Saturday, December 25, 2010

Crazy lady over here ...

Yesterday I got to listen to the newest mix for HECTOR.  An amazing mix done by Lin Gardiner who is going to get it mastered before the new year.  I wrote this music 4 years ago after coming out of a nervous breakdown due to a bottom in my chemical imbalance.  Interestingly enough, these songs seemed to eerily foreshadow my emotions now.  The only difference is now I have a 'happy pill' to aide in managing the feelings without spiraling as far as I used to. 

I got out of that gruesome depression by getting on medication that saved me from killing myself.  As I listened to one of the songs, 'Cry', I realized that it was a suicide note set to music.  The reason I had taken so long to mix this album?  Directly following recording this album, life started doing what it does best.  The science experiment. 

I was rendered homeless after being dumped from a 6 year relationship and had to shut down my home music teaching business of 13 years to find a day job and a new bungalow.  When I finally got my life together by way of a steady income, an abode and a new relationship a year later, I was hit on my motorcycle, resulting in a brain injury that took 2 years to heal from.

Just a tiny 4 year excuse, but it all plays a part.  I'm just so happy that this ep is getting finished as I write this.

It's hard to believe that all these crazy feelings I had from my crackup, I had only let go of 4 years ago.  Hindsight is 20/20.  Life moves along and now I have HECTOR music to express those feelings of chaos and pain, and I have BlueLight music that seems to be speaking to the bratty teenager who just won't let those feelings go.  It seems BlueLight is giving great advice that HECTOR should listen to.

Hello!  Crazy lady!  Are you listening?  Perhaps it's time to start picking up that phone and possibly talking to people?!?!?  Ummm ... no.

I must say though, the tears are getting easier.  Instead of streaming down my face every time I speak about my love's male transformation, they seem to roll.  I can say words at the same time as crying and I can actually breathe a little smoother.

The new tears did come with Papi's agreement to take a break from the testosterone until the hysterectomy comes.  There's a direct correlation because honestly, the 't' is the biggest fear I have with my love becoming an F-M.  It's really the cherry on top that creates the 'man' look my love wants and that I shudder from.

I can handle Papi wanting to get 'top surgery'.  It's something my love has been speaking about since we started dating and I've wrapped my head around it.  As soon as that luscious sun starts to warm our bodies my love's clothing starts falling off.

People are so uncomfortable seeing breasts in public here in Canada, the U.S. and South America.  Seriously.  My love should be living in Europe, but we don't.  And here we are with the creeps who will try to be sly by hiding behind a log at the beach and snap pictures.  Inevitably there are words exchanged and they hightail it with their shots they've proudly snuck in.

There are also the prudes that can't handle it resulting in words thrown at us.  For example: "You're exercising your politics at the expense of my child!!"  Ummm ... did you not breast feed this child?  Were your breasts a hideous sight then?  Or how about when you disrobe for your shower?  Does your child have no idea what women's breasts look like?

Come on people!!!  They're breasts!!  Half the population has them!  They're just sacks of fat and mammary glands.  But to the majority of people here, they're disgusting when seen outside of the house.

This is when I get so uncomfortable.  The only time I can handle discord is when I'm feeling feisty from depression or have PMS.  All the other times, I'd prefer it if the world held hands and sang 'Kumbaya'.

When Papi shows that beautiful bosom, I start looking around at other people's reactions and ready myself for the fight.  It's not enjoyable for me and that's my selfishness.  I keep it quiet, except right now to 'you', my imaginary friend.

In this sense, I'm 60% on board for the 'top surgery'.  It will make my life calmer at the beach.  Yes.  I'm self-absorbed.  Like all addicts, 'it's all about me'.  But there's still that 40% that saddens me.  I'll never get to touch them again when they're gone.  I'll never get to take pictures of my love's gorgeous naked body and see those shining stars.

If that were the only change I'd have to witness in my love's transformation, I'd get used to it.  You can't see a missing womb and we have mostly given up on having a biological child.  That's another novel in itself.  Maybe one day I'll tell 'you' about that disaster.

Anyway, 't'.

This is what kills me slowly and creates those sobbing tears that make it hard to breathe.  It changed my love's scent within 2 weeks.  It will change my love's face adding hair and broadening Papi's jaw line.  It will change my love's skin and add that icky 'man hair' all over Papi's already perfectly smooth body.

Oh, and then there's baldness.  That could happen.  Ew.  Not to mention the fat will shift around in Papi's body from curvy hips to a typical man's pot-belly.

Am I painting the picture for you well enough?  Do you see what I see?  An ugly middle aged 'man' that I didn't marry.  My hot butch would disappear and it feels like I'll be in an arranged marriage to someone I don't find attractive.

I didn't marry a balding, pot-bellied, hairy man.  I married my marvelous 'husbutch', who hates it when I use the term 'wife'.

And I wonder why I'm crazy ... oh yeah ... merry fucking X-mas.

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