Downward Spiral

Ring Around the Rosie,

I can't do this alone. I need a partner - a confidant. I know who she is, but I'm scared to take her hand, to start spinning. I cannot eat. I dare not sleep. Days pass but the dread and desire only grow. Finally, in desperation, I clasp her hand. Together we start the dance.

Pocket Full of Posie,

I know how it ends. How many others have spun this same circle before me? Chanted these same lines? And yet the euphoria will not leave. Contrary, it consumes. The world is a blur, and everything is moving so quickly. I cannot tell what is happening; I surrender to the rush of the moment. If only this feeling could be frozen.

Ashes, Ashes...

Now they know. It changes everything.

My mother's grand expectations for my life are unceremoniously cremated, the remains scattered over the depths of her own personal hell. She looks through me now, and though I am dead to her she pretends otherwise. It is a miserable act.

I see tears streak my Father's image, shattering his perfection in my mind's eye forever. I could change, I could undo everything, but this moment in time can never be rewritten. It is seared in my memories for eternity - the day I broke my father.

We All Fall Down.

My sisters join us. My family collapses around me like a fallen house of cards. All that remains of the order amidst the chaos is the memory of what once was, the hope of what could have been. Memories fade over time; hope is ethereal.

We speak with double meanings as we toss hollow words around with longing. Desire for a better future reigns supreme now, but our desires form an anarchy. Love is the magical illusion that binds us together. But we have stopped chanting the magic amongst ourselves, and we no longer dance together.



Please understand that, though this writing is very dark, it does not in any way reflect my thoughts completely. I have never doubted my decision to transition, and, so far, it has been the best decision I have ever made. This piece is merely a reflection of that one particular part of my life, and how I feel about it. But I knew it might end this way before I even took the first step out the door. I was prepared (or as well prepared as anyone can be) for whatever might transpire.

Unfortunately, nothing in life is perfect, and there will be dark times. But I believe that if we look hard enough, we can also find beauty in the darkness. That the power of darkness lies in it's mystery - the sense that you don't know what is really there. But if we become familiar with it, then that power over us is lost. I'm not suggesting that we take up residence there, but I also don't think it's healthy to avoid it completely or pretend it never happened. We should acknowledge it for what it is - relive the nightmare on our own terms. And perhaps if we do, we'll find that the terror of the moment has begun to fade, and that life has moved on despite everything we've gone through. And hopefully we'll become a stronger person for it.

Eye of the Beholder

Somewhere east of the bay, on a slightly busy intersection, you may find a cute little boutique. It has a large plate glass window in the front, as many boutique's do, and if you were to look in that specific window you would find yourself staring at a mannequin clothed in a dress. But not just any dress - it is a beautiful blood red gown, elegantly designed and simply breathtaking. Every stitch of the garment gracefully pronounces the stunningly perfect hourglass figure of the lifeless female form it embraces. My friend and I just so happened to be somewhere east of the bay, on the corner of a slightly busy intersection, and we just so happened to be walking past this particular store-front window. We briefly interrupted ourselves to gaze up at the little red dress in the window. At length the desire was expressed, "I just wish I had the body to wear something like that." The reply: "Don't we all?"

The red dress is more then just another dress. It's the feminine ideal. It's what we are constantly taught by some unseen authorities that we, as women, should be. To be anything less then perfection itself is a horrible shame, and we will never be happy until we achieve such perfection. Or so we are led to believe. In the media, in society, in all forms of marketing. We know they lie to us, but part of us always wants to believe the lie, for the arguments they consistently and relentlessly create and put on display are rather compelling. And like all the best lies, they are based in truth. They appeal to our vanity, and in our weaker moments we believe it.

For many of us women with a trans history, the pursuit of the feminine ideal is even more compulsary then for most. After all, the very label we place upon ourselves implies that we seek after a more feminine state of being then we were originally given at birth. So at what point does it cease being about seeking a relief from the constant onslaught of dysphoria, and where does it begin to shift into the realm of shallow vanity? When will the pursuit to become increasingly feminine reach an end?

I realize that finding a conclusive answer is all but impossible, and that even if you could the result would be completely different from one individual to the next. And to be honest, it really doesn't matter all that much anyway. But still...Oftentimes I wonder where that line, should it even exist, is drawn for me.

I look in the mirror some days, and I can't help but analyze my reflection. My image is completely broken down into tiny little pieces, and each piece is then sorted into a category of 'old' and 'new', 'male' and 'female', 'pretty' and 'ugly'. It takes less then a second, and happens now without any conscience thought. I am so practiced and well versed in the differences that I can do it as easily as I breathe. And if I'm not careful, the unwanted categories are the one's that linger in my mind, and sometimes I convince myself that the good just 'isn't good enough'. It's not perfection. Within that utopian world full of immaculate beauty, flawless skin, and ideal hourglass silhouettes, I fall below the average.

But what of the world beyond the perfect world - the real world. The one with women whose waist to hip ratio is actually further from the perfect standard then my own. Where I pass by women daily with more masculine features in their face then the one in my mirror. Of course, there are many a time when a girl will pass by that reminds me that the high standard for beauty actually is within the realm of possibility. But when it comes to fitting into the average in the real world, I fall well within the bounds. And there are certainly women that I know of personally that, given the opportunity, I would be loathe to trade bodies with, despite my often envious musings. So if I'm reasonably content with my own level of femininity, why does the drive for perfection continue? At what point will a glance in the mirror automatically confirm what I know - that I'm fine just the way I am. Is the quest for beauty really nothing more then the desire to eradicate all visible traces of masculinity from my body, or is it a separate more self-serving drive? Is it still gender dysphoria if I battle the same body issues that a cis-gendered women might have difficulty with herself? If there is a difference, would it even matter?

I suppose the point of it all is that the red dress truly is beautiful. And I would love to own it someday - most women I know would. And I suppose I'll always dream of owning it. But as amazing as it would be to posses it, I don't need it to be happy. I have my own dresses in my own closet. And I worked really, really hard for the right to wear them. And they may not be as beautiful, but they're mine; and that's worth so much more.

Thanksgiving

Right before the holidays things got pretty stressful for me for a while. As I've mentioned in my last post, I had just moved into this great new place, and I was really excited about it. But shortly after getting all settled in things started to turn. I had sooooo many new problems come up all at once it was nearly overwhelming - I had issues with work, my car, my dentist, the pharmacy - even my computer started to die - all within a two week period. It sucked.

Then, right before Thanksgiving, my luck started to turn. I had finally gotten the last of those issued resolved. I figured things would return to normal. I was wrong - they got even better :) I just recently found out that my company will be starting up their 401k match this January, and that they're also reinstating their merit increase program next year (I'll actually get a raise next year - yay!). This is super important, because this also prompted me to go in and (finally) realign my 401k assets. Because I'll be using a loan from my 401k to pay for my surgery, this means I could shave up to a YEAR or two from my waiting time! This was followed by an amazing Thanksgiving spent with the friends and their family; I definitely needed to do a lot of nothing, and that's exactly what we did. And, right after getting back from the holiday, we rolled out a new piece of software at work that saves me hours of labor each night - my stress level is nearly non-existent at this point. Oh - and I managed to save my computer from it's near death experience. That was kinda nice too :)

Lately, I've also put a lot of focus on restructuring my finances and changing how I spend my social time. Socially, I've switched my main focus to creating long-term platonic relationships and becoming active within the community. I find this to be much more rewarding, and have already started to meet some really amazing people. I've gone over my finances recently with a fine-tooth comb and have made a lot of cut-backs in a bunch of different areas. I've set up some new goals to reach and I'm really excited about what's on the horizon.

I've never been in such a positive situation before, and especially on the heels of the miserable two weeks I was having earlier it's a huge relief! And as if all of that wasn't enough, it's not just me that's got great news. A couple of my friends have recently had some great news of their own as well (one friend is having her surgery, and the other just found a new job). I'm super happy for both of them! The best part about all of it is that none of this is a temporary thing - everything is ongoing, and will continue to be this way well into the next year and beyond. It's as if everything just fell into place, all at once. Thanksgiving was definitely the perfect time for it all to begin :)

Barren

I've recently moved - and my new place is really nothing short of amazing. One of the things that I absolutely love about it is the fact that just around the corner is a walking trail by the creek. It's not the most beautiful creek to be sure, but just gazing out at the sky from under the trees, and being free to wander the trails endlessly is something I've missed sooooo much since moving to the Bay. It's the place I go to when I need to relax, and just think. So I've been doing quite a bit of thinking lately (scary, I know).

A lot of my thoughts have revolved around what I really want out of life someday. One of the recent conclusions I finally came to was that I would really like to have kids eventually. When I first got married I tried to picture what the future would be like if we were going to have kids together. I'd imagine how my parents would react to the news, what it would be like during the months of pregnancy, being there for the birth... I know this is going to sound incredibly stereotypical, but it just felt really awkward, like it didn't fit right. Just thinking about it made me uncomfortable. But while I couldn't see myself as a dad, I can completely see myself as a mom. I'm not naive enough to believe that children are always cute and sweet (I've been around enough babies), but I also know that having a child that you love with every fiber of your being makes dealing with all the stress, and sleepless nights, and frustration worth it all in the end. And I would love more then anything the opportunity to be there for that child. To watch them learn and grow. To teach and train them. To share in all the magic they'll experience as part of growing up. To be the person for them that my mother was for me.

The irony is cruel. Back when I couldn't fathom having a child of my own, I was able to. Now that I want one, it will be excruciatingly difficult to have one. I wasn't able to bank any sperm, so having a child that shares my DNA will be next to impossible. Even though I don't care about genetics, having and raising a child with someone is always a difficult endeavor when at least one of the partners in the relationship is unable to have children. Not that it's completely outside the realm of possibility. I could marry into a family, adopt, receive help through a surrogate, etc... It's just a lot more difficult.

I suppose I should focus first on meeting someone crazy enough to fall in love with me, let alone raise a child with me. And I definitely want that to come first, of course. So this is one dream that's being put on hold for a while. But I've already had one dream come true after years of disbelief, so maybe there's hope for it after all.

The Ritual

It’s always the same. The music starts. It’s slow at first. Soft. Relaxing. It’s meant to calm the inevitable anxiety, but rarely does it succeed in that endeavor – not completely. Still, it is better then silence, and it always comes first.

Next is the preparation, the physical preparation. All the requirements are laid out on the table. First the bottle is set down, followed by the vial, and so on, until finally the last item is put into place. Everything is opened and prepared to enable the process to flow smoothly from start to finish. I like preparation. It allows for a small delay.

Once all is organized and neat and ready, the task truly begins. The needles swap. The syringe fills its void with air – but only to the mark. Then the vial is pierced and the emptiness is quickly transferred. Not too hastily – that would cause pockets. Pockets are bad. Mere seconds pass, and the syringe and the vial both are ready for the second phase of transference to begin. This time it’s slower, gentler. This is the true beginning of the ritual, when the fluid slowly fills the cylinder. I stare at it in wonder every time. The awe has never abated. The music flowing in the background transforms this moment into magic. Soon the mark is met for the second time, and the needle withdraws.

The needles trade positions once again, and the first is discarded. It has served its purpose. The second has yet to fulfill its duty, but soon it too will be put to good use. Very soon. I caress my outer thigh with cotton damp from alcohol. The music shifts. No longer a meandering melody, the new sounds come hard and fast. The tempo is quick, the beats are loud, and it comes crashing down all around me. The sounds signal a slight rush of adrenaline. It provides focus, and numbs the fear of pain. Pain caused by the needle placed against my leg. A deep breath. A bit of pressure. With very little effort it slides past the skin and deep into the tissue beneath. It is held steady, while I adjust to its presence. My thumb tugs slightly upwards on the plunger, but there is no rush of blood to taint the cloudy yellow substance. There never is. It never hurts to check.

The worst has passed. The anxiety is all but gone. I allow my muscles to relax. It is with calm anticipation that I begin to force the liquid inside of me. I press downward on the plunger. Slowly – it must be slowly, for the liquid is thick and offers much resistance. The seconds tick by. Once again, the music is helpful. I focus my attention on the sound and the pressure against my thumb. Finally, the container is empty – there is nothing left. There is no longer any reason for the bit of metal to be taking up space in my thigh. In one swift motion I remove it from my body and place a bit of cotton against the puncture wound it leaves behind. The cotton serves as a temporary placeholder, as I prepare the bandage that will be relieving it shortly. With the bandage in place I gently massage the fluid beneath my skin.

The music is turned down. I breathe a sigh of contentment. All is quiet. All is right.

The Dream Within

A while ago I had a dream about my Dad. It was kinda strange (as dreams tend to be). First I was somewhere tropical and we were playing on the beach, watching the ocean. I think my mom was there and one of my old classmates from high school – though that was pretty vague. I also remember a herd of puppies coming out of the ocean, which was pretty odd. As the tide went out, the ocean eroded the beach, and it went down instead of out like it should have, creating a cliff that terrified me. And then on both sides of us there was ocean. Suddenly it wasn’t scary anymore, cause I had a clear path back to where we were staying. The area was beautiful. We went back to our hotel and hung out a bit, but then realized we had to go back to the beach for some reason. All of a sudden I was riding in the car with my dad – kinda like how we used to. It was a large car – some sort of SUV or truck. And he kept going off the road and through these tiny little passage ways that we shouldn’t have been able to fit through, but we made it through anyway. And we talked. I don’t know what we talked about – it could have been anything. But after a while we stopped and suddenly we were at an apartment complex. It didn’t look anything like anywhere I’ve ever lived, but yet I knew it was my place and that my roommate was inside. My dad and I were walking up the stairs to go in and I was telling him about her – and that’s when I woke up.

But despite the crazy setting, the way I felt, sitting in the car, talking with my dad - it was like how we used to be – there was no problem with the fact that I had transitioned, even though I had already done that in the dream. But it’s like that didn’t matter to him. He just talked to me like he used to. I really miss talking to him. A lot.

On some level, I know it’s not fair. I mean, I’m the one that changed everything between us. I suppose I’m the reason we never talk. And yet, I’m the one that wishes things could be the same way between us. I don’t mean I regret transitioning, because I don’t. But of everything I’ve given up – everything I’ve sacrificed to be here, that is the one thing I miss the most – sitting in the car, talking to my dad.

The dream was bittersweet. It was nice to have my dad feel OK with me again – even if it was a dream. But being only a dream, it had to come to an end, and I woke up. After that it was nothing but a painful reminder that it’s still a part of my life that’s missing. I might never get it back, and I know that. But hey - a girl can dream, can’t she?

The Itch to Move

Sigh...

I've been neglecting my blog. I feel kinda bad about this, but I just don't really have anything really to contribute at the moment. I mean, there's a TON of stuff on my mind, but it just won't flow out of me into the keyboard the way I want it to. But it's been too long since I've written anything, and well....I just feel like typing.

I guess part of the problem is that my life just kinda feels so ordinary right now. People ask me what I've been up to and now my answer is "Oh, just work and stuff", which in reality is a pretty accurate summation of my days. Of course, that's an over simplification. I do fun stuff too. But it's mostly boring and/or private stuff that I just don't need/want to write about. And ya know - it's really kinda nice for a change :)

I mean, it hasn't even been that long, but it's happening more often now that the big events in my life have nothing to do with gender ('cept dating - but that's part of the private stuff). And the more normalcy creeps back into my everyday life, the more I begin to wonder what I really want to do next. And it's really kinda scary that the answer that keeps coming up is "I don't know". Well, not super scary - but scary in a good way. I suppose I could explain that better. I suppose I mean scary as in 'rollercoaster type scary' - where you know you're gonna live and be fine and all, but it still freaks you out anyway. That's more like what I mean.

I do know one thing for sure. Eventually, I want to get the heck out of Dodge. Don't get me wrong - I love the Bay area. There's a lot of wonderful people here, and a lot of great places to go. But I'm so over the incredibly high cost of living! I'm want to move somewhere - anywhere - where I can walk out my front yard and be surrounded by nature (or at least a very quiet rural suburbia). I want to HAVE a front yard to walk out of. I wanna go somewhere where what I earn is closer to the median income then the poverty line. I want to meet new people and do new things and make a brand new life for myself. I want to do stuff on the weekends that doesn't always involve going to one type of venue or the other. It'll be super hard to give up everything that I do love about this place, but it definitely won't be the first time I've ever had to do it.

But as much as I know what I want, I'm still pretty sure that I'm not quite ready yet. There are still too many loose ends to tie up here still. I want to spend a few more years readjusting to my new found freedom, and learning just what it means to be me. I've got so many new friends that I'm just not ready to say goodbye to just yet. I've reached a point now that I'm comfortable. Starting to get a little edgy about picking up and going somewhere - but not enough to do it quite yet. I'm estimating another 2-3 years, and I'll be at the point where I'll be ready to just do it.

As to where I'll go, I don't really know yet. Oddly, I've been looking for places that I've never even visited and have started to get a feel for whether or not I could be happy there one day. It'll either have lots of trees, or it'll have great weather - both would be bonus, but that's a lot to ask for. Either way, I want to be able to see the stars at night. I really miss that. I know I can find that kinda stuff around here (I already have the great weather), but it's not the same. I've lived a lot of different places, so I have a fairly good idea what I'm looking for, but a hard time describing it. I'll know it when I see it.

But yea, that's what's been on my mind mostly lately. I suppose it's inevitable for most of us. To go out - live our lives as if transition were just a dream. To start dreaming of other things again. To start over. I'm looking forward to it.

Old Skool

So about a week ago I went in for my one year check-up for my nose/upper lip work with Dr. Beck. It popped up in my calendar a couple of days before it was time to go in.

That's when it dawned on me - it's been over a year. I went full-time on June 4th, 2008. I didn't even think about it until at least a week had passed. I forgot my own anniversary!

During the initial stages of transition, I kept records of everything (I mean EVERYTHING!). I knew what days I had came out to whom, when I started hormones, therapy, electro - even what day I got my ears pierced. I cataloged how many laser sessions I did, how many hours of electro I underwent. Every little thing was so new and exciting and seemed so important. It's like I was a pack rat of chronological information. And I always looked forward to the one year mark. I mean, it always seemed like a milestone to me. Plus it marked the end of the 'trial period' before surgery according to the SOC. I can get my letters no problem now when I need to, and it won't be an issue - I meet the criteria.

But a few months ago my outlook started to shift subtly. My thought processes, while still very heavily trans influenced are no longer trans-centric. I no longer measure transition as a checklist or a process like I used to. It's become more amorphous. It's a part of who I am, but it's no longer about what I'm doing. I like to think it's a good change. After all, growth is change and I suppose it's the next step in my growth process - at least mentally.

I was with a group of friends the other night, and we talked about how people who transition roughly at the same time are in the same class together - like in high school. I love the analogy, but I prefer to think it resembles college a bit more then high school - at least for me. See, in high school I was still very sheltered. I had my parents there, and they provided a house for me. I had a job, but no bills. Life was pretty easy - I didn't really know how to fend for myself yet, but mostly because I never really needed to. But then I moved out and went to college and I was pretty much alone for the first time. I had friends there, but I was totally and completely responsible for setting my own direction and managing my own life - I had freedom.

Freshman year is the awkward year. You're new, and you're learning the ropes. You make mistakes (lots of mistakes) but you learn from them. You gain confidence through experience. Dating rules change. You learn; you grow. If you're the type you might even mature a bit. But it is college - so you're gonna want to have fun too. You push boundaries and try things just because you've never tried before. Some are things you've always wanted to do, but couldn't before. Some things you try just to see whether you like it or not. You meet a ton of new people, and discover the true meaning of the word 'busy'. And overall, you're beginning to truly find yourself and begin to discover who you are and who you want to be.

Then, at the end of the year, you're no longer a freshman - you're a sophomore. You've still got sooooo much left to do, but you're mostly familiar with the process by now and you've got a fairly good idea of the direction things are gonna go over the next few years of your life. And the familiarity is comfortable - it's a good place to be.

That's kinda how I feel at the moment. I have learned (sometimes the hard way) a LOT this past year. And while it's all still exciting and amazing - it's starting to get comfortable. The little things that were important before are no longer that big a deal, and my priorities have changed drastically in the past year. I really do feel like I did when I was a sophomore in college. I no longer feel slightly out of place like I did at the beginning - like a high schooler adjusting to college life. I feel pretty secure and know where I belong - and I absolutely love it!

A Passing Thought

Passing (or blending in, or whatever term we're using these days) has always been a huge concern for a great many trans people. It's definitely something that has been very important to me.

I can now say with a fair amount of confidence that I pass the majority of the time. And at this point, given the amount of effort, money, research, and energy that I've put into it, it would be very heart-breaking if I didn't. But even so, I'm one of the lucky ones.

But the issue of passing is still kind of odd for me. Like, I don't think about it hardly at all anymore - especially since my recent jaw surgery (which was one of the best things I've ever done, btw). But at the same time, nearly every person that I interact with on a day to day basis - co-workers, friends, etc...all know that I'm trans.

So my thought process is usually a paradox when meeting with and befriending new people. I am pretty sure I pass (and in many cases I have absolutely no doubt I do), but at the same time a part of me almost always assumes they know I'm trans - cause everybody else I deal with does. And this thought is mostly subconscious. It's really weird.

For instance, I was recently invited to a pleasure party by the wife of one of my co-workers. (If you're not familiar with the concept of a pleasure party, then it's like a tupperware party - but instead of plastic bowls and cups, the main focus is on dildos and vibrators.) Now - she knows I'm trans. But a bunch of her friends were there, and also some people she had never met, who did not now. So pretty much, she was the only one.

Now, given the nature of a pleasure party, sex was a fairly predominant topic of the evening. And given the target audience of the party - it was an all-female environment. Come to think of it, it was actually the first time since I've transitioned that I've had the opportunity to hang out with a bunch of straight girls (it became apparent at some point in the conversation that I was the only bi girl in our little click). So yea - sex was a popular topic, and when that's the case, usually there is very little shame and very few discussions are too embarrassing to discuss. So somehow, at some point, I found myself sitting through a conversation involving pads vs. tampons. Naturally I remained fairly quiet throughout the discussion (having no real experience in the area). But when one of the women turned to me and asked "So you use tampons, right?" my first thought was - "No, of course not! I couldn't even try to use one if I wanted to cause I'm still pre-op. Oh - wait - you don't know that, do you." But instead of outting myself I simply shook my head no, and didn't go into any explanation why. Fortunately, she got distracted by some other girl asking her whether or not you could feel it while it was inside you (the whole evening was rather educational).

And then it happened again (with the same person even). During the sales pitch they actually pass around the vibrators, so you can get an idea of what you want to buy. Some of the girls would test them out by placing it either on their nipples (on the outside of their clothes - or at least their bras), or by placing it against their crotch (or the crotch of the girl next to them - "Here, you gotta try this one!") So I'm holding one, and then I hear "That one is amazing - try it!", and I realize it's directed at me. Not one to be shy, I placed it against one of my boobs. "Not there! Down here!", as she points to her crotch - signaling that I should be placing the vibrator against my own crotch.

And again, I thought to myself "Why? It won't really do anything for me yet cause....oh yeah! I forgot - you don't know that!" So I placed it betwixt my legs, and pretended that it was, indeed, quite amazing, and then handed it back to her. Sigh...the whole thing is simply complicated.

Though by far the best thing about the night was that I never at one time felt out of place, or that I didn't belong - I was just one of the girls. I just so happened to be the only girl there without a vagina (at least, that I was aware of). But I was still just one of the girls. I had often read about people feeling that way at some point during transition, and was never was able to fully connect with that feeling until just recently. In the past I would constantly be subconsciously comparing myself to the other girls in a group, and feeling that I didn't measure up in some way. But now I've found that I don't do that anymore. I belong. I fit in. I'm one of them. And it's nice :)

Magic Grass

When I was little - about 4 years old - my family lived together in England, and had just recently moved to the base housing the military had there. Next to our house was a little park. It was so close by, and the area was so safe, that my parents let us go play at the park by ourselves one day (my mom could watch us through the window). I think my sister was about 3 years old at the time.

Anyway, we were excited because we didn't have any adults there with us, but we soon encountered a problem. My sister didn't know how to swing on the swing set all by herself. I tried pushing her for a while, but then I got tired, and I wanted to swing on my own too. So I tried to teach her how to do it. But to no avail - she just didn't understand. Then I had an idea.

"Here - try this", I said. Then I reached down and pulled up some grass and placed it on the swing. "This is magic grass - if you sit on it while you swing, you'll be able to do it without anyone pushing you." Then I placed some 'magic grass' on my own swing to prove to her that it would work. That's all it took. Without any further instruction, my sister sat down on the grass and started swinging back and forth. I didn't understand it at the time, but I look back and am still amazed that the placebo actually worked. It was a really fun day :)

So why bring up the story? Well, I was thinking about hormones the other day, which got me thinking about mood swings, which made me think about swinging, which triggered the memory.

But that's what I really wanted to talk about in this post - mood swings!

So, my hormone regimen has consisted of injectable delestrogen and spiro for the past year and a half. I've reached a point where it's pretty stable. I had days with mood swings, but they were few and far between, and mostly pretty mild. Then about a month and a half ago I introduced progesterone into the mix. OMG! Now I know what mood swings are really like.

So anytime you change your regimen, your body needs to adjust to the new hormone levels. Also, if you levels get super low you get more moody (this tends to happen right before my next injection). Again - I'm fairly stable, and can usually have control over my emotions during this time, but I can tell it's going on. Being tired or stressed while your levels are low, however, will have a profound effect on your mood swings. Being tired, stressed, and having low E levels and adjusting to progesterone are a VERY bad combination.

The worst part about mood swings is that you can tell they're going to be there. You can look at the calendar and say "that day my levels are going to be low, so I should be extra careful not to snap at people or get unreasonably mad at them." And some days you can. But on the bad days, the really, really bad days - you can't. You *know* your irritable. You *know* you shouldn't let things get to you. And you *think* that you're being reasonable with people. But then after you think about it, and your mood changes (which could be instantly, or a few hours later) you realize what an absolute bitch you were. And then there's the moments where you just can't take it anymore, and you need to just break down and cry - and you don't even know what 'it' really is! But you know it's there, and it's too sad or too much for you to handle, and all you can really do is just sit down and cry about it for a while.

But then you go home, and you fill up the syringe with the super thick fluid from the little glass bottle, and push the needle past your skin and into your muscle. Your hand shakes as you push the plunger, and then - then it's better. And you're calm. And the world all makes sense again ^_^

First Kiss

There is nothing quite like the moment you kiss a person for the first time. Especially if the environment lends itself to a fair amount of sexual tension. Like when you're with someone, and while you are enjoying their company and the conversation, in the back of your mind you're just longing to brush your lips against theirs. If the other person feels the same way, you reach a point where you both know it's inevitable, but you're also both unwilling to be the one to make the first move. So you keep slowly moving closer. You're arms 'accidentally' brush against one another, and stay there. You both lean in closer and closer. Maybe you snuggle together as you watch a movie. Then somehow it just happens. No one really initiates, but suddenly your looking into their eyes right before they close, and you feel their lips press against yours.

Or something similar.

Kissing is indeed an art form. There are good kissers, and bad. But the way the first kiss is delivered will usually clue you in immediately on what kind of kisser they are - even before your lips lock.

For instance - if there's absolutely no build-up, but rather a hasty smashing together of faces - that's usually a sign that someone is NOT a good kisser. These are the same kind of people that tend to ram their tongue down your throat.

Not to say that a sudden kiss is bad - it's just all in the delivery. One of the most memorable kissing experiences I've had was when someone walked straight up to me, held me in his arms, and passionately (i.e. - purposefully, but softly) kissed me. That was amazing!

See - and that's (in my humble opinion) what makes the difference between a good kisser and a bad one. A bad kisser just can't differentiate between types of kisses. Often they only have one style, and therefore have difficulty adjusting to a mood. But a good kisser is flexible. If the atmosphere is romantic, the kiss will be romantic. If the feeling around you is that of intense passion, the kiss will be more intense. They can flow back and forth between the two, and everywhere in between - playing with you, teasing you. It's a wordless conversation with licks, nips, bites, and all manner of oral dexterity replacing words, phrases, and sentences. In much the same way as a conversation can be stimulating, so too can making out be exhilarating. It is a dance between two partners who act and react with one another in a seamless flow of passion.

But the first time...that's where the tension lies. That is an element to a kiss that you usually only get to experience one time with someone. And it can magnify the power of a kiss to a degree that is nearly unimaginable. You cannot force it - you cannot fake it. It's either there or it's not. But when it is present - when it's so great that you can physically feel it, well...there is truly nothing quite like that first kiss.

Writers Block

I was gonna write a post about writers block, and how I sometimes suffer from it - even though I really, really, really want to write something.

But I couldn't thing of anything to write...

A Score of Zero

Love. It's complicated. I don't pretend to fully understand what it is. Though from my limited experience I have a pretty good idea what it's not.

I've ever only been in love - true love - once. I wish with all my heart I could say it was with my ex. I loved her - but I was never really, truly in love with her. Not the way I should have been. Not the way it's supposed to be when two people get married. I think it's sad, and sometimes I feel terrible for realizing that about myself. But it's true.

But as I said, I have been truly in love one time. She was my friend. During the course of our friendship I developed a crush. At some point the crush evolved into love. If you were to ask me how I know it was really true love, and not an infatuation I honestly wouldn't be able to explain the difference. I just know. I think it was because I knew she wasn't perfect - but I was OK with that. I have a hard time saying that about most people. I don't let people know, but I can be pretty judgmental at times. Well, most of the time. I guess I'm human this way. Maybe I'm worse. I dunno. It's part of who I am, and even if I wanted to, I couldn't change it. I digress...

She was pretty. Actually, she was more then pretty - she was beautiful. But that's not what I loved about her. I loved her personality. She was sweet and kind, in a ditzy sort of way. Not that she was stupid - far from it. But she was one of those people who somehow stayed innocent, even after innocence was lost. I got to know her. I saw her at her best. I saw her at her worst. I saw her flaws. That was the point where I realized I had fallen in love with her. Even at her worst I still felt she was better then I deserved. I still feel that way, even all these years later.

I took a risk - I told her how I felt. Not directly, but in a round about way. She stopped talking to me soon after that. It broke my heart. I never forgot her. I still think of her often. I know it was never meant to be, and never will. But my memories of her will be with me until the day I die. I still love her. I always will.

After that I decided never to let myself fall in love with a friend. It's too dangerous. Not to say I've never had a crush on a friend since then, cause I'd be lying if I said that. But I know better then to let it become more. Too dangerous. Some things are better left unsaid.

Recently, a friend of mine has become enamored with me. I don't really know why. I'm certainly not worth it. She could, and one day will, do so much better then me. As much as she cares for me, it is not meant to be. I want to tell her, and have tried to tell her this. I'm torn apart. I wish I could tell her what she wants to hear. But I can't.

I don't know what to do. I hate not knowing what to do, or what to say. I've been there - I've gone through it. But now it's all backwards, and I am so confused. She thinks I'm avoiding her. She's right. But it's not for the reasons she thinks. It's because I don't want to hurt her anymore then I already have. More then anything I want to spare her what I have had to learn the hard way. That sometimes dreams are just that - dreams. But friendship is a reality. We were good friends. It'd be a shame to fuck it up. Sometimes I think it's too late. I think perhaps it's my fault. I feel terrible. But what do you say to someone who's heart you just broke? Where do you begin to pick up the pieces? Sigh... Life just isn't fair sometimes.

As if that wasn't bad enough, you wanna know what's really screwed up? All of the confusion and turmoil of the situation has me standing in the same place as the girl I loved. Suddenly I realize how she must have felt when I bared my feelings to her. In some twisted way, despite the fact that I haven't seen her in over a decade, it brings me even closer to her. And all it does is make me love her even more for not loving me back. Sigh...

You May Now Be Seated

So I'm just a girl that happened to be born with the ability to pee standing up. Now, you would think that something like peeing really wouldn't be anything special, but I've sat through long, drawn out conversations on the subject. More specifically, to answer the question: As a pre-op trans woman, do you sit or stand when you pee?

A simple question really. And honestly, the answer really doesn't make much of a difference - mostly because how somebody pees is their own private business. Heck, you could pee standing on your head for all I care. Just as long as you get it all IN the toilet and not everywhere else. Yet I'm completely amazed by how many people are very adamant about this topic.

I can only speak for myself however, and since this is my blog, that's really what I've planned on doing since I started writing. I'll answer the question for two reasons. Firstly (quite an awkward word, but I do believe it's grammatically correct to begin this way) - maybe someone else will read it and think about it and perhaps it could help them come up with their own stance on the issue, whether for or against my own. Though I doubt it. Secondly - It just happens to be on my mind at the moment and I feel like typing. This is by far the larger motivating factor of the two reasons.

Anyway, I'm beginning to ramble again. On the subject of peeing standing up, my thoughts are this: it's convient. That's pretty much it. I don't really care whether my position while peeing is associated with one gender or the other at the moment. I guess technically since I'm still pre-op I'm already stuck in the world between genders. As much as I loathe being in that place and long to be fully female, that doesn't negate the fact that sometimes, it's just so much easier to pee standing up. So on occasion I do.

Now, of course when I'm in any kind of public facility I don't stand - I sit. Regardless of whether it's bathroom with multiple stalls, or the kind that's just a room built to occupy a single person (not in the sense that their not seeing someone, but in the sense that they are alone) with a door that locks. Doesn't matter. If it's outside of my house, I sit. You never know just how well the locks are gonna work :) This also applies when going to someone else's house - even if they themselves are transgender. Now they are more then welcome to pee however they want in their own home, and I would never judge them. But for me, it's just one of my idiosyncrasies.

In my own house, I usually sit. But...every once in a while, I just get lazy. That's when I'll stand. Why? It's convient. Anyone who's spent any length of time around me will know that I'm all for the most convient method availiable. Now, I gave up a lot of conveniences when I started transitioning, and gave some of them up for good when I went full time. It now takes me nearly an hour to get ready in the morning, when in the past I could wake up and be out the door in 15 minutes. I sometimes feel like I have to plan out what I'm going to wear to an event days in advance, when as a boy I just didn't give a crap what I wore.

But in each one of those instances where I gave something up, I also got something back in return. Something that was more important to me, such as wearing the clothes that reflect my gender, or being able to do my hair or make-up. Sure, some days it's a pain, but it beats the hell out of being a boy all the time. But when it comes to peeing, I don't really gain anything by sitting down 100% of the time. Yea, it's good practice and will help me get used to doing it after GRS, but that's about 5 years down the road from now - it's not like I'm cramming right before a final or anything. It doesn't really make me feel any more feminine. I'm just peeing for goodness sake! And truth be told, that is the one negative aspect of GRS - losing the convenience of standing to pee. Everything else will be sooooo much better, but I will miss the ability to be a bit lazier from time to time. I personally don't feel that there's anything wrong with that. I know a lot of women who would love to be able to pee standing up. That doesn't mean they want to be male, it just means they wish life was a bit easier every once in a while. I'm physically able to do it, so why not take advantage of it once in a while?

Anyway, that's really all I wanted to say about it. And to be honest, I don't even know why I brought it up. But hey - I did warn you this blog was going to be way more random, so you have absolutely no reason to complain.

Act Your Age

One of the most common pieces of advice I've heard given to people relatively new to the trans community - those who are first starting out - is that you should "Dress your age". This is very similar to the phrase "Act your age" that is often used by parents to scold misbehaving children. Not that they're in any way related, it just that's what it reminds me of. Getting back on topic, dressing your age is actually very good advice, which is why we hear it tossed around so much. I know I heard my fair share of it when I first started building a wardrobe. But what do you do when you're not really sure what your perceived age is?

You'd think it would be as simple as checking your driver's license to see how old you are, and then dress accordingly. And for most people, it is indeed that simple. But that hasn't been my experience. Pre-transition, I was used to most people assuming I was younger then I actually was - especially if I decided to remove annoying facial hair completely. Being small didn't hurt either. It was something I kinda just took for granted. Occasionally I would get student discounts when I had already graduated from college - that was pretty cool. Then I started going out as a female instead of a male. I went from looking like a late teens/early twenties guy to a late 30's early 40's woman. Sure I got ma'amed - which was nice, but I definitely looked older then my (at the time) 26. So I dressed accordingly. Or at least I tried. I was learning, and was by no means perfect. I was probably a little all over the spectrum, but my wardrobe started to drift toward that of a more mature woman.

But after hormones, and a fair amount of FFS, and electrolysis, it appears I've started to drift back over into the younger side again, which is just plain awesome, and something I really wasn't expecting to happen. Just last week I had two people assume I was 21. One was a friend I've known for a few months, and he couldn't believe it when I told him how old I was. The other was a perfect stranger I struck up a conversation with, during the course of which he asked, "you're what? 21?". No. I'm 27. Then again this week, one of the guys installing our new network at work commented that I was really young to be in charge. He thought I was 18! I've also started to get 'miss' a lot more now as well when I'm out and about running errands. Again - totally awesome! I don't really see it myself, but it's cool if others do.

And that's the problem - I don't see it. Not just me - I'm a horrible judge of people's age in general. I can tell a lot about someone's personality type right away, but not their age. It's just not something that ever really mattered to me, so I don't know what to look for. So if I don't know what age I look like, how the heck am I supposed to dress and act my age? I guess at some point it really doesn't matter so long as you're comfortable in whatever you wear (and you're not offending anyone else ^_^). Having at least a scintilla of fashion sense would prolly help too. But it's really frustrating when you go out shopping, and you wonder whether or not something would be seen as age appropriate on you, and you just don't know.

Still - it's nice to be thought of as younger again. I've learned to never take youth for granted.

Nostalgia

Before I transitioned I had a bright red SpongeBob t-shirt. The caption beneath SpongeBob simply said "Guess what's in my pants!"

Sigh...sometimes I wish I still had that shirt.

Growing up

I made a new friend over the weekend. We spent the day at the mall shopping. And when I say day I mean the ENTIRE day. We stared around 1pm and stayed until the mall closed. Anyhoo, at one point we were in the fitting room, trying on bras (trying to maintain 'stealth' while changing clothes in front of someone is not an easy task; I seem to have a knack for getting myself into precarious situations). I put one on, and it didn't really fit. Not by a little - but by quite a lot. Now, I am aware that bra's have adjustable straps, but it was off by enough where I figured no amount of adjusting would really help it enough, so I didn't bother with it. To make a long story short, she ended up adjusting it for me and, as it turns out, it fit just fine.

At one point later on in the day she asked me, "So have you gone your entire life without knowing how to properly adjust a bra?" Now, I know how to adjust one. But I don't have very much experience with needing to do it. Most of the bra's I've tried on at this point fit perfectly fine and only needed a little bit of fine tuning. But she was expecting me to have a lifetime of experience, when in fact, I've only had about a years worth. The end result is that I come across more... what's a good word for it...naive, perhaps, then I should be for someone my age.

Now, I understand that I will never have the same experience most girls have as they grow up. It sucks, but there's nothing I can do about it, and I'm OK with that part of it. And I have no problem explaining my past to people in a way that doesn't really bring up too many questions about my gender. I'm starting to get used to not being able to relate to other girls when they talk about their childhood, or their first period, or something else that I've never experienced. I've made peace with that aspect already, since there's not much I can change about it. My issue is when my lack of experience makes me feel, well - like an idiot. I feel like it's assumed that I would know how to do certain things, but I've just never had the opportunity to learn them before. You know, stuff like working with my hair. I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing with my hair. I've learned a lot over the past year, but I still feel like I'm the slow kid in the class when I'm around other girls. There's only so much you can learn on your own.

I know there's a lot of girls out there that don't know a lot (or anything) about this stuff either, but it still bugs me anyway - mostly because it's things I WANT to know more about, but just haven't had the opportunity to learn or experience yet. And then there's the little things that come up that you never even thought about. I think that's the double-edged sword of going stealth (I am really disliking this term more and more, but using it is still the quickest way to get my point across). At least when you're first starting out anyway. You get to learn things from other girls and gain experience that you might not get if they know your past, but because of the age you're learning it at you feel like an idiot. Sigh...It's like I'm in my awkward teen years learning the rules of how to fit in all over again.

Oh, and despite the all the negativity of this particular subject I still had a pretty awesome day. I really enjoy shopping and it's always better with a friend there to enjoy it with, and she really did teach me a lot. Little nagging things like this aside, I still love pretty much everything about being a girl! And besides, if it's anything like my first time going through the social learning phase, in about 2-5 years I prolly won't have too much of a problem with this anymore. I've just gotta bit of catching up to do. Good thing I'm a fast learner.

Asymmetry

So I've noticed something rather interesting this morning. It appears that the hair on one side of my head grows at a slightly faster pace then the hair on the other side. Either that or my head is partially lopsided, and I've just never taken notice. Come to think of it, it's never really occurred to me to check before.

Wouldn't that be tragic? Going through life with a partially lopsided head and never noticing. Everywhere I go having people whispering excitedly behind my back in a stark British accent, "Look! There she is Margaret! That's the girl I was telling you about. The one with the partially lopsided head, the poor dear. I wonder if she knows." Yet everyone would be afraid to tell me, so I would never find out. The British are so polite in that regard. Though I'm told that ignorance is bliss, so I would assume it wouldn't make any difference in the end now, would it?

But I've a feeling it's not my head that's partially lopsided after all, which I find rather fortunate. But then again I'm particularly biased on this issue, so you really shouldn't believe anything I have to say on the matter. All I ask is that if my head is indeed slightly off kilter that you'll be kind and not judge me for it. After all, it's not my fault, now is it?

On a more encouraging note, I'll be getting my hair cut this weekend. If that does nothing to address the problem at hand, then I just suppose I'm doomed to an ignorant life of bliss.

Easter

Yay! It's Easter-time again! Growing up I used to do all the fun Easter stuff - coloring eggs, hiding them and finding them. Eating chocolate bunnies. Going to church (though I HATED getting dressed up. I will never wear another tie again!). All the fun stuff.

Now I don't do anything, save one single tradition. Every year around this time I make sure to buy and devour a pack of Peeps (or two or three). Mmmmmm....Peeps! Sugar-coated marshmallowy goodness! It's a wonder I'm not diabetic ^_^

Dood!

I went on a date recently with a guy I met online. As we were waiting to go into the theater he got a text from his friends asking him to hang out with them later that night. He commented that he didn't know why they were asking him since he had already told them he was going on a date with me. Then he laughed and told me "They told me you'd prolly be a dude!" He then told me a story of a different girl he dated who had a friend that might have been trans - but he wasn't sure. We had a brief discussion on gender. He's pretty open-minded, but I still decided not to tell him.

It's not the first time the 'dude' comment has come up in conversation with someone. One of my co-workers was mentioning something about prostitutes in SF, and how you had to be careful, cause some of them were dudes. I came out to him two months later. He felt really bad about the comment.

Part of me loves the irony of the whole thing. I can certainly appreciate it. It's validating to know that I pass well enough for them to feel comfortable telling me stuff like that. But the other part of me just hates it. I mean - a trans woman is not a dude. I'm pretty hard to offend, but if someone said to me "OMG! You're a dude!" I'd wanna claw his eyes out. I abhor violence, so that's saying something. I just wish people would think a bit more before they opened their mouths.

Dating Cliche's

Dating can be pretty challenging for most people. For those of us who have transitioned, it's not only difficult, but if you're not careful it can be extremely dangerous as well. It's best to have a plan well ahead of time to try to avoid a scary situation. So a while back I worked up a few guidelines for myself.

1. No random hook-ups or one-night stands with people. It always ends with them wanting more, and if they don't know I'm trans, it could be dangerous. This might change post-op, but for now it's best this way.

2. If I'm looking for something potentially long-term with someone, then I won't get physical with someone until after they know, and they're still OK with it.

3. I won't tell someone until the third date, unless they force my hand.

I'm fine with the first rule. Yea, it kinda sucks, but it also keeps me out of trouble in more ways then one (and if I know it's safe I may make an exception ^_^). Regarding the second one, I think it would be way more difficult to get close physically to someone and then come out, then the other way around. Then there's my own version of the Third Date rule, which I would prolly have regardless of whether I'm trans or not. I want someone to get to know me as a person before physical intimacy comes into the picture.

So I've had these rules for a while, but I also haven't really been dating for a while either. Lately, now that I'm getting back to normal after my jaw surgery that's changing a bit. I've been itching to get out and meet new people again. But despite the guidelines I've set up, I've recently realized it isn't quite so clear cut. What about holding hands? Is that going to be OK without disclosure? Cuddling but no kissing? Am I crossing any lines there? What if they go to kiss me on the first date? Do I just say no, or should I say no and tell them why? It's all very confusing.

I'm totally fine with coming out to someone. I'm pretty proud of the fact that I'm trans, and I've gone through some things most people will never experience, and I believe I'm a better person for it. But coming out to someone your dating is just sooooo cliche from begining to end. I mean it starts out with "We need to talk..." or "There's something I have to tell you...' or some other variation of that. Which is usually preceding a break-up or a confession of cheating or something. But then I get to follow it up with yet another cliche - telling them I'm trans. My biggest problem isn't telling someone I'm dating that I'm trans. It's finding a way to do it that doesn't sound so stereotypical. le sigh... And it's even more difficult with the boys. Mostly because my own empathy gets in the way. I mean - I know I'm not trying to trick anybody. But I also know that that's how they might feel about it when I tell them, because that's how society expects your average heterosexual male in that situation to react. And then I begin to feel responsible that they feel like I've tricked them. I shouldn't feel bad, but I do. It's my nature. There's really not much of a society stereotype for a girl in that situation, so I don't' feel the same pressure. I mean, just being bi or lesbian means she's already worked through most of those issues on her own. Dating a bisexual guy is also pretty similar. I'm not saying it's easy, but it's just not as difficult because I feel like I don't' have as much to fear. But a straight guy - coming out in that situation makes me a nervous wreck just cause I don't' know how they'll react. Stupid society.

Complicating matters further is the fact that I'm totally head over heals in love with the idea of being in love. Yet I don't really know what I want right now in regards to a relationship. I'm finally gotten to the point that I feel if the right person where to come along, I could be happily monogamous, and settle down, start a family, etc... But that would take a VERY special kind of person. When it comes to someone I would be monogamous with I have incredibly high standards. But there are people out there that meet those standards (they're just usually unavailable). I'm also pretty keen on the idea of a more open relationship - I tend to lean more toward polyamory then monogamy. The trick here is finding someone who isn't the jealous type. Not impossible, but still pretty difficult. Mostly though, I'm pretty content being single and enjoying the independence. I'm not actively looking for a relationship, but if the right person where to cross my path, I prolly wouldn't say no - but I would definitely have to think about it for quite some time. So I'm pretty much looking for everything and nothing all at the same time.

They can't break me, as long as I know who I am

So it's been quite some time since I've written a blog. Life just kinda gets busy sometimes, ya know. Not that it's necessarily a bad thing. The past few months have been pretty amazing. I might write about that at some point, but that's not really the point of this new blog. See, the last time I wrote it was focused more on the daily grind of transitioning. It was more of a step by step account of my life - "Today I went here, and did this, and met this person, and we did these things together, etc...". It was fun. I had some great experiences and I'm really glad I got to write about them and share them with others. But now things are settling down, at least mentally. I'm no longer have gender on the brain 24/7 like I used to. And it's a nice change - getting back to some semblance of normalcy. Sure the gender stuff is there, and always will be. It's just no longer the dominant thought in my head. Now I think a lot about work stuff and friends and networking. Paying the rent, what I'm going to do tomorrow, what I need to get to decorate my room. Helping people who are going through rough times. How much I need to upgrade my computer. Finding a new house to rent with my awesome roommate. Body piercing. Coffee and cake. Relationships and dating. What I want to do with my life. Love.

I could go on, but you get the general idea. Anyway, I'm beginning to ramble, but the point is that my last blog was very personal in the way it disclosed actual details of my life. This blog isn't really going to have the same feel to it. It'll mostly be just completely random thoughts that pop into my head at any given time. Most of them will prolly be related to being trasgender on some level, but not all. But they will definitly be even more intimate on a different level. I'll be sharing my deepest thoughts, working through and creating my personal philosophies. And the reason it's going to be so personal is because this blog isn't created to benefit you, the reader. It's for me.

See, one of the things I learned the last time around was that writing is an incredibly therapeutic process for me. There's just something about taking an intangible idea and putting it into tangible words that other human beings can connect with that's very satisfying in a way that I find I've been missing lately. So while I do hope you enjoy the writings to follow, I must apologize in advance if they are in no way interesting or helpful to you.

So without further adu, I hereby christen this new blog - Prinnies on Parade!