Monday, December 6, 2010


I didn't gag at the dump, but more importantly, had a nice beautiful day with my love without tears. I had to give the reminder of the 'no speak' day a few times, but it was a successfully dry day.

So, today it's time to start on the healing again. And I suppose that really does mean I have to cry it out until there's nothing left to weep. I've been told over and over that I have to talk about it, but to date haven't been able to.

There's many reasons; judgement, people gossip, people may not understand, transphobia, embarrassment, ego, and much more including the fact that I just don't want to cry. But today, I start my process of 'getting it off my chest', as my friend ordered me.

I have my first 'get it off my chest' day with one of my friends who was adamant that we get together so I can tell her what the hell is going on with me. I'm afraid she'll try to tell me if I'm this miserable, I should leave. But the tears are not because I feel trapped and want to leave, they're because I'm mourning the woman I married. I'm too weary to defend myself or my love. I just need understanding of what I'm going through. Support of the grief. No judgement and certainly no gossip.

When I made the date to go see her, I think that was the moment that I felt it was possible to heal. I've always healed through speaking out loud to healthy listening ears. I'm also the first person to say to people that you have to get it out of your head and through your mouth before it leaves your soul. But this time, I've been too afraid to let my words out to just anyone. I've felt I don't know who to trust. I've been ostracized in the community a few times from people's untruths to make me look like the villain. I don't want to have that happen again. People scare me. People have no idea what damage they're capable of.

Every person my love tells about being transgendered and going through the male transformation just looks at my love as if to say, "Duh ... I thought you already were!" It's like we were both living in denial that it would happen. Without any effort, I accepted the binding, the packing, using of the male washroom and anything else that my love needed to do to feel better about the body my love was born with. And I suppose I just hoped that that would be enough, because it was what I was comfortable with.

It wasn't enough. And the process begins. For both of us. We're on our paths walking hand in hand with that tiny fence between us. The fence that separates our feelings about the transformation while we walk on our own sides.

Today I surprised myself. I was telling one of the many pets we have that he couldn't go upstairs to the attic. I said, "Sorry Smokey, Papi is sleeping."

Papi. Not Mami.

I've never used that term before, but it felt the only thing I could use that wasn't feminine. I suppose I am getting closer to acceptance. I can't use 'he' ... it's just too much for me ... but I suppose I could use él. We do plan on moving to the Dominican Republic and by then I'll really need to have my fem/masc down because for the most part they are homophobic and of the religious types.

So, I suppose today is a start. I can call my love Papi and él. I will go and cry on my friend's shoulder and tell her 'what's going on'.

Today's mission is to find more healing. That's all I'm asking for. That's my success.

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