relished this time, especially my first marriage. I would have waited for the taillights of the car to disappear and then I would have raced to her closet. It would have been the short time I had in which to try on a dress, or lingerie or her shoes (which never fit in either marriage, damn feet). I would have just enjoyed the feeling of being in clothes that didn’t make me feel like the man-skin I was in. And then it would be gone. I would hurriedly put everything back exactly like I had found it and pretend that it never happened for another couple of days or weeks. I won’t lie, there were times I masturbated, in the luxurious, completely involved way that happens when you let yourself completely be a woman.
Now, I just miss my wife while she is gone. I could still open her closet and try things on. She has some nice dresses I would like to try, and I may once she gets back and I ask her if it’s alright to do so. I have my own clothes, ones I don’t have to throw away if someone gets close to finding out, or if I have to move. I do have to dodge the children a bit, but since they are rarely up earlier than 9am, I have been at work long before that is an issue. I have a drawer full of panties, socks and leggings/pantyhose, no backup mens underwear, just the things I will wear. I have mens shirts, that is all I have left of the penis-y side of my biological self. I’m slowly shedding the disguise I have been wearing for so long it’s become the itchy sweater of a straitjacket.
In my first marriage, it was fraught with hiding who I was and dealing with wanting to be her. Well, I wanted to have her body. I got married for the wrong reasons. So it was little wonder that it didn’t work out. With my current wife, I don’t want to be her. I am attracted to her, but I don’t want to be her. I want to be her wife, not a husband, in the eyes of the world. I want to be attractive to her. I want to be like any other couple of women in love.
Thursday, March 3, 2016
I don't see me until I look in the mirror, and even then I only focus on the feature I went to the mirror for. I don't look long and hard into the reflection. I can't stand the image that looks back at me, the man standing there when it should be a woman. When the mirror is absent, I am a woman, albeit a woman who has to pretend to be a man during work hours.
Some may see this as a shallow existence, to only see the parts to never delve deeper. But this is only with my outer appearance, the shell that hides the me inside. I don't believe I am shallow, I plumb the depths of my mind, I am an introvert who looks hard at the person I am inside. Inside me, I am just a girl. It's uncomplicated at it's core, there is no penis, no testosterone, no machismo, but there are infinite lives of the female me in this mind.
So, I don't see the reflection in the mirror, I don't acknowledge the lie of this shell. I avoid having photos taken of me. I am not comfortable having attention centered on me. This isn't me the photo is revealing, this isn't a guy you are looking at. Pronouns? lol, I don't care about pronouns, call me what you want. I don't want to be seen as a man, that is the worst. The deception, the long con, is that everyone is perfectly content as seeing me as this penis bearing, facial hair growing, man in the mirror. They should know better, they should be able to see past this facade. They never do.
Perception will tell them that I must be a transvestite, that I am confused, that I am fooling myself. They don't actually see me, they see only what the mirror sees, a flat representation of the surface.