GORN!

I HAVE MOVED TO TUMBLR BECAUSE IT WORKS BETTER WITH MY BLACKBERRY AND I ALWAYS HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY WHEN MY ACTUAL INTERNET IS DOWN

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GO THERE IF YOU WANT ME

The Phobia

I am currently working on an extreme case of needle phobia, because I have the elixir of life, I have the needles, but I cannot bear them. What a horror.

I was thinking other people may have a similar issue. I won't let it hold me back, but I know if I just go ahead and do it I may spazz out and fuck it up - I need to be calm.

First, I went to get the needles. That was bad enough. There was a wall covered in them.

Then I laid them all out, with the rest of the kit, beside my bed. I see them when I wake up and when I go to sleep.

Today I have been carrying one (a syringe with a capped, protected needle, still in it's sterile baggie) around with me. This in itself is a big step as I am starting to feel less sick at it's presence. I've nicknamed it Sting, because at one point early in the morning I was looking at my video collection whilst trying not to freak out, and as I (geek,geek,geek) use the litany against fear already, my eyes rested on my Dune video, which has Sting on the spine as Feyd-Ruatha. :lol:

Anyhow. I am also looking at pictures of injections, reading (vivid, detailed, ewew) instructions, and have actually watched a video but it made me squirm so I'll leave that for tomorrow.

It.. Seems to be working.

I figured out, you see, that my needle fear started after the age of seven or eight.

You know what I remember from then?

I had my appendix out.

One day I woke up after the operation, came out of the fever or whatever, and needed the loo.

I remember swinging my legs off the bed, and standing up. Only I didn't stand up because I seemed to have forgotten how to walk or stand and I just sort of slid to the floor.

The drip and all tore out of my hand, and when they put it back in they couldn't get a vein at first.

They eventually put this plungery thing in, that they could put different things in without having to find the vein again. It was horrible, like a plastic tube stuck out of my hand with a needle going into my body.

Anyhow, I think that may be what put me off needles. Because I didn't care before.

Oh my laiiiiird

So yesterday was a harrowing day for me.

I have been feeling steadily more and more ill over this week - sickness and dizzy spells, weakness, diarrhoea, shivers, sore throat, stomach pains.. Bleugh.

Yesterday in particular I was tired as heck, felt like I hadn't slept for a few days, slightly dizzy, very floaty and weak feeling - though I was actually underestimating grip necessary to hold things, etc, and broke/ripped some stuff. Nausea, diarrhoea, and a headache. I got a letter from my GP saying if I want needles and such I must go to the exchange. So, they're open late on Thursdays and I got a lift from a mate at work.

I reminded him shortly after lunch, and he had forgotten and agreed to do overtime! So I had to work until 5:45pm instead of my usual 4:30pm.

We got there and he drove off, and I hung on the buzzer watching my breath blooming in the half-light by the intercom of the building. Finally got an answer and got in to a nice warm place. When did it get so cold so fast?

They asked my age a few times, obviously not believing that I'm 23... So eventually I gave up and explained that I'm not an addict, just an impatient trannie.

Then there was a bit more waiting.

I met a very nice man, and then there was a room. With a wall.

Covered in shelves.

Full of boxes.

Of needles.

Have I mentioned my needle phobia being pretty intense?

Anyhow they told me not to do steroids and gave me clean sterile needles and swabs and such so I don't get hepatitis or something.

I arrived at 6pm.

I left at 7:05pm.

I waited for the bus, which thankfully was five minutes early.

I got home about 8pm...

...and the hall lights weren't working.

Now, I hoped this was just the bulb but nope, when I finally fumbled my key into the lock, my lights weren't working either.

So I fumble around my flat looking (in the dark) for a candle ani a lighter and then trying to find my electric key and wallet.

I'm too short to tell how much electric I have, you see.. I can't see the numbers, even if I tiptoe.

Anyhow, I marched down one end of town to the cashpoint.

Then to the other end of town to the only open shop that serves my electric key.

Then fumble around getting the key in and nothing happened.

So I pushed the buttons madly and such and it worked.

Then I went back upstairs and oh yay my fridge was warm.

My fridge with my defrosted and now warm steak, ready for dinner, sitting in it. So I had to triple-bag it and stick it in the bin and just have steamed veg for dinner. Which is nice but I need some iron to get into my system.

Especially as, I discovered, my body is once more betraying me, meaning I can't wear my packer and have to feel sick and dizzy and tired and hurt like fucking hell and be depressed as fuck for the next week or more.

And there was a letter on my stairs. Addressed to MS (former name) and it really brought me down; haven't had anything like that for ages. It's an appointment, this time with an actual psychiatrist. Only... It's on the 22nd of November.

I waited two months for nothing and have been down ever since.

And then waiting for another month, for another appointment or whatever.

And now I have to wait another month? ANOTHER MONTH?

I. I don't know what to say or do. I suppose I should let them know just how fucking depressed I am from this, just how devastated I am every day that passes with no movement, how the only thing keeping me here is the tantalising possibility in my fridge, how my needle phobia even ruins that for me. How basically most of the time I want to stop. Just stop. End. No more waking up to this, to struggling into my binder, no more of people getting me wrong, no more, no more. Bah, but I made promises.. And I don't think I could do that to my family, not now.

I'm trying to make light of this.

For instance, my needle fear, yeah?

Well I'm using my body's betrayal as a kind of time limit. When it's over, I hope I can handle the needles without freaking out. And maybe take my first dose.

Now I just need to save up the money to get to London and arrange a private appointment with a doctor there, to get a private prescription and then convert it to NHS, because my doctor told me I'd have to wait about two years on the NHS to get prescribed... And frankly considering the absolute time waste it's been so far, I think if I didn't have three months of Sustanon250 in my fridge, I'd not be writing this.

So, a week to nine days, needle phobia gone? I hope so.

Also thinking of getting hair trimmed tomorrow..

WELLLLL

Most of the time I like being on my own. I don't have to worry that someone's going to interrupt a chain of thought, or talk to me, or get upset at me, or make me eat or go to sleep or whatever.

But sometimes I don't like being on my own.

I had a visitor over the weekend. She's fab. I saved up so I could take her out, because she treated me when I visited her in August.

Shocking how cold it is here, already. They say by the end of the week we'll be into single figures. That's living by the sea for you.

Anyhow. She makes me feel good. And also sometimes bad.

Like my hands, you know? Sometimes I look at my hands and they just don't look right; too soft and small. But other times I look at them and they look okay; a bit veiny, just enough to reassure me that they're not girly.

It's odd.

Tonight I'm feeling very alone, and it's stupid because I'm not really alone; I can call, text, webchat, and so on.. But I liked that I could reach out and cuddle someone this weekend. It was brilliant. And I love that I can hug her and lose myself in her colour.

But now, my flat's dark and quiet again and there's just me in my dressing gown and the sound of my keyboard and I want a hug.

When it's cold outside, and dark, and quiet.. I just want to hug someone I love, and have that quiet stillness-of-mind that I can't seem to get on days like this alone.

Dear Old Friend,

So, last night, I got a message from a friend whom I haven't seen for... Oh about five years.

We originally met about nine years ago, were very close friends (via the internet & texts) but only met up once or twice a year because he lives on the IOW.

Anyhow, he was in the pub that's thirty seconds up the hill from my home.

So up I went - I had food in the oven but I turned it off and went straight out.

He was a little shocked when I 'came out' to him on Facebook, because he's always been 'into' me. He's pretty cute himself, but I digress.

It was a nice evening for the most part. Apart from being instantly outed by him and his dad to the entire pub and darts club, and therefore not feeling safe using either loo and waiting until I got home at closing time.

And apart from that phrase.

The one I've only heard once or twice, but which really, really hurts.

Thinking? No, agonising over this, inspired me to write a letter, which I will of course not send to him, but is cathartic. And maybe helpful. I know a few transgirls online have mentioned hearing this from people and not knowing what to say, which I didn't either at the time, obviously, or I wouldn't be agonising over it.

Dear old friend,
I'm sure you meant well when you said "You'll always be -birth name- to me."
But basically what we hear is "I don't care what you do, I'm always going to treat you as -assigned-at-birth-gender-, use the wrong pronouns, the wrong name, and generally make you cry/feel like shit when you're finally alone again."

My dear friend. I should like to let you know that - because I honestly always believe the best of people and therefore expect that you meant well - I haven't changed at all. You don't need to tell me that, "you'll need to start doing This and This." I have always been this person, though perhaps in the past I made attempts to 'fit in'. What you will find now is that the perhaps-mostly-hidden self is now bright and prevalant, and that I am happy and confidant in myself at last.

Nothing has changed, except everything.
Please, even if you mean well, never tell me that I'll always be -birth name- to you again. It hurts, even if I laugh it off. And I realise I should tell you this in person, but I don't want to sound like I'm telling you off, or to get upset. I want you to have time to think about this and realise how much it hurts.

Dear old friend, for me to have gotten back in contact with you after all these years, and tell you about this big event in my life that will finally help me on my path to happiness, for me to trust you with this knowledge and almost-power over me, this shows how much I love you.

Dear old friend, I loved you.

Please don't hurt me with your uninformed opinions and reactions. I am still the same person, but I am also not.

-- Your friend,

with trust and love.

That guy + My hair = Good?

I went out with a good friend (who I have been perving on from afar for ages.. Actually I'll tell that story first..)

So I get the same bus every morning, and have for over a year - since I moved into this flat down by the harbour. Onto this bus a cutecute young guy often gets. I could tell he was queer - not sure at first if he was gay, bi/pan, or just a queer ally. But I mentioned him (because he's immensely attractive, and it's rare for me to see someone I find this attractive merely physically) to my friend at college. And she knew him!

So I added him on Facebook and we got to talking.

Anyhow, one morning recently on the bus I got my courage up and put his name into my phone and passed it to him, with the cursor on 'Number' and he actually put it in. :)

So later that week he texted me and himself, his friend (she's a love) and I all went to a gay bar (a sequence of bars ending in a gay bar to be honest) in Canterbury. God he dances like he's having sex with an air elemental! I wish I could dance. I can, in private, but I dunnoh, I just can't move in front of people.. Freaks me out. Possibly that disconnecty thing? Anyhow.

We went out again last night, and he did my hair with this gel stuff. I think it looks pretty good.

Also I keep losing weight, which is obvious when you see this picture.

Anyhow, here we are, me again. Rare, so rare, hmmm, pictures of me I like? What on earth is going on? Oh, wait, I remember - I get to be me soon! :)

The Nan.

I told my nan.

Her response, verbatim (copy-pasted from the email)

Does not bother me one little bit. All I will have to get used to saying is I have 2 grandsons. Not too sure about grandad through will tell him later.

Are we coming to you on Saturday for lunch? Not sure how we left that. Do you want me to wash the sheets for you? If so how soon did you say your friend was coming to stay?

Let me know asap. I'm home all day today - so far that's the plan anyway.

Love Nan.

My family are seriously excellent. :)

"You'll always be alone." and Dating...

"You'll always be alone."

Ever heard this? From someone you thought cared about you, from a cruel person, or just from the niggling little voices in the back of your mind?

I've heard it from all these places.

"You'll never be loved/always be alone/never be able to date.."

I think it's actually one of my biggest worries. Not because I believe other people will always be so narrow-minded, but because I myself can't hack the thought of my Bits. I mean, I go for personality, right - not genitals.

But with guys, I want to do stuff I clearly can't do, and well, most gay guys I know really don't like girly bits - and in general I don't like being screwed.

With girls, I again want to do stuff I can't do.

And I don't want to use a bit of bloody rubber.

It's not that I just want to do these things, it's that my body moves that way by default.

And to be quite honest a strap-on is fantastic but also horrendous.

I can't bear people seeing or touching my Bits..

But if I want to enjoy myself I have to - and yet if I do, I can't relax and enjoy myself because it freaks me out.

That's the strangest thing, you know? I want to enjoy myself but can't.

I want to meet people and share love and affection, and I can't.

The options for surgery aren't good enough. I wouldn't be satisfied with a metoidioplasty and phalloplasty is just wrong (for me).

So it's not that people will hate on me.

It's that I hate on myself.

And yes, I worry that I'll never get it sorted and be whole and 'able' and get to enjoy that level of connection with someone. I know I'll meet plenty of people for whom it won't be a problem - I'm not the only person in the world who goes for the mind. But it will always be a problem for me.

I hate being that person, in the bedroom, who has to just, step back and say, I can't take this any more, I can't do it, I'm freaking out, leave me alone. It pushes the other person away. It is hurtful to everyone involved.

This leads me on to thinking about dating.

When would I tell someone?

I can't decide. I believe it would depend on the person. Some people feel good, and you feel you could trust them with your inner heart, but some people are closed in ways that you can't quite understand and it takes time to build up a trust. Then you have some people who are open on sexuality and such. Some aren't.

In general I believe I'd only mention it if myself and other person got to the ah, deep kissing stage.. Because that in itself takes trust, for me at least.

How would I say it though?

I don't need to worry about it now, because I don't present very well - not if you know my age and the lighting is good. I'm too soft, too soft spoken, too cleanshaven, my sideburns aren't thick and bushy.. Too slim in the wrists and shoulders for a guy my height; I look between sixteen and eighteen - I asked some people. So when you find out that I am in fact, twenty-three... You start to second-guess the soft lips and skin, the lack of stubble..

But I still think about it. I don't honestly know.

I honestly can't think how you'd say something like that.

"Sorry love, but just so you know, my lower regions are girlshaped."

I mean. What?

Gods and little fishes.. So many questions and problems.. And for some I still don't know the answers - will I ever?

Sometimes I forget you're ftm and then see you on the trans board and am like wait, trans? Mtf, really? But he looks/acts like a guy! Haha. Sorry if that sounds weird - I guess what I'm saying is you pass quite well, at least in my mind/eyes. :)

Well cheers. Actually amusingly that's not the first time that's occurred.
My best mate introduced me to his friend, using my birth name (we've known each other since Year 1 so it's a bit difficult for him) and female pronouns. Then during a lull in the conversation he said 'She's a transsexual.' but never clarified.
A few hours later whilst we were all down the park he said 'Show him your thing!' about my packer, but I refused, and again there was no clarification.

The next day I texted Josh asking what the poor boy thought, and apparently he'd thought I was an 'MtF that just hadn't bothered to dress up that day'. (Was wearing favourite jeans, brown t-shirt, brown shirt..)


IT IS, THEREFORE, VASTLY AMUSING
And a compliment, I guess? That I supposedly look like a guy trying to be girly? Hmmm!

Poke my brainnnns?

Someday, some time

Sometimes, I feel like this is all a dream.

Sometimes, I feel like it's a nightmare.

Sometimes I think it's too much hassle and I just want to go to bed and not get back up.

Sometimes I just want to say fuck it and do it without the health checks.

Sometimes I feel like it's taking over my life.

Sometimes I feel like it's the only thing giving me life.

Sometimes it amuses me when I can't find my packer.

Sometimes the thought of going to bed makes me want to never sleep again.

Sometimes I enjoy the pain of wearing my binder for too long.

Sometimes, I never want to bathe again.

Sometimes my own shape makes me sick.

Someday I'll get my first dose.

Someday I'll never get another letter in my birth name.

Someday my voice won't out me.

Someday I won't need a binder any more.

Someday I might look at myself in a full length mirror.

Someday I might not feel so alone and trapped.

Someday.

I want to be there now.

And it feels like someday is forever away.

Quick Update

I got some T from a friend, free.
The appointment I've waited two months for had been completely incorrectly arranged, was with the wrong person in the wrong place with the wrong job and they couldn't help at all, because my new doctor is a fucking idiot. I'm pretty down (and angry) about it, and if I hadn't of picked up the T that day.. Bah.

I just need to get some bloods done and BP checked and then I'll get me some nice nurse to inject my arse. And then the NHS taking their sweet time will no longer be a big fucking black cloud hanging over my life.
I am still worried about it though, to be honest.

Bah?

So, I'm normally a pretty happy, relaxed person. Well not relaxed - I get excited a lot, bounce around, you know the jazz - what I mean is, I don't get angry. Almost never am I angry or snappy.

Something special is now on it's way in the post.

Something that will change my life.

I am excited, in the explosive, I want to jump up and down and such, way.

Yet I am also very, very snappy all of a sudden. My patience has just evaporated. And yeah, I'm angry as well as excited. And I don't even know why. I'm just angry.

Maybe it's because I'm at work and can't bounce. Maybe it's because my body is currently tearing itself apart and it fucking hurts and it means I can't pack and I have to use the ladies toilets and it feels like fucking defeat. Maybe it's because my psych appointment is on Wednesday and I'm worried because I fucking hate shrinks and the buggering around my local services are giving me. It's been since Easter! Maybe it's because I figured I'd have one last unhealthy treat before worrying about my arteries and it was gonna be crackling and I burned it. Maybe it's just because one or two of the few people I've told are so worried that I'm just gonna dose myself up without checking stuff out. I'm not stupid. I'm really fucking tempted to, but, I don't want to die now that I have a possible future.

At least my family don't get on that track - they know me well enough regarding that kind of thing that they didn't even mention it, just gave me advice on injections and needles and possibly getting people who are trained to do it (Boots, for instance, used to perform such a service, according to my step-mother).

So my current plan is to get to the doctors, get some tests, and get a nice nurse to jab me in the arse once I'm sure it's safe.

Damnation

When I'm down, I look at places on the internet that'll sell me Testogel. It's only £120 for a month's supply. I could afford that.

But I shouldn't, and I'll wait, but it's horrible. Long grinding days, they just don't pass by, they drag slowly like a cat licking velcro.

I can't bear the waiting! Not knowing what's gonna happen. Will it even be this year? For fucks sake it's been so long alreadddyyyy... My life is swirling away down a drain whilst I sit here pretending I can hold a river with my hands.

A Story

Let me tell you a story..

Once upon a time, there was a little boy who led a happy life surrounded by loving, caring family - most of whom weren't related by blood, but by something much more powerful. He got to see lots of beautiful motorbikes, and listen to Guns N Roses and Black Sabbath for lullabies. His parents were very lenient and relaxed about life, being considered 'abnormal' by society already. This little boy was, therefore, very happy. He loved having so many uncles and aunties about, who would all teach him things and tell him stories and jokes and play games, build ships and bases and play with ants. The little boy was quite sure of who he was from a young age, and although his family were entirely sure that he was a girl, and gave him a girls name, they never forced him to do anything he didn't want to do (except maybe washing and wearing at least a t-shirt). The little boy's mother even let him splash in puddles, as long as he didn't do it so that it got on other people.

One day, the little boy learned that because he 'was a girl' he'd never get proper bits like his best friend and that he had a thing called a 'womb' for babies to grow in. Like parasites, he thought, only probably he thought 'like horrible bugs'. After that, one of his most famous (amongst the Family) and oft-repeated phrases was 'I want my womb removed.' He never clarified this, because his life was still pretty good - because he was different from the other children in so many ways (he liked to read, and he liked science and his own pretendings, liked to learn and talk with adults and ask questionsquestionsquestions, and other things that kids his age generally didn't spend much time doing), no-body expected him to behave like the other 'female' children anyway, so he grew up quite happy, playing in the mud and climbing trees and looking at engines and listening to a wide range of delicious music. When he was nine, he moved away from his Mummy, because he was unhappy that he could not help her when she was sad about not being with Daddy any more. He also argued sometimes with his Mummy, because he thought she could be very silly sometimes, and though he had lots of good friends and even liked his little brother (who occasionally wore his few dresses which he NEVER wore himself). He knew he'd miss his friend Joe, and Iphie, and all their families, and the people in the Mosque on the corner who'd always wave at him as he walked to school, but he just made the decision and left London to move to Thanet with his Daddy.

Daddy's new partner was Auntie Kerry (not a blood relative, don't worry), and was now just Kerry as she was now a step-mother. That was nice. She was strict, but lovely and fun, but also very much a Girl. When the little boy was eleven, he fell in love with a girl. She was four days younger than him, and they played a lot and said that they were astrological twins. When the little boy was thirteen he hit puberty, and his body completely betrayed him. He lost his small boyish shape and grew chubby and boobs, and had a yuckfest each month. His lower parts never did turn into what they ought to have been; they taunted him, by changing shape, but it never went far. His voice broke, but not as deeply as the other boys' - this just made it vaguely androgynous, rather than masculine. He hated everything about life, except the girl. The worst part was when all of his friends stopped playing with him like they used to; they never wanted to wrestle or play catch or climb trees or skate with him any more, and all the boys at school treated him like he had plague - except the other geeks.

School was a terrible place for the little boy, but he immersed himself in books and the library and the worlds in his head, and there were a few other children that were outcasts. Secondary school was the first time he'd been to a Christian school - the little boy had enjoyed going to church and secondary school for a year or two before secondary school began. He loved singing in the choir, and found the bible rather amusing, and liked the message of love and acceptance. His parents were very accepting of this interest in Christianity - being Buddhist, they didn't mind what he did as long as he was happy and not hurting anyone. The little boy soon realised, though, that Christianity was not really what he had thought, and so he went back to believing in the tug in his guts and chest that would always tell him right from wrong, and where to go next. Anyhow, in this Christian school, he very quickly got a reputation as 'that weird ginger dyke' which he didn't mind too much, as it meant he could act like himself and people would simple ascribe it to his 'gayness'. He hated PE most of all, playing netball, having to change in a room full of girls (he felt uncomfortable getting changed in front of them, and in seeing them get changed, like a perverted monster, so he'd always go change in the toilet cubicle) and he hated wearing shorts or a PE skirt, so eventually he managed to get a note allowing him to wear tracksuit bottoms in PE. He'd gotten a letter for trousers for normal uniform back in primary school, and thankfully there hadn't been too much of an issue with those after the first few months of secondary. Bullying did not help the boy adjust to the world. He hated school but loved it, because it was full of information and deliciousness. Keeping moving by wandering around at break, or just sitting in the library, were his only refuges from being chased and abused - he had to stay out of sight. There were a few other outcasts who had the same trouble, but he was the only one who people thought was a girl - this was really quite nice, as his geek mates didn't talk about boys and makeup like the few girls who had tried to befriend him before his outcast status got so bad, because they were all just normal 'geeky' boys like him.

One day he asked the girl out, and she laughed at him, because she thought he was a girl too and said she wasn't 'gay'. He was very depressed, but kept it a secret and they stayed friends. The little boy liked black a lot, and thought that gothy girls were hot, so since everyone thought he was a girl, he wore gothy clothes a lot because it was the only kind of vaguely girly clothes he could bear to wear (never tight things, never cleavage showing), and he was beginning to wonder what it might be like to be a girl. He generally wore lovely big baggy jumpers and things. (In fact, the boy still has the hoodie he got for his fourteenth birthday.) Since people thought he was a girl, and he liked girls, he told people he was a 'dyke' because it made him feel less like he was saying he was a girl than any other word. Even though he didn't just like girls, he liked personalities, and intelligence, and so was occasionally attracted to a boy. He got his hair cut short a few times but it looked awful because it was so fair and ginger and it stuck out like a pouf. By the time he was sixteen, he realised that if he was going to be a 'dyke' he could just not wear any girl things at all, and still get to date people. So he wore what he wanted even more, and this generally included really baggy jumpers to hide his chest and figure, and big loose jeans, and big stomping boots. Occasionally, when he was into a girl, they'd go somewhere, and he'd wear something less baggy so that he looked 'cute' and 'curvy' for them. It was uncomfortable, but the girls liked it, so he could almost enjoy wearing a top that showed his collarbones to the world - never any lower though!

By the time he was eighteen he'd dated a few boys and decided he really didn't like that at all, it felt unnatural and uncomfortable and just not right, though he enjoyed the kissing and cuddling and company - he didn't like the way he was treated as a 'girl' no matter how boyish he was, even in bed. He dated a lot of girls too, especially in college. He never realised that he could change himself to look like what he had thought he'd be when he grew up - he imagined, when he was little, that he'd look like his Daddy; with a young slightly feminine face and long hair, just like his Daddy, but a little bit of facial hair and clearly a man, with a smooth, medium level voice and a nice laugh and a good figure for wearing leathers and bike show t-shirts, that he'd be able to get nice tattoos like his Daddy (though his Daddy did not like all his tattoos any more, and taught the little boy a good lesson about forward planning when things are permanent) and that he'd have lots of nice friends of all different kinds. The little boy never thought at all that he'd have to grow up like his Mummy, who was also cool and bikery and tattooed but very clearly a Lady.

The worst part of finishing growing up was that suddenly he was away from his family, and EVERYONE thought he was a girl, and tried to treat him as a girl and talk to him like a girl about things he didn't like. The only people who'd treat him as himself were the guys who'd known him a long long long time, and even then, they tended to adjust their behaviour without realising. Sex was a bad thing because it took so long (many many months of a relationship) to get to trust someone enough to be naked with them. The further he got from home, from college and secondary school and childhood, the more he realised that no-one was treating him as him. They all made assumptions and then when he didn't fit them, they labelled him as 'weird' and didn't like him any more. He felt he would die alone and early, because he couldn't take this thing, he couldn't take that so much of society wanted to enforce stereotypes and sexist views on itself, and therefore, on him: He was sick of adverts on Facebook, for instance, advertising fashion shows and pregnancy wish list sites. Sick of women telling him about their children, or trying to share something they thought was 'cute' but which was in fact ugly and useless. Sick of not being able to ask any lady he liked out for fear of being hurt by her friends for being 'gay'. Sick of not being able to be or do what he wanted in bed. Sick of the guys excluding him without even realising it, simply because they thought he was a girl and wouldn't be interested in the formula one or the page three girl. Sick of the assumption that he couldn't carry heavy things or figure out the best way to pack a lorry. Sick, basically, of enforced stereotypes that whilst he believed to have a tiny base in reality, he knew were not right because the wrong ones got applied to him, and thereafter, people would not change their mind about him except from 'hey, a person' to 'hey, a wierdo.'

Then when the boy was twenty-two, he discovered a forum on the internet full of queers, who all seemed very nice, and as the boy was in his first adult relationship with a guy and was depressed and lonely all the time, but had no-one to talk to about it as he didn't like talking about his internal stuff, he spent time making friends on the forum. One day, he discovered this word called 'Genderqueer' and he thought perhaps that was what he was, but it didn't fit. He also discovered these things called 'Binders' and begged his mother to help him buy one as an early birthday present - he couldn't afford it himself. As soon as he got the binder he never took it off - he could wear normal, fitting clothing! He could go out in public! He could enjoy himself!

Before the binder arrived, the boy slicked his long hair back into a ponytail, borrowed a shirt from a mate, and bound his chest with a scarf and a chunk of cardboard, and went to a Rave. He told his friends he was 'in drag' and to call him Eamon, which they tried to do, but messed up. He enjoyed being perceived as himself in the smoky rave, even being thrown out of the ladies loos by the security guys, and dancing with some hot girls, and drinking other people's drinks (he didn't know this at the time, his friend was bringing them to him, they found out when suddenly they looked at one another across the dancefloor and they were both gurning - clearly they had drunken something that was spiked!).

This changed everything for the boy. He realised very fast just how much of his depression was due to his hatred of his own body, and how other people initially perceived him, how he never fit in with ladies because he was not like them, how he never got accepted with the guys because he looked like a girl, how he was no good at talking to people because he never got practice. He realised that he had to look like himself or he'd just have to start hurting himself again, and that had taken him a long time and a promise (he never broke promises) to stop doing.

After his first binder arrived, and allowed him to wear fitting clothing (albeit in several layers to hide the prominent edging on the binder) he realised there was no way he could go on pretending to be 'okay'. He had recently met some transguys and transgirls via the forum, and he paid a lot of attention to what they were saying, and it was all so close to home that he wanted to cry; in part because there were so many people suffering like he had, and some much worse, but also because he learned about medical transition, and how his puberty could have been stopped if he'd just known it was possible and asked.

Now, the boy is a boy. He still doesn't look how he wanted - he gets told he looks like an underage gay boy, which is nice but not quite there. He's waiting for doctors appointments and things, and is both happier and more depressed than he's ever been in his life. Especially since his friends, work, and family are all fine with it, and are making an amazing effort to support him and switch pronouns and names. His Dad chose his middle name, and his Mother chose his first name, and he feels almost whole and right.

These days, the boy is slowly coming out of his shell and socialising and going to parties and things. It's very fun, and a bit daunting because he gets kicked out of both bathrooms, but generally a good rush. He likes that he seems to present well, especially as drinking lowers his voice a little, and loud music means he has to project more, which further deepens his tone. Also drunk guys are more likely to accept him without question, he's found - all good things. He's yet to get over his own disconnection with his body and learn to dance, though!

Most days, if he's alone, he's pretty depressed - he can't stop his brain going on and on. But he pretends to be okay, because giving in and admitting how depressed he is, or talking it over with someone, makes it so much worse. And he hates talking about his feelings. He vents a lot on his blog, and hopes he doesn't inflict his sadness on anyone, because he knows he's a very lucky guy, and that it's mostly just general dysphoria and impatience.

One Night can Change My Outlook

Okay, so I'm in a much better mood today.

Last night I was having a wash and someone knocked at the door.

So I scurried to get covered and answered it, and it was the (rather attractive) guy from upstairs. They're having a party, he says, you should come up. Maybe.. In a bit.. I say. He says no, no, you gotta come up. So I says that I'm naked and such but okay I'll be up in a bit.

I went and dunked my head and shampooed and started rinsing and then the door goes again.

This time I'm dripping water and I can't see (no glasses) but I recognise the girl who used to live with the guy upstairs anyway. She comes in. I scurry around protecting my modesty and female-bodiedness and drying off and saying goodnight to my sexy girl in Sheffield.

I eventually send her off with promises to be up in a little while, finish saying goodnight to my gorgeous girl via Skype (of course she has to go and tease me and get me all hot and bothered!) and head up there.

I meet a bunch of guys, two of whom are quite attractive (the birthday boy, and the guy from upstairs) and a load of nice girls. I feel out of place, but enjoy the fact that they're playing ancient Eminem albums to which (thanks to my little brother) I know most of the words and tune. After a little while, I feel more like a member than that-weird-guy-from-downstairs. I have a good time. I chat to some of the guys. I have the girl from up there dancing pressed against me. I wonder what she thinks of my packer, and if she'd think it was real if she didn't already know. We headfuck the guy a little, by telling him about my 'willy'. He thinks I've had an operation, but also thinks that that would be fast. I make him come into the empty room and feel it. It's quite sexy to have another man put his hand down your trousers. He still thinks I've had an operation, at first, but I tell him it's silicone. He looks relieved. I feel greatly amused.

At one point, most of us blokes were standing in the kitchen (cooler in there) and drinking, and talking about weights and age and booze and such. I am the oldest person there, but only by a year. It's unimportant. The guy from upstairs is topless and I want to pull him against me and enjoy a cuddle, but I don't want him to look like a queer in front of his mates (though it was a very, very homoerotic party, there was a lot of humping bums and slapping and groins-in-other-guys-who-have-sat-downs-faces). He sidles up to me a little at one point, looks up from under his hair with that ridiculously hot half-smile, and says "You're passing."

I feel fucking amazing, because I know I am, but also because this guy knows how much of a big deal it is. I feel joyful in this kind of company. And despite having had half of a very drunken threesome with him and his (now ex) girl, he still treats me as a bloke and never messes pronouns up. Amusingly, she does still mess pronouns up. You'd think it'd be the other way around!

But anyway;

I passed.

Completely.

Apart from my age.

There was one guy who thought I was sixteen.

But he didn't think I was trans, or a butch dyke, or a 'girl' in any way shape or form.

I now believe people who tell me my voice is androgynous. Thanks for trying to give me that confidence, guys, you have no idea how much more I'll trust you now that I know you were right.

It was fucking amazing for my ego! I feel amazing. :)

Can't wait for my provisional so I have ID!

And it's the thirteenth today - only sixteen days (maximum) until my psych appointment.

I'm finally cheering up, I'm feeling mostly positive.

I also feel depressed as fuck when I think that I'm probably not going to get treatment for a while, but I've made the decision to buy some for myself for Christmas if it's still not sorted through the NHS, and it helps me ignore that big black cloud that's telling me to go to bed and not get back up.

It's a really fucking bad day.
The kind of day when I chainsmoke because I'm not allowed to cut myself.
The kind of day when I get close to breaking that promise.
I just want to cut them off and stop thinking even if it means deafeningly loud music or bashing my head off a wall.

Fuck, why is it taking so long to get this sorted?!

Ohnoes

I went to the barbers.

As usual he didn't listen - people who cut my hair never do! - and now I think I look a prat.

Nevermind. Surely someone I know can teach me how to make this look okay..

Off down the beach with my sister in a little while. Then tonight I have a mate coming over, and he's pretty stylish, so mebbe he can help..

Update: Here's a picture.

Quickie

I'm having a bad day, but a tiny bit of positivity; I asked the FTM-UK Yahoo Group some questions...

I've been spending a lot of time lately looking at top surgery options, and I like peri-areolar surgery, but I expect that it's only possible with smaller chests?

Can anyone give me information on this?

Additionally, I was wondering if (on the NHS) you get to have a choice of surgeon and method (where possible ofc).


Also a quick moan - this is taking forever! My appointment with the local mental health team (grumble-youcallingmecrazy?-grumble) isn't until the end of -September-.
Seriously, this is long and long and nothing has been done! My first appt was just me saying I wanted it, then that GP moved practice so I had to have another appointment going over all the same ground because despite my request upon making the appt she did NOT read over the notes Then she spent ages referring me to this psych clinic, who didn't call me for a month, then sent me an appointment almost two months away! I've waitied one month but this is doing my nut in. Is there anything I can do? How can I move the appointment forward? Should I just tell them how much it's getting to me? Should I even have been referred to the mental health clinic? It's really getting me down..

I've already had a load of useful responses including a message last night suggesting I call and explain how much it's getting to me and ask to be put on the cancellations list. Which I did this morning at 9:06am. So, a tiny bit of positivity.. I'll leave the moaning out of this post, maybe add a rant tonight..

Mope mope mope

Okay I just can't cheer up.

Partially, I know it's that I'm missing Lee.

I don't think it's just a clingy thing, though. I'm not really a clingy person.

I think it's that, during this holiday, I've had almost constant social interaction. There have been only a few moments of quiet and introversion - I have been forced to engage and chat and be sociable in general. It doesn't come very naturally to me, after a lifetime of hiding at the fringes because people thought I was 'weird' when I did try to engage. I watched people. I grew up as an introverted, calm, silent person. I didn't talk unless necessary. I have never learned the point in small talk. I don't believe in flattery unless a compliment is honest or true. I don't believe in lying, even if someone may not like the truth.

Anyway, yes, two weeks of constant people. Trying to be true to myself, trying not to get upset at old mates messing my name and gender pronouns up. Trying not to go crazy.

And now I'm back in my empty flat.

It's got nothing in it but bad memories and a few good memories only the good ones make me feel even emptier.

I'm all alone.

This has never been a problem before.

I seem to actually be lonely.

This has never happened before.

And I can't let myself think, because then I get more depressed. I keep drifting onto topics that hurt - everything here links back to a memory of this flat when there are other people in it.

And lately I've been having a lot more trouble with myself.

My body is betraying me, and it hurts, and I can't wear my binder without it hurting, and I can't wear my packer, and.. I just generally feel shit. My body is laughing at me. And I wake up and it's all still the same and my appointment to see a psychologist isn't until the 29th of September. And.. I don't know if I will be able to get it moved up.

I need this to be sorted. This is taking so, so long.

I feel like I'll never be free of this.. This.. I dunnoh. It's not that I want to be free of my body - I don't mind it as a whole. It works, I'm not too fat, could do with being more guy-shaped and fuzzy, but the base body is fine with me. But then there are the parts that aren't right.

And right now, they're taunting me.

And I hate it.

I hate them.

I hate myself.

Gotta carry on though, right?

If I could get served around here, I'd buy some beer so that I could drink enough to fall asleep. But no-one will serve me as I don't have ID.

I wish there was another way to force my brain to shut the fuck up.

One that doesn't kill too many braincells.

...I might suck it up and get my hair cut tomorrow...

...If I feel a bit better. Which probably won't happen, but I can hope.

Return!

I should post something, about my holiday.

The problem is, spending time with her was SO GOOD. Waking up next to her was SO RIGHT. That now, I feel empty, lonely, and depressed. Not exactly flooded with words for this screen to regurgitate at me.

I have new binders - they're from Underworks and they're 997s. They're really awesome - I can't believe how much flatter they make me. I feel great in them.

I'm sort of dreading returning to work. I wonder how many stupid questions I'll get asked.

I had a bad day yesterday in the market.

I'm a bit bum, basically.

When I've cheered up, I'll post pics and a proper account of my fun.

Waves?

Sometimes I feel great, like, I'm finally on my way to having a life, to being confidant and happy and secure. I hate my binder but I love it - I can walk around outside in (admittedly layered) fitting clothing and be myself. I get called GAY or QUEER sometimes if the pissheads are out. As insulting as they intend to be it makes my fucking day. And I carefully lock my doors when I return home.

But every now and then, I get these waves of blackness in my head.

I just sit here and wonder.

Am I EVER going to get this sorted? How much longer do I have to.. To do this, this life that's not quite mine.

I'm sick of being called a 'good girl' at work.

It hurts. It's like a fucking little knife in my chest and they say it, so, often.

I generally try and pass it off, shrug it away like so much in my life - I was bullied at school; I've never really cared what other people say to me or about me, it was only being touched I couldn't stand back then.

But these days.

There is something that words can break into, and it hurts and it makes me wonder how long, and that makes it seem like I'll never ever get there. Like I'll be in limbo the rest of my life (however short it will end up) always waiting for a letter or a phone call.

I hate this feeling.

I hate my stupid chromosomes.

I don't wish I wasn't me. I just wish I could LOOK and be TAKEN as me NOW. Not be me, with parts that shouldn't. Fucking. Be. There.

I wish I had known this years ago, when it would have been so much better to transition. College or something, the end of school, late teens. Give me a chance, I keep thinking, let me go back and leave myself a note so that in one time-line at least, I get to be happy from the start of this supposed age of freedom..

Please, universe, can't you just shiver a bit, speed up, get me there now, send me back, anything?

The butcher calls me Sir.

My friends call me Ethan (or Sol).

My niece calls me Ethan.

My parents are getting a heck of a lot better at calling me Ethan thanks to my niece.

But I want it done, sorted, or at least I wast some, reassurance that it WILL happen, not this waiting and agonising and being out everywhere except work.

It's so horrible that I'm seriously beginning to think I have to tell the remaining family because if THEY call me by that name, today, I will be so, fucking, down, and it's just... Not right.

I don't DO extremes of emotion. But lately I do. And it's strange.

I'm worried that, being a calm, slow, controlled person, and I hear all this stuff about T making guys less emotional.. What'll happen to me?

Please let there be some good news soon, please, please, please?

Things and Dysphoria?

So. So much has happened.

I finally kicked my boyfriend out. I couldn't take it any more.

It went okay.

I feel really good lately, with all my friends calling me Ethan and my niece too. My family are even slowly picking it up from her. My niece is a difficult problem.. Well not a problem, but a bit of a conundrum. I'm not going to talk about it all again, it's in my August YouTube video.

I'm getting really.. Attached to my friend. And I don't want to.. But I do.. But... Gosh.

That's a story for another time.

But last night I had what I have to say is my worst ever dysphoric moment that didn't involve genitals. I was on Skype, mooostly topless. Whilst I want them gone, my chest isn't as much of a big deal for me - it's my lower parts that are the worst problem. Anyhow, I just, looked at my wrist, because it itched. And I don't know why but for the last month or two, the veins in my wrist and the back of my hand have been pretty prominent - it pleases me so much. And in the last few weeks, my wrists have thickened out a little due to the extra exercise I've been doing on my arms. And I dunnoh, I looked and thought hey, look at that, it's me. But, then, I had tits, and I'm Ethan and he and boy and.. I got.. I dunnoh I felt really down and disconnected for a long while and had to cover myself up (wrists included).

But that disconnection feeling hasn't happened to me for months.. And it's horrid. And it makes me wonder just how much worse this is going to get before I get T and it kicks in and starts making a difference.

Priiiiide

I made this friend a whiiile back. It's a twisty-turny and unbelievable story. But I might explain it someday. A series of coincidences, basically. And disturbing similarities.. Anyhow I (half-jokingly) suggested this friend came down to go to Thanet Pride with me.. And.. They did! But gosh as soon as I saw her step off the train..

Fabulous dykey person, came to pride with me, delicious, delicious.

And a wonderous friend called Elton also came.

And my very very good friend Becky came.

Photos here.

There were many cute girls.

I overheated a lot.

I perved.

I drank too much.

I found Lee ridiculously attractive and couldn't resist.

Blah

So.. Manymanythings.

I feel kind of sick and shy and cringy and in pain - I'm sick of people calling me by my birth name, or referring to me as She. I know it's not their fault - I'm not out to the people doing it - but it does make me feel terrible.

Additionally I'm tired of this boyfriend who doesn't really care about me.

"You're just ruining our relationship."

"You just don't care about me, do you?"

"You were happy before, you just need to go back to being my girlfriend and you won't even care."

Yes, thank you dearest, because you've lived inside my head how long? And last time I cried or allowed my sad emotions to show and how you just got angry with me and called me stupid really helped us bond, honest. Fuck you.

Fuck you and your calling me stupid, fuck you and your moods, fuck you and your paranoia, pessimism, and laziness. Fuck you, you fucking drain on my funds, who doesn't even sign on, clean, shop, wash clothes, or wash up.

Fuck you and your addiction to computer games that are online and cost me money.

Fuck you and your constant assertion that buying £20 food from Iceland is better than wandering around real butchers, grocers, and fishmongers.

Fuck you and telling me I don't need something I want.

Fuck you for trying to tell me what I want.

Just generally fuck you, you fucking piece of shit fuck.

I can't kick you out, because despite your issues, I love you, and want to be with you and laugh with you and watch Star Trek and play guitar and make raptor noises and dance like a crazed loon and make endless endless references to obscure scenes in movies and games and programs. I want to look at your beautiful long blonde hair and how it curls around your face at the edges of your jaw and merges with your ginger beard. I want to nom on your freckly lovely skin and ruffle the blonde fuzz of your happy trail or chest, I want to laugh at you checking your hair before we go out, I want to discuss the minutia of the items in some game we're playing, mock each other's music taste, play with each other's wibbly parts, randomly grab each other and dry-hump your butt. Also, where would you go? You'd go mad if you had to deal with the council and shit. Would you refuse to go, freak out, break shit?

This place in my guts is all twisted and hurting and you dinnae care.

Letter to My Mother

A letter to my mother. I'll never send her this.. But I had to get it out of my head before I get stupid and send her a PM on Facebook or some shitty stupid thing like that.

I desperately want to tell you, mother.

But what if you cry and scream and mourn the loss of 'your little girl', the little girl you never had. I'm still me, I'll just be getting rid of these terrible things. You know what I mean, you also find them annoying, but you like being female.. You liked having a little girl and you disliked having a little boy (my brother).

I need to be there. But at the same time I am a coward and I don't want to see what you do. I don't want to wake in the night to your crying in your nightmare, and worry every night that this time, the nightmare is about me.

I love you, mother.

I'm not your little girl, though. You knew tomboy never cut it. You never cared that I slept with women - you just wouldn't do it yourself.

You never tried to make me wear dresses or have long hair or play with makeup.. You never forced boundaries on lovers or friends or books or games - you just taught me, gave me logical boundaries, and let me grow.

I'm sorry I left when I was nine. I couldn't handle the way you took the breakup with dad. I couldn't handle seeing you cry or scream or tear your hair out in great black clumps in the middle of your kitchen.

I'm sorry that I'm so uncomfortable, the further I get out into the world, that I need to adjust myself. I know you taught me my whole life to follow my heart, and do what makes me happy - An it harm none, do what ye will - I remember, mother. I hope this doesn't hurt you. I worry that it will. I love you.

I know you understand how I can't look at myself in the mirror - but you have different reasons. I don't see me, I see this person that has my head, my hands, but the rest doesn't fit with how I see myself, how I saw myself.

You know I've always hated that I'd grow up to be female. You remember how my whole life I said I wanted my womb removed. You remember how I was always a guy in D&D, in other games, at play. You know me, you know I'm not comfy.

Please please accept me. You gave me life, and a mind, you gave me computers and language, theatre, logic, science, herb and vegetable info. You made me who I am, but somehow I ended up in the wrong shape.. I think I've always known that, even if I never realised why.

Now I know I can fix it. I can be myself, get rid of the dissonance, get rid of the confusion and hatred and horror.

I can be free.

But I need you, mother.

I love you.

I'm sorry.

Nightmare

I had another nightmare.

This one was more detailed and intense.

...Means I'm sleeping better though, right?

I think what brought it on was yesterday.. First time someone who knows me ONLY as Ethan has seen me without my binder. That would be the cute girl upstairs (and her friend). My boyfriend had run to the shop on the corner, to buy ice cream, and left our inner front door open (the door to our flat, not the one onto the street). The girl from upstairs came down to go out (with her friend) and poked her head in, asking if everything was okay, why was the door open. And I wasn't wearing my binder, as the boyfriend asked me to take it off.. I felt very, very, very uncomfortable..

Additionally yesterday someone finally got the guts ta ask me "Where have your boobs gone?" though I just said "Use your head."

Not ready to be outed at work.

Anyway. The nightmare was just that but worse - somehow I had forgotten my binder, and gone out, and gotten really far away, and had nowhere to go and no way to get rid of them.

It doesn't sound that bad.. But the intensity of that fear and disgust were.. Horrible.

Gods.. I don't want to wait for T.. Or chest surgery.. Not if I keep getting nightmares.. Could I buy the gel online? But I haven't the money.. And you never know what you'll get..

Update

So my doc just called.

She said that it is the local Psychiatric Trust which I need to see, that I should be getting an appointment through the mail, and that they will need to check I 'fit the criteria' and do the referring..

Oddly, it gets worse..

It's strange, but, since I've come out it's gotten way, way worse..

To the extent that I had a nightmare a few days ago (I don't even dream, usually) and yesterday morning I got up to make a cuppah and in my half-asleep state got very confused and upset and scared because I had breasts.. It was that kind of gut-clenching, almost-retching fear.. for a good few minutes until I ran back into the bedroom to grab my binder and a baggy t-shirt.

Additionally, I'm male to all family and friends that I encounter regularly (not my mother, wanna tell her in person and she lives hundreds of miles away) and they refer to me as He and Ethan.. But at work I'm not out.. And it's dreadful. And the boyfriend accepts that I'm going to transition, but it's understandably hard on him, so I don't mind him calling me his girlfriend or my given name.. He needs time, and he is getting better. Apart from calling me selfish now and then, when he's in a bad mood and wants to lash out..

This.. Dissonance between life and work, it does my head in. I know I hardly pass, but somehow having half my world accept it and the other half in the dark is seriously fucking my head up.

I kinda wanna crawl into a time-warp until my first T dose.. I haven't even gotten info back on funding yet, let alone any confirmation that I'll ever get prescribed. I actually hate needles, but for this, I'd take them. However, if possible I'm asking for gel or cream, as the levels are more steady due to the daily application and personally I believe that would be healthier for my body and mind.

I did call my doctor; waiting on a call back..
Crossed fingers, tight chest.


I want to be free.

OUT

I am now out to my parents.
Well, my close parents. My mother doesn't know yet, but she'll be the riskiest, for reasons I will explain shortly.
The letter/note I wrote to my Dad is below, though I hand-wrote it (in small caps) on notepaper.

Dad,

I don't really know how to say shit like this.
I'm transitioning to male.
I'm sorry if this upsets you - I'm not trying to hurt anyone.

I've been doing research into this for seven months or more, since I found out it was possible.
I have trans friends, most notably my mate Dylan who lives in Cornwall, so has lots of relevant advice on transitioning in the UK.

I've been putting off telling you for months.
But I want to finish my Deed Poll and I wanted you to choose a middle name for me (you don't have to, I just wanted you to be involved).

I love you very much, I'm so sorry if this upsets you.

- Ethan <3
PS: I won't change, of course, except I'll become more male in appearance as the hormones take hold, and I'll be happier & more confidant.
PPS: Yes, I want this.
PPPS: Yes, I've thought it all through.
PPPPS: Ask any questions you like, of course, even if they sound stupid.

As usual, his response was the best one could hope for from a parent: "I don't care, as long as you're happy, and safe."

I'm thinking I might laminate the letter. It's a big marker in my life, that letter.
I'm out to the most important family member, the one who I would be completely devastated without. I mean, I'd be devastated at the loss of ANY family member, but my dad is the core of the family - he's calm, intelligent, articulate and umm, the best way to say it would be he has high leadership: He's observant (spots details) and piercing (spots details about PEOPLE, things they try to hide, etc), never rude, trusting whilst not being a fool, has excellent control over his temper...
Basically without him I don't think The Family would be The Family.

Anyhow. I'm out, wheee!

Mother then.. Well mother hated having my brother - "Ew, it's a boy" - and still tends to call me her little girl. She doesn't want us joining the Army (including Navy and Airforce) or the Police, or she'll disown us (us being my brother and I).
She's just.. Difficult. I worry about her.
I'd rather tell her in person, as horrible as that could be, because I want to make sure she doesn't go mental. Because I love her, and I want to protect her and make sure she's happy and safe - she's my mother after all. Without my parents I wouldn't be me. Mother gave me computers and language, plants, herbs, and geekery and books and sci-fi, and slightly old-fashioned manners, Dad gave me spatial awareness, logic, art, music, history, honour, respect. And both gave me a firm belief in magic - not abracadabra stuff, but things like The Secret, positive reinforcement, trusting that we ourselves control our destinies.

I'm babbling now, and must get back to work.
Oh, work. Well, my mate in stores knows (took that photo, up top, yesterday).
But I don't think they could handle it so I just shan't tell them. They're not exactly PC or H&S compliant, so..
I don't think they'd be rude or anything... I just think it would complicate things for them, and I don't want to confuse my manager, he's an all right bloke.

Anyhow, must dash. :)

Thoughts

I've always thought I didn't care what people thought, but it seems like the further I get from the 'nest' of my caring, unbiased family where a girl is treated the same as a boy, the more I realise that I care what they think when it affects how they treat me. I must transition to be treated correctly, for people to expect the correct things of me; sometimes I wonder if by doing this I'm perpetuating the lie of gender, but it's driving me mad, this casual sexism on both sides, girls want to talk about babies, guys want to talk about football. It's all a lie, yet, it is true that I am a fighter, a protector, a builder of technical things, not a carer, a nester, a builder of relationships.

Fitness

So my goal at the moment is fitness (and trying to decide who to ask to witness my deed poll) as podge and bingo wings, pre-T, are generally in the wrong places for a podgy bloke.

Yesterday my friend Becky was talking about 'bingo wings' which is a term I've never heard before but is HILARIOUS and apt. I happen to have a lovely pair of wibbly wings, which are not a very masculine feature imo! I do have biceps, but that layer of wibbling on the bottom of my upper arm ruins them.

Over the last five months I've been working out (off and on) on basic exercises, but now it is time to not only bring them up a step, but also concentrate a bit on my arms.

I already do some of these exercises, but I will be stepping those up and doing all of these every day except Friday, which is gonna be my rest and play MMOs until I pass out day. :)

First, I'll be wearing my wrist weights the whole time I am at home (except computer use as they make typing impossible - too bulky) and using them doubled-up (total 6kg) as weights for lifting.
Exercises:
- Lifting from the elbow, 15 reps, twice
- Lifting from the shoulder, 15 reps, twice
- The above two lifts, but twisted, 10 reps, twice (each, the twisting is designed to exercise those muscles that enable the twisting)
- Push-aways, 15 reps, twice
- Sit-backs, 15 reps, twice
- Dips, 5 reps increasing over time based on easiness to 10 reps, twice

I can't really afford to change my diet from the small amount of cheap crap I eat to an average-sized amount of good quality food, but considering I seem to be losing weight anyway, albeit very slowly, I think simply stepping up the amount of exercise I do will work.

Fuss and Results?

So I haven't posted in ages, sorry.
The doctor just asked some questions, and said he doesn't know much about it and would make enquiries and get the secretary to call me.

My boyfriend freaked out completely.
But then he got over it a bit.
Now I'm just to try not to mention it too much.
Oh, and he doesn't find me sexy as he keeps thinking of me as a man. But that's kind of a positive thing.

Gots to head to work.
See you all later.

OH! I learned to STP without bits of plastic or prosthetics.

Tonight. Tonight. God.

Its tonight. My appointment.
Fear.

I haven't told my boyfriend yet.
I can't. I don't know what to say. I don't want to see him droop and hear him try to make out that I should value his feelings about this over mine. Or get angry and call me stupid. I don't really want to go home. I have to tell him.
I can't lie.
But it is safer.
Why does he have to be like this?

Why is everyone like this? Why can't I just find a nice soul and be happy?
How is this going to work?
Where will he go when he leaves? How much money will it cost me? Will it be enough to mean I get chucked out of my flat?

My word.
Right now I just want to explode. I don't know, I need to expunge all these emotions before someone notices them.

Bluhh?!

Today. I am angry.
I am stressed.
I want to destroy.

And it makes me think about things. It reminds me that I used to write, and create and then destroy and it would help. I used to draw and sculpt and then tear and smash it all away, remove it all, all that emotion spilled out onto screen or paper or into clay and then destroyed, purifying, cleansing. Now I just stew, I lost my creativity when I escaped from her.
And people yell, they yell. I don't want to share but sometimes they find something while I'm doing it and then I have to smash it quick and they get upset. It's my heart, my soul, I can tear it and stamp and burn all I want, I don't want you to have that power over me. Get away from my heart, get out of me.

Why do I obsess so much over that concept?

I'm thinking about showers a lot lately, how they feel and the colours of the sound and temperature. I want to draw them but I can't because no-one would understand it. Nothing I draw means anything to anyone but me so I can't share but I want to share something I want to give joy to strangers as a gift in the shadow of a cool tree or the way a word tastes but I can't do that, can I? It's all just a crazy combination of things that people don't understand or think is in my head but it's not. Things taste and smell and feel in ways no one mentions and it's so much data that I could burst!

Why am I writing this here? I dunnoh really, just thought I'd post and maybe one day I'll look back and this irrational reaction to life will be gone.
Maybe I'm angry and sad and excited and terrified for a reason.
Not just college finishing next week.
Maybe it's all linked to gender.

I want to tell you, world, to just shut the fuck up to wake up to look around and think and smile and tell the trees you love them! Dance in the dark and sing while you work and suck your teeth and fuck like it's your first time and last time on this earth. Love with every tiny part of yourself, give it all away, ask for nothing, plan for the worst, expect the best, and alwayalways be yourself.

I will be myself outside, not just inside.

I will be treated as me.

I will.

I

Sexuality

So, some people are a little confused by my sexuality.

Let me try to explain it.
I'm Sapiosexual;

Sapiosexuality
(sā-pē-ō-sĕk-shü-ăl'ĭ-tē)
Becoming attracted to or aroused by intelligence and its use.

I actually use this term a little liberally; I'm attracted to minds, not bodies. I don't care if you've got one arm and are 30stone, if you've got a personality I find attractive, I'll date you.
I like wit, dry black and puerile humour, geeky interests, honesty.
I don't like self-obsessed, bitchy, lying, or two-faced people.
I like people who can dance to the sound of trees, and enjoy stroking moss, and sing to themselves in gibberish when they're concentrating on something. I like someone who I can compare opinions on a book or a game with, someone who isn't addicted to their telly, someone who'll do half the work and pay their own way. I'm a secret, geeky romantic and I want someone who'll like that, and not try and force other things on me. I want someone who's happy to live off noodles for a fortnight if it means we can go see that new movie together (and buy a slushie in the cinema). I like eclectic music tastes, science obsessions, star trek lovers, computer geekery, language tomfoolery, not giving a fuck what the world thinks, not thinking the world revolves around you. I like courage and the strength to keep on your path until it reaches an end, to stick to your beliefs.
I don't like blind faith, or pointlessness, or repetitiveness.
I like stubborn, unless it's illogical.

So this mostly seems to apply to women, but occasionally I meet a guy who fits enough of my likes that I actually would sleep with him. Sure, he hasn't got the kind of body I enjoy looking at, but that's not important.


And the sex, there's a whole 'nother kettle of fish. I don't like pen; it's not really pleasurable. However, at the same time, I kind of hate sex with girls, because they can SEE my girlparts. And know they're there. And it feels horrendous, like it's wrong because there shouldn't be that down there, and I'm less of a man for not having one, and I just don't like that confirmation of my lack of a cock. But, if I can overcome my hatred of my own genitals, it's extremely pleasurable.


Anyhow, that was terribly personal, hahaha, oh invisible eyes of the internet, don't tell anyone you read this, especially not me.

Panic Stations

Starting to panic.
Why am I purposefully going to see a shrink?

I've a natural aversion to them.
Even the one I had when I was in juniors, in years four-six..
I never knew why I was scheduled to see her each week. But I wouldn't talk to her.
I just drew things on the board.

But now I'm actually going, of my own accord.
Panic panic.
Chest too tight. Room too warm.

Seriously fuckfuckfuck and it's two days away.
Fucking shit.. I don't want to, don't want. Can't sit and talk about myself. Can't certainly talk about things I've spent me life not thinking about.
I need a plan. A list. Something?

I refuse to be scared of anything (except wasps, and needles).
But... I am scared.
Most of all that I'll forget everything and just go "uh-duuuhhhh..."

Things never figured out...

You know there's always been things you can't figure out. Why do you do them? Why do you feel that way? Why is this seemingly separate to this similar thing?

Like looks. I never cared about how I looked; no makeup, why brush my hair, what's wrong with a bit of mud? At the same time, since I hit puberty and such, I have always hated looking at myself. I don't like having these curves, but I know I'm not fat or anything. So why did I always both not give a screw, and hate myself? Guess that my body is not right is the answer. How long have I avoided poking these things, and how many more of the things that cause me strife am I going to realise are because I'm not a bloody girl?

I die a little, by the way, every time someone calls me 'luv'.
But I feel like a fucking god when someone calls me 'sir' or 'mate'. Mr Ticket-Inspector, Mr Bus-Driver, Man-with-Jackhammer, Shopkeeper-down-the-road; you keep me from drowning in misery. Thank you.

Introductions

Hello there,

I don't know why you're here; there are plenty of more informative sites out there. But sure, pull up a camp-chair or a big old cushion and settle in. I don't mind.

I've mostly made this for my own records, to be able to look back one day and smile at the mountain I made of the molehill, to keep something I can't lose, and to provide myself with what basically amounts to a central node in a network of links and things that I might otherwise have to keep as bookmarks (eugh).

I guess introducing myself is the first thing.
I'm Ethan. I'm 23 right now, I'm transgendered, and I'm not yet even near the door to transitioning to my correct gender. But, I'm tired of never fitting in a bracket, not because I WANT a bracket, but because I want other people to get what they expect. I'm sick of the girls thinking I want to talk about celebrities or hair or people we know or babies, expecting me to know what the hell foundation is and how to sterilise a bottle. I'm sick of guys who don't know me (because once you've met me you tend to realise I'm not a girl) asking me if "I need help with that" because having tits obviously makes me completely spatially retarded and physically useless, unable to screw a bolt in or know the difference between a hard drive and a stick of RAM. I'm sick of having these things jiggling about on me, and I'm sick of never really being able to relax about my lower bits. I don't like het sex, and I can't bring myself to let girls see that I'm not a guy down there.

I never was a girl. I hated pink, and dolls, and stupid cartoons for girls, and makeup and people looking at me. Thankfully my family is really relaxed and never try to force anything on a kid, so I was allowed my cool toys and gadgets and muddy games and trousers and short hair. But I hit puberty and everything went down the drain. I suddenly was in a different category to my mates, just because I had boobs all of a sudden.

I thought of myself as a dyke for a long time. Though more specifically, I enjoy sleeping with women and find them physically attractive, but as I go for personality and not looks, I have been known to have relationships with guys; they just tend to be quite feminine guys. I call this Sapiosexual.

But I think it was in my last gay relationship that I started to realise I didn't even fit the expected role of 'dyke'. And of course, my first strap-on was amazing. But let's not go into that. Just that I suddenly realised how much I hated my own parts being attached to me.
I like my breasts; they're good breasts, in my opinion and that of my partners - not to big, small, squishy, etc. Just sort of good breasts. But as much as I enjoy having my own 'toys' I can't help but wake up sometimes and suddenly get a shock as I realise they're there and there's no way for me to get rid of them and look like me. When they're visible I feel like they make me less of a person, like everyone's looking at me and thinking "what the hell is that?!"
I've been saying since I was VERY young that "I want my womb removed" because I am not a girl. And then I started having periods. And they're just wrong, not right, they distress me.

Then, I learned about transitioning. And now I can't think about anything else. I want to be myself outside. I want it so badly that I am willing to suffer almost anything, even talking about myself, in person, to a medic. That's sort of another point in this blog; if I can think through the stuff I tend to keep internal here, then maybe I will get over my crusade against being open.

My mother bought me a binder, and I feel... Better. I feel confidant, myself, correct. Just from the removal of my breasts and several people accepting me as a man. It's great. But it's not enough. I want to be accepted as who I am, I want people to look at me and be able to know that I am a guy, I am not a girl.

I'm Ethan. And I'm coming out, and there's going to be no stopping me from achieving this.


I've joined a few groups, and several people have said I should have a blog or vlog or whatever; this is my little first video ramble. I'm unsure as to how to fix the difference in latency between my webcam and mic, as they're both integrated into my netbook, but I am looking into it.

If you've any suggestions for things I should talk about, feel free to ask. It's good for me to do this, so even the most odd query is welcome.