Monday, January 31, 2011

You get what you need ...

I see glimpses of the new person in my love.  Tiny little changes that are really coming from the strength within Papi.  A place where the mind's eye is bringing to reality what it sees, because the mind is so powerful, what Papi sees in there is slowly becoming an existence for the world to witness.

My love's vision is becoming an entity, like the caterpillar emerging; the being of beauty with wings to carry their new found freedom up high to a place where they can soar above us mere mortals.

It's a strange phenomenon for me.  I see my love changing, but it's like going from a G4 computer to a G5.  Same programs, just an update and different look.

I realized yesterday, after a quick visit to the coffee shop forum, that I'm writing a blog about love.

Sap alert!!!

Love isn't always easy, but really, it's what life's about.  We need it to get by.

We also need the other end of the pendulum to become killers.  People will slowly commit suicide by way of drugs and alcohol because they have a lack of it in their lives.  Hell, terrorists and religious zealots use the ardor of their god as an excuse for hatred.

Love is all you need.

In the coffee shop yesterday, I read a post of pain.  A feeling that this person will never have the love they search for.  It came out in such a way that seemed as though they'd given up.  I could recognize their anguish.

The need for love I felt as a child carried on through to my teens and into adulthood.  I pretended I didn't need it and stuffed my feeling down becoming the angry addict.  So angry that I was told by friends, "You make it very hard to love you."

Every time I was told this, I felt I'd won.  As if I'd made the choice not to be loved.

I starved myself so my outsides matched my insides.  A boney structure, brittle to the eye in an effort for someone to see my emptiness and show me how to heal.

I made cuts on my arms that would sting, giving me the endorphins I needed, and I placed them with my bones into a tub.  I'd watch the blood slowly seep out of me.  I'd bleed myself in an attempt to force the agony of my lacking heart to be diluted in bath water.

I finally learned the lesson that I had to love myself to fill those gaps of barren pain.  'I' had to be the love I needed in order to pull myself out of that pit of doom that I frequented.

I have furniture down there.  I set up a nice little get away, because I visited so often that I needed it to have a familiar view; home.

Yet, in reality, I'm the hopeless romantic.

I'm the epitome of monogamy. 

Right now, I say to myself, "If this marriage doesn't work out, I will remain single for the rest of my life."  I suppose it's because I feel that I am with my soul mate and I can't imagine ever being with another person.

There are so many betrayers of promises made in a relationship.  There are many non-monogamous people.  There are tons of monogamous people who openly joke about those they'd ask for 'permission to sleep with'.

But not me.

I get tunnel vision.  My focus right now is keeping the love I feel for Papi.  All I want is for this beautiful relationship to continue.

I spent 6 weeks waffling back and forth about whether to stay or go, all the while I was really crying because all I wanted was to stay.  The battle of 'I'll never date an F-M' had to be purged through my tears.

The struggle of fighting for what 'I want' has ceased.  I got the 'never' I said I would 'never' do.

You can't always get what you want.  
But if you try sometimes, you just might find
You get what you need.

-Rolling Stones


Oh, I'm trying alright. 

You get what you need ...

Sunday, January 30, 2011


Taking a road trip to Bellingham was not the smartest of ideas while I'm still recovering from a recent back spasm.  I had to take so many pain killers last night that I woke up to those same swollen eyes that percolated as a result of 6 weeks of crying.

I was supposed to get a photo done for my new passport today.

Uhhhh ...

Ain't gonna happen.

This femme is adamant that there will be a pretty face in that booklet to be studied by embassadors of countries other than my own.

I felt my love slink into our temporary bed at 8:30 a.m., spooning my dopey, drugged body.  Therefore, I know Papi will be sleeping all day and not hijacking my newest plans of a gentle repair day, filled with back care stretches and eating of healthy veggies to clear my system out of the carb overload I indulged in, that was oh-oh-oh daaaaaamn good.

The pain I'm feeling today is forcing me to walk with a cane, but it was worth the fun I benefited from.  I had a full, bustling with cheer day with Papi.  It really doesn't matter what we do together, there will always be deep belly laughs.

Well, now that I'm out of the pit of doom that is.

I'm in a safe place where I can listen to the excitement that Papi is overflowing with.  There is exuberant joy from something as simple as chin hair.

I have to admit, I stare at it all the time now, but doesn't harm my heart.  It is simply a phenomenon of, 'how the hell did I wind up here'?

Papi's tuft doesn't look like beard hair, it looks more like Shaggy from Scooby Doo.  It adds to the character of my love; the goofy soul mate that I adore.

On our day together, I finished my love's sentences, answered questions that Papi hadn't finished asking and commented before mi esposo had completed a mouthful of an observation.  All of this walked me to an opportunity of strength to realize; the male transformation isn't stealing everything from me.

I still get to keep this amazing heart along with those gorgeous eyes.

I suppose I should make a nice shelf for this trophy to sit upon so that I may look at them when I have another rough patch.

Another prize I have earned?  A spontaneous soul that wakes me before my sleep is finished, and replaces my Saturday layout with a spur of the moment change of plans.

A person who, while we're on a mission for cupboards, happens to find the 'right' tattoo artist to do touch ups of a tattoo that was received during our honeymoon.

Papi tried to convince said tattoo artist to permanently imprint a heart with our wedding date embossed for the world to see.  A tattoo that would make people ask, "What's the date for?" giving Papi an opportunity to gloat about our grand day.

Unfortunately, mi esposo didn't get to have this declaration visible to the masses.  The artist was on an apprenticeship and didn't feel comfortable working with neck skin.

However, it truly was the thought that counts.

This is my love.  This is the person I stood hand in hand with, eyes locked on one another, in front of 180 witnesses who blessed the union of our bond.

The conclusion that I might not make it through this marriage is a venom that is gradually evaporating through my pores.

Good riddance demons.

Oh, I know there's a few of you hanging around in there.  My suggestion is that you leave peacefully before I kick your ass.

Saturday, January 29, 2011

hijacked again!

I had a dream I betrayed Papi by sleeping with Keith Urban.  What the fuck is that about?


Then while I was feeling regret in my dream, wondering how the hell I was going to tell my love that I slept with a bio male, but can't get down 'n jiggy with my transitioning F-M soul mate, I was woken.

I awoke to two gorgeous smokey blue eyes staring at me.  Startling at first, followed by my heart being filled by a vision of beauty.

Then the words, "It's time to get up!  We're going to Bellingham."

Road trip.

Hijacked again.

I only have enough time to say that I'm so fucking grateful that those delightful eyes will not be something that will be changing after the male transformation.

I get to keep those beautiful eyes.

I love Papi.

Friday, January 28, 2011

Alive and Kicking

My love hijacked my morning routine yesterday.  Sorry if you came for a dose of my lunacy and there was naught.  I didn't get my morning coffee talk with 'you', my imaginary friend.

I got a car ride with my so very tired love who had weathered the grave yard shift, only to be up way past bedtime in order to get a new fluorescent bulb so that I may have a bright kitchen.

Papi, who's heart that is bigger than Canada, drove me around and spoke about the hair that was growing on that already perfect chiny chin chin.

Oh, I did indeed see it.  My love thought I just pretended to look, but I saw it.

Part of my day included going to my goddess of medicine who, like I assumed, would not give me medication for anxiety.  In a way I'm very relieved.  I don't need more chemicals roaming through my already imbalanced noodle.  I'll try some natural options and some good hard work and see where that gets me.

Another part of my day was out gittin' my 'do' did, and it's purrrty.  It's been 2 years since I've seen my hairdresser, so we had a lot of catching up to do.

Everything was new.  This included my new brain, which he got a chuckle out of when it forced it's exposure, my marriage, the sewage flood, us moving to the Dominican Republic in 2 years and (eek!) I spoke about my love's male transformation.

I didn't cry!

As a matter of fact, I didn't even FEEL like crying.  Not so much as one demon forced it's way to ignite that lump in my throat.

I spoke very quietly so that others didn't listen on in.  If they had a boring life and enjoyed the Andréa show, I'd given them enough of my crazy cosmos to be entertained by.

It left me waiting with apprehension.  I assumed the embarrassing water works would start, and they never arrived.

I simply spoke about 'it' and the fact that it was a pain I'd never experienced.  I told him with sincerity about how perplexing it is that I am in agony about the same person who is giving me love and support.  All the while I was dry as the desert.

Then he said something that made me feel like I was in a somewhat normal marriage.  Something that made it sound like a conversation, not just me baring my woes for someone to talk about with their friends.  "Wow, during my day today I had this weirdo in my chair and you'll never guess what ... "

He told me he knew a couple of friends who had been married for 15 years when the woman's husband went through female transformation.  It took her 2 years to decide whether or not she was going to stay with the spouse that she painstakingly watched change into someone else.

She stayed.

I was elated!  I can't even tell you!  I felt like I was going to simply float out of the chair back to my car.

I left with fresh hair and a smile on my face.

After walking 2 blocks closer to my car, I ran into my drummer's oh so very pregnant sister who was out on her lunch break for a walk with the in utero babe.  This is a sweet soul that you can't help adoring.  She asked if I'd seen a friend of our's show on the TV.  I told her I hadn't and that I didn't get the memo because I wasn't on Facebook for a few months.

When she asked why I decided to test my words again.

I did it!  I told 2 people in one day and nothing so much as a crack in my voice emerging.

Yet again, I was awarded with words that made me feel I wasn't alone in this world.  She has a friend who just finished the process of becoming an M-F 6 months ago. 

I didn't feel like the abnormal person that I assumed everyone would think I was for sticking this through.  I even joked a bit about how I saw her; "Hey how are you, I'm going to just drop a bomb on you for you to chew on during your lunch break.  You don't mind do ya?"

We both laughed.

Laughed!  No sorrow, just silly sweetness from another person.

I had such a great day after that.  I made myself treats, not unlike the rewards I would give our 4 cats and 2 dogs for good behavior.

Well, geez.

That only took 3 months to get a big portion of 'me' back.

I'm still alive.

Everything is going to be ok.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Let's talk about sex

So, it's time to put the adult content warning on my blog.

Papi thinks I should be on anti-anxiety medication.  Oh, that's not why we need youngins to have consent to read this.  I promise I'll get to that shortly.

Anyway, I doubt my doctor is going to go with giving me this medication.  I asked for medicinal marijuana for my back pain and was confronted with a very large no, "We're not going down that route."

Hell, I must be a well recovering addict, because I took her 'no' as gospel.  If I wanted to be the practising addict, I'd just go and hook myself up with some off the street and cook it myself.  I still remember how to do that.  The brain injury didn't knock that one out of my head.

I obey you, oh goddess of medicine.

However, I know damn sure that if I asked for one of the 'pams' for anxiety, she'd look at me with her head tilted down and eyes looking up, bearing a hole into me with invisible laser beams like a librarian who's given too many 'shhs' to a certain individual.

That would be a 'no' as well.

Besides, I'd like to be able to get through all of this without relying upon magic pills et al.  I'm on enough right now as it is.  I wouldn't want to go back a step in feeling like a walking pharmacy like I did for a year after the accident.

Jeeeezus!  I was jacked up pretty good then.

Yesterday's anxiety was that Papi isn't going to love me after the male transformation.  It's like I think that all of what my love stands for is going to be erased.

Some of this stems from the love encounter we had where mi esposo smelled like a stranger and I was feeling like someone else was on top of me.  I wasn't in a great place to be going and having sex, but we did it anyway, and I admitted the feelings to Papi.

Those feelings, combined with a certain person sobbing uncontrollable for weeks on end, brought our sex to a halt.

I know that my love will have changes to another body part that I just haven't mentioned yet.


Oooh ... scary adult content ... but I don't need crazy mothers going postal on me and having this blog taken down for talking about a natural body part.  They freak out about my love's bare breasts bad enough!

My love's clit will grow because of the hormones.  I really don't know why this instills fear in me, but it does.  It's just another part of that poison that makes me feel nauseous.

I tried using my humour about it with mi esposo in hopes that my brain would take it lightly.

"You're going to have a 5 foot long vagina!"

Papi liked that one.

Yet, this is one of the changes that has me  **ahem**  a 'little' dismayed and here's where it gets complicated; stress.

I'm stressed about Papi's 5 foot long vagina and my love is stressed that I'll be stressed during sex.

We're stuck watching this hamster wheel turn around and around.  Nobody wants stressful sex!

I desperately asked, "So now what do we do?" in hopes that Papi had the answer.

I received a delicate, "I don't know."

I know there's women out there that are absolutely thrilled about transgendered people.  I mockingly call them 'tranny chasers'.

They could swoop right in with their sex machines revving and pull mi esposo into a twirling maelstrom of lust, and I just sit here thinking about the 5 foot long vagina.

The paranoia of Papi no longer loving me went up a notch last night.

My love took a pain killer that doesn't work so well with Papi's emotions.  Every time that demon of a pill gets put into mi esposo's blood, I reap the negative effects.

It seems that when Papi takes this pain med, signs of impatience about my lingering brain injury appear, and I'm left in sorrow because there's nothing I can do to speed up this process of healing.

Last night I was left in tears and walking as quietly as I could in hopes that I could magically walk on air, possibly continuing to the stars.  I'm still too weak to defend myself.

I jumped straight to Papi has fallen out of love with me because we're having a little blockade about sex, that the age old 'lesbian bed death' has arrived, that Papi will no longer desire me because I'm stressed about making love.

Mi esposo ensured me through the apologies that the crankiness was strictly due to the pain meds.  I know that this is the same thing that happens every time Papi takes those, but this time there's more involved.

Where do we go from here?  This has to be healed quickly, because I'll tell you, I desire my love more than anyone I've ever been with.  Our connection is so strong, that even during our lull I think about sex with Papi every day, and when we have those sweet kisses I feel the electricity.

We can't lose this.

There is so much work to do around 'it', but I've got to work fast.  I need to keep mi esposo's sexual attention before one of the Tranny Chasers snaps it away from me.

Last night, Papi read my blog and answered my question about the prize at the end of the maze.

I don't get a cookie.

Papi said, "You get me."

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

How to be weak

The sewage flood reorder of disorder has begun.  They're rebuilding our home from the barren house that has been gutted from the kamikaze toilet attack.

If I continue to compare the house wreckage to that of my love's male transformation, it could very well be that the reason it took 2 months to get someone here to begin to rebuild is because I needed to take 2 months to be able to speak first.

They took everything away from us, including our safe floors and walls; I was stripped of myself, left lying in the padded La-Z-Boy cell with only tears and swollen eyes to replace my words of agony.

The insurance people had to 'speak' to different contractors to find the right fit financially to put things back together; I had to find a way to 'speak' to my love in the right way that works for me.

Oh, there have been some rules; a) no reference to 'T' or testosterone.  Please call it hormones, b) shower away the 'man stink', and c) when speaking about those surgeries, please don't use words like 'ripped', 'hacked', 'torn' etc. when referring to that perfect body you're taking from me, please!

My poor love.  Married to a deranged dictator!

But, I suppose the only way for me to be able to speak is to have a safe place to do so.  Lord knows right now it's not a quiet place with all the hammering and immature male banter going on below me.

Thank god they've given us a floor to walk on, so I can now pee without the paranoia of possibly being watched from below!

Anyway, I digress with the distraction of development.

We must compromise.  We both must do our part in this tango, or one of us is sure to hit the ground.

I was able to speak to 2 more people on my dreaded public Facebook site.  2 more eggs to add to the basket of trust.

I'm feeling braver and so far I haven't encountered what I fear the most in people's capabilities to crush my spirit further.

At this point, I don't know that I'll hear one of the 'fearful phrases' I've been dreading; "If you're so unhappy, why don't you just leave."  I'm managing to have the rationale to be able to choose who I allow in to my Trust Page wisely, not sacrificing myself to potential predators who would say such a thing.

But the other fear?  The pendulum could still swing.  The 'rah-rah-rah everyone should transition, it's the new black!' people and their political pompoms, armed with intellect of phrases they've collected in their photographic memory, could still damage me with words that would echo my upbringing, "You've got nothing to cry about!" or, "You're selfish."

I suppose I've proven that we do indeed grow wiser with age, as the people I've hand picked have allowed me the freedom to be weak.

I've been strong through too many experiences in the past 4 years.  I can't be strong anymore.  In this case, I can't hide behind a persona.  This one is more robust than my frame and mind that have been psychologically and physically impaired by the motorcycle accident.

My armour of protective friends, who enclose me like walls of a palace, have granted me with a powerful buffer for the plausible piranhas that could tear me to the bone.  I feel them standing strong, facing forward saying, "C'mon!  I dare you to try!"

I am 2 friends closer to wellness, heartiness and personal power.

It's finally my time to ask for help and not to do this on my own.  What I've found, just like the past 2 days of gargling salt water (oh my poor throat!!), is that it's not so bad and it actually makes me feel better.  It's not so horrible to fall to the floor and have loving hearts help pick me up.  It's really ok to be delicate and allow tears to fall in front of the right people.

Dammit, I've got some fucking awesome people in my life.

When I think about all the difficulties I've encountered in this science experiment of life, each collision has taught me one more lesson.

After all the assignments in life that tore my muscles to create sinewy strength, is this finally my lesson in weakness?

If so, thank you my soul mate, for giving me a platform to learn, as you're the only one I'd ever allow to teach me this lovingly, and truly, it is something to be grateful for.

What I'd like to know is, do I get a prize at the end of the maze?


I'd even take a cookie.

Monday, January 24, 2011

Okay, maybe I'll speak ...

So, the promise had practise yesterday.

I have contacted some bastard of a flu, so the dinner and movie date Papi had planned on spoiling me with was reduced to healing ginger tea, throat numbing spray, gallons of water and a 'Shaw on Demand' movie to choose from.

All of this was while sitting on the non-comfort of horrible furniture we're suffering with until they put our house back together and we get to buy new stuff.

I got to pick the movie I wanted.  This was probably due to the fact that I felt so crappy, my love let me choose.  And I chose what I love the most.


Machete!  An epic teen boy movie that gave me great giggles of 'ewww' and satisfying scenes of 'oh that was good'!

All the while, Papi put me to work having my finger poised on the pause button throughout the whole 2 hours to allow me the practice of communication about 'it'.

Every time I had to press that little button to stop the movie and talk about 'it', my feet would start to twitch, my face felt like it looked like I had doe eyes and a pinched mouth, and I would squeak out the miniscule words that my throat would allow to exit.

There was talk about the 'moustache'.

Pause.  Ew.

There was my love trying to convince me that being on the lowest dose of that poison that is roaming through my love's already perfect body wouldn't do much to change mi esposo.

Pause.  Cringe.

There was chatter about the possibility of chest and back hair.

Pause.  Twitch.

Then there was the funniest part of all: my love asking me to ask My Other Person if they had bum hair.

I burst into laughter!

"No, I'm not going to ask about that!!"

"I don't mean anus hair, I just mean bum hair."

"I'm STILL not going to ask about that!!"

These are the times I love mi esposo so much.  There are no moments of editing what my love wants to get out from that awesome brain.  Papi is as open as a field in Manitoba.  You get an endless view of what my love is all about.  There are no secrets for Papi, really.

The movie had ended and I needed more throat care.  My love forced me to gargle with salt water.  It's so revolting to me, but I did it.  I gagged with every gargle, as Papi would roll those striking eyes and call me dramatic.

Dramatic?!  Not me!  I'm seriously gagging over here!

There was a great lovely hug from my love after the rinsing from the gargling was over.  Beautiful affection expressed by staring into one another's eyes.  Magical kisses that gives me stomach flutters and goosebumped skin.

I looked deeply into my love's eyes after saying, "God, I love kissing you," and allowed the playful Andréa come out, with tongue in cheek.  I spat out the silliness: "Tranny."

Laughs and lightness filled with the courage of humour.

As weak as I was, my love convinced me to watch a second movie.  I chose this one as well.  I didn't realize it would be a scary one for mi esposo, so Papi wasn't too pleased and sped out to go get mock ice cream for my razor swallowing throat.

I continued to watch a creepy little demon girl ruin the lives of the foster care she was placed into while trying to decide if I'm hot or cold.

It was just another wonderful day in the loving skelton of an empty sewage flood home.

Our hearts filled the barren room quite nicely.

All because I spoke.

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Vicious Circle.

I've been told I'm too hard on myself by many people in my life.  I have obviously never really truly learned what that means, because here I am striving to understand it again.

When I jumped on to the 'coffee shop', a forum here for bloggers, a person I don't know at all told me it wouldn't do me any good being hard on myself for not being 100% on board with Papi's male transformation.

In another question asked to the forum, "What's the worst thing that has happened to you?" I replied with, "for me it's a toss-up between a motorcycle accident that left me with brain injury, an ex becoming a heroin addict, another ex kicking me out and making me homeless by having a packing party while i was at work and right now my love going through a sex change."

Then, funnily enough, another asked, "Andrea, how is it that two of the four things that you mention as being the worst that has happened to you, are actually things that happened/are happening to someone else?"

I think he was just poking around for my emotions, so I admitted, "i suppose because i'm a narcissistic person :) i don't know if you've ever experienced someone you love die before your eyes from addiction, but man it hurts.  it sticks with you forever.

and as for my spouse?  i said "i do" to my wife.  not my husband.  so now i have to buck up and accept my love for who they are and i'll tell ya, it's not easy. 

so yeah ... i guess my fault in both of those experiences is that i love too deeply.  worst thing that has happened to me is loving?"

Later on he softened the conversation and admitted he knows the pain of losing someone to addiction, then said, "And no, Andrea, loving too deeply is never the worst thing that can happen to someone. Not loving yourself deeply enough is."

There it is again.  Someone telling me I don't love myself.  Common thread in my life.

Later on yesterday, I thought about my feelings of Papi leaving the not so safe cocoon, and exposing the monarch inside, changing forever what we see in our wedding photos.  I believe I have come up with a way to deal with that case of contention I struggle with.

In about 30 years, or even 20 depending on how poorly I take care of myself, I am on no accounts going to look like the 'youngster' that I see in those photos.

I won't be frozen in time, so mi esposo doesn't have to be either.

I now have 3 ways for the teenager, who has gads of self-loathing to heal from, to rationalize this scary process.

Interestingly enough, yes, 2 of them are ego-centered.

'My' embarrassment of Papi going bare breasted will cease, and 'my' face will also change in those photos.  I suppose we could also look at the the 3rd as narcissistic, considering it would be a loss for 'me' if that uterus was not taken away, leaving my love to develop the cancer that has threatened in the past, leaving me a widow.

Yes folks, it's all about me.

But I'm pretty sure that if you have been following this journey, you've figured that out anyway.

I was told by my mother that it's 'all about me' since I was a child.  She made it clear that it was a horrible personality trait.  She really looked for every crevice she could find to smash my confidence like someone breaking a horse.

This, I believe, is why I'm so hard on myself.

I really do hate it when it's all about me.  Through my tears, I've expressed that I deeply wish I could just be happy for Papi, that I could be of support for one of the greatest times of my love's life.  Yet, I lie in fetal position, grieving from the pain of losing my wife.

I am self-centered.

Typically, most musicians/artists/etc. are, but when you really look at the definition of a narcissist, it's about self-love that is beyond the scope of confidence.  I'm not so sure that narcissism is my personality when I really look at how much healing I have around learning to love myself.

Even the self-loathing is all about me.

This could circle forever.

Oi vey.

Saturday, January 22, 2011

Promises, promises

The silence was too immense.

I hurt Papi.

My love decided to speak about the frustration of this evolution moving too slow.  "It's going to take months and months before any of this gets started!"

This came because My Person had posted on Papi's Facebook page, that in her opinion, it looks like the process is moving fast.  My love felt this wasn't so and told me.

My Person knows.  My Person spoke for me in recognition of how I feel, as she's my echo.

To me?

It's moving like a freight train.  This process is racing.  My wife is running away from me as fast as possible, leaving in the dust another person.  I welcome every single delay in the advancement of my love's male transformation.

All I could do was sit and stare at the ceiling.  I just didn't want to cry about 'it' and the fact that my love wants to leave.  My presence in the room was hushed din.

I sensed sorrow and abandonment in my love's energy.

I couldn't stop the stillness my lips had forced upon me.  I couldn't share how I really felt, because there was too much to think about at the same time.  The taste of these emotions sat stale on my tongue, awaiting their moment to spit their expression.


At one point, I felt I could try to speak to my love, and when I looked over it seemed as though my uncried tears had made an appearance on Papi's face.

Goddammit I can't escape them no matter what I do!

"Are you ok?" I asked knowingly.


An obvious lie.

So now, my silence has put us both under the same dark throng.  My uncommunicative response has maimed us both.

We could only talk and laugh about the monkeys on TV that were getting drunk by stealing tourists' drinks while they lie unsuspecting in the sun.

Being that my love and I are both clean and sober, I'm going to assume that Papi was thinking, as I was, that a drink would certainly numb the nerves that we both fell prey to in this moment.

When Papi left for the graveyard shift, the truth came out.  "I'm a little hurt that you won't talk to me."

I was pretty sure the 'little' was an understatement.

With all my strength, I tried to explain that it wasn't that I didn't want to talk 'to' my love, it was that I didn't want to speak about 'it', lest I cry again.

Please don't make me cry again!

Realizing I'd hurt Papi made me cry anyway, as I helplessly watched mi esposo precioso close the door, leaving me with non-english speaking animals.

You want silence?  You got it.  All I got was a room full of privileged 4 legged critters and not so much as a text from my love.

Until a little later.

Thankfully, I'm good at getting things out in texts when I really need to, and this was one of those times.  It's another place that I can hide in a bubble of confidence, because I'm not face to face with the conflict.

There was no typing and erasing with speechlessness as there was the day before.  I confessed all my feelings.  I exposed my truth about how I only get my wife for a short while in this marriage and then for the rest of our lives together I get the other gendered person.

The person that isn't in my wedding photos.

I told my love that the 'forever' it takes to get this male transformation underway is too short of a time for me.

Then my desperate bargaining to ease the pain I inflicted upon my love came out.

I promised that I would do my best to deal with 'it' without silence from now on, even if it makes me cry.

I stick to my promises.

I have so much work to do.

Just because I'm not sitting in the La-Z-Boy padded cell in that comatose state like I did for 6 weeks doesn't mean I'm out of the woods yet.

It took a long time for me to get to sleep last night ...

Friday, January 21, 2011

Playing make-believe.

Well, I did it.  I jumped on to my public page for Facebook and posted.  It was impersonal and all about promotion, but I did it, even though demons dashed through my stomach, and I was sure they were going to fly those black rigid wings forcfully into my throat and carry on with a rush out my mouth.

But I did it, and I kept them down.

My strength was for HECTOR, my bass and drum electronic duo.  We have our album mixed and mastered and it gives me a place to find courage.  This is good.  I'm so proud of my work.

I also finished recording my vocals for two more songs with BlueLight yesterday.  Now, my amazing friend Lin Gardiner will be madly mixing her magic and making it sound as good (if not better, in my opinion) as any other producer out there who has been decorated with luck in their financial success.

More confidence.

I believe I have found a way to thread the pathway of boldness.  The place where I can fake it til I make it.

Thankfully, being on the internet is a way to hide behind the anonymous tippity-tappity of keys.  I can pretend to be anyone I want.  It's a start.  I'll be the counterfeit me.

I'm going to need that phantasmic person very soon.  Perhaps now would be a good time.

Right now, my love is on the phone to make an appointment for the next session of therapy.  This is the person who will hold Papi's fate of getting top surgery.  They will decide if my love is a candidate to have a body part hacked off.

Yes, sounds morbid, but it's the way I feel.

The 2 surgeries that Papi will undergo, top surgery and a hysterectomy, are both disturbingly ferocious in my mind.  I can try to convince myself that they're for the better, but really, it makes me feel like fading into the walls.  I feel like disappearing to a place of make-believe, where my love is actually speaking to mi esposo's very own 'imaginary friend'.

I tell myself that the hysterectomy is good, because Papi has been monitored in the past because of cancerous cells.  Then I tell myself that my love's breasts being removed will make it easier for my selfish ego when we're in public and mi esposo bares that lovely body to the world.

When Papi tells me all about the next step, or what's going on right now, or how upset my love is that things aren't moving fast enough making stress of this is hard to bear etc., I tend to just listen and give short one word answers, or just nod.

Yesterday, Papi was texting me about the feelings of having breasts.  My love feels they are a lot bigger now that mi esposo knows they're going to be removed.

Having an eating disorder and seeing something in the mirror that others don't see, I understand Papi's reality, but could I text anything back?


I would type a word, then pause and erase it.  Papi would then text something else and I'd try to think of a word or two that I could actually press 'send' with.

Don't speak.

Papi has been on hold for about 5 minutes.  Enough time for me to type madly about my feelings about today's struggle for acceptance of my love's male transformation.

My heart is beating a little faster than it usually would.  The intensity of typing is a little more manic.

As I try not to listen, I'm aware that Papi just got through to the receptionist.  My fragile sinking heart must be an audience to the casual words my love speaks with joy about making this appointment.

I shrivel.

My love is chirping while speaking to this person and I'm falling further into this illuminated page of my computer.

These black on white words are another version of my bubble.  I don't have to tune in while speaking to 'you', my imaginary friend.

Papi speaks about the removal of body parts.

I experience cowardice and type faster.

Until now.

Wait!  What's this mighty moment?!

Papi just let me know that there's a 4 month waiting list just to speak to the therapist.

The twitter in my love's voice has dwindled, and I can open my ears outside of the rat-a-tat-tat of typing.

Such an odd dance.  One person's garbage is another person's treasure.

Papi just giggled and called me a bugger because I started smiling.

My self-absorbed psyche just realized I have been awarded more time with my wife.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Time is of the essence.

I'm getting faster at pinpointing the root of emotional turmoil.  I bet once I'm an old fart, I'll be able to figure it out within a breath and deal with it in a blink.  Those who are long in the tooth, who have actually learned the lessons of healing and put it to good use, have peace in their hearts.

I wish I could jump to that place of healing now.

When I look at the last few days, I see that all the anxiety I was feeling was directly from the fear of seeing people outside of my bubble.

However, I also see a fair amount of it is coming from a place within my new brain.  I lose sight sometimes, that I am still recovering from brain injury.  It's a bit of a vicious circle, because the brain injury is why I forget that I forget.

The depth of what's left of brain injury, the part that still needs to heal, reveals itself when I'm nervous, anxious and stressed.  I've been wobbling around for a few days.  When I was getting off the plane, people probably assumed I had indulged in a few of the flight drinks.

Nope.  Still 11 years clean and sober.

Since Papi dropped the bomb about the plans to go through male transformation, being alone in great huge groups (coupled with feeling like I don't know where I'm going or what I'm supposed to do) makes me nervous, anxious and stressed.

At yesterday's meeting, I had a moment to speak to My Secret Holder alone from the group of board members, while we were waiting for the 3rd member to arrive.  It was apparent as that I was having difficulty speaking my words.  They came out diminutive and drowsy.

I felt the need to apologize for my inability to speak the day before due to the extremity of my angst.  I admitted the extent of social anxiety I was encountering, and the lack of trust I'm experiencing.  I just don't know who I can trust with my true feelings about Papi going through the male transformation.

She said that I did well, considering the amount of distress I allowed her to take a glimpse at.  She asked me how I felt I did after being in a room full of people; the root of my fears.

"I didn't do so well.  I cried all the way home."

And the tears jumped up and said, "Hey that's me!"  They thought it would be an appropriate time to make their grand appearance.

I had to pull them back with all my force.  I managed to get them herded into a little pen all their own to hold them off a little while longer.

Wait until it's your turn goddamit!  Just because you hear your name doesn't mean you need to jump up like a kid in a classroom stretching their arm as if to touch the ceiling, blurting out, "Oh! Oh! I know that one!!!"

Right then, in came another member who noticed my struggle to keep them corralled.

Another hug.

Hugs are wonderful, but seriously, when you're on the verge of jumping into the pit of doom, they seem to give that whirling place more strength to suck you in.

Don't speak.

Fortunately, it was time to go in to the meeting and like Papi had advised me, I tried to fake being ok.

Didn't work.

The person heading the meeting said, "There seems to be a very sad, heavy feeling at the table today."

My Secret Holder replied, "There are a few personal issues that we are all dealing with individually."

Enough said.

I just can't fake it.  I became invisible in my chair.  My words were so quiet when they came out, that nobody even heard them.  I chose not to try to speak above the buzz of confidence and stay in my space from that point forward.

Again, when leaving the din, I walked as fast as I could without staggering to my love who was awaiting my arrival.  I got in the vehicle and the bubble nourished my heart.

After the meeting I had to drop off the coat that My Person lent me to be warm in my sister's winter wonderland.

Guess what happened?  I smiled, I posed for pictures in the antarctic coat, I laughed, I spoke, I gave hugs that were filled with love, not tears.

My bubble.

I'm so safe here.  I need to find a way to make this droplet a balloon.  Right now, it's only big enough to hold my heart.  I believe it's time to help it grow to eventually hold my body outright.

This new brain I received after the accident must make more new paths.  I need to make a trail for confidence.  I haven't done that yet.  I only rewired for walking, memory and functioning within the small world I've assembled.

I would like connect the wires to get to that place of healing and confidence as fast as possible.

Heal baby, heal.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

One small step ... back.

It's part of healing to take one step back after our few steps forward when mending our pain.  I hadn't had any real tears for quite a few days.  I guess I turned my head to look in the pit for a moment.

Granted, it was a short moment ... which is relieving.

The view I took was small enough that I didn't have to stare intently at the wreckage of swollen eyes upon waking.  Mind you, that could be because I'm still focusing on those nasty red spots that decided to infiltrate my skin.

Last night, I had to go to a meeting that I'm on a board for.  Only one person in that room knows my secret, and I haven't spoken to her about it since the day I divulged my sorrow.  I can't talk freely about 'it' with another because she's still grieving the loss of her own wife from a tragic accident.

My grieving is miniscule in comparison.

There I sat, feeling the impending secret taking over.  The fear that people will judge me for how poorly I'm dealing with losing my wife to male transformation.

I felt the covert agony bubbling up to expose itself in a blast of vulnerability.


I realized I'm still not quite able to walk outside of my diminutive habitat of 15 people that I've created.  My wee bubble of safety.

I have always been a very social person.  My whole life I've thrived in groups, itching to have my voice heard and be seen.  It's all part of being an extrovert performer.

For two months now, I've become a silent recluse outside of my safe asylum.

I was so grateful to be secretary on this board, as I only had to keep my head down and type madly with every word that needed to be documented.  I was alone in the room of people who like me, but the anxiety that they could find out my true point of view about my love's transforming could cause them to think I'm an wretched person.

Don't speak.

Then the worst thing happened; some of them played the omega in trying to get my attention and to make me smile.

That made things worse.  The knowledge that they noticed my inability to be present was overwhelming.

I sat at the table choking back tears and had to step outside of my body when one member asked me if she could give me a hug.  I said yes, clinging to the moment of physical human energy that embodied us for that moment of acceptance.

Don't speak.

Then another member left and said, "Say hello to your wonderful wife."

I felt as though I might implode.

My wife?  My wife is leaving.

I left feeling embarrassed and so small that I felt I blended in with the sidewalk that led me to my vehicle.

My tears sensed it was safe time to break through, so they began to fall the moment my hand touched the car door.  I cried along the drive to pick up my sweetheart and couldn't wait for my love to get in and stop the pain with those curing back rubs of love.

As per usual, Papi's tenderness averted my eyes from the pit, walking me through the options of how to keep my eyes on the possibility that this was just a step back.  This moment didn't mean I'm not doing well.

My love reminded me that I must step outside of my trusting environment a little more often so that I don't develop some kind of phobia.  I must continue to be around people.  This is going to be a hard next step in healing.

I know I told myself that even though things felt like I was walking on the right path, there would be days that I would feel like I was falling again.

I reminded myself that 'tomorrow' is another day to try again.  Wait till tomorrow!  It might feel better!

And it does.

As long as I don't have to see anybody that isn't in my 'trust circle' I should be fine.

Oh dear, I just remembered I have to go to a meeting with them this afternoon.


Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Home again, home again, jiggity jig

Ahhhh ... back to my Bodum made, soy creamer fused, stevia sweetened, organic coffee that is so strong, I swear it curls my hair just a little bit more.

Back to my delicious ionized water that has an exterior run off option that will clear the acne that literally reared ugly heads in Alberta.

Wow.  This is going to be a 3 day job to get my beautiful skin back.  Not to mention, that amazing water will smooth out the wrinkles that have become more obviously indented from the piercing cold and dry air.

Oh, pretty femme, please be patient!  And please, please, please don't touch the repugnant uprisings!  You don't have to check that they're still there!  I can promise you they are.

Back to trying to write to 'you', my imaginary friend, while cats are doing their best to convince me to feed them with mind melting stares, attention seeking behavior that requires the spray bottle to be revealed as a threat and desperate meowing pleas.  Apparently, they've forgotten that I tend to myself before them, the same way we are taught to do so on those airplanes time and again.  It seems they got their way with Papi for the weekend.

But apart from all that, I got the greatest part of being back home last night; my love.

It became even more clear that we're a good match for each other in more ways than the obvious.  My dear had a rough weekend of emotional turmoil.

Papi was told, the same way I was when I went to visit mi esposo's transgender psychologist, that the depression and anxiety would calm now that there is hope to be in the body that my love has seen in the mind of truth since being a fledgling.

Papi went off all medication because of the joy of male transformation is now a bigger, brighter light at the end of the tunnel.  I was also convinced that this would be a mood altering, peaceful time for mi esposo.

However, I do believe that Papi will have to wait a while before the real alleviation of mental anguish sets in.  I'm going to assume that this peace will come for my love when there are more obvious signs that there is a new person in the mirror and in the way clothing will hang.

Upon entering the carousel for luggage, I had my happy hugs and kisses from my love at the airport.  I didn't know there was trouble brewing for Papi.  There was too much delight to be shared.

During the ride home, I witnessed the stress that had been there for my love over the past 3 days, but it was when we got home and settled that I really saw what was going on.

When my love is impatient with the demon of a chihuahua, that's when I know that there's a problem.

Papi went back on medication yesterday when the feeling of throwing the tiny creature out the window was offered up as an option.

I get these emotions.  I understand way too much how it is confusing to be such a loving person, yet I can experience homicidal thoughts in the exchange of a breath.

My love was almost in tears from the suffering of this affliction.  Yet, by the end of our 'welcome home' visit, we were laughing and turned on a show we like to watch with each other; Wipeout.  It's fun to watch people willingly destroying themselves physically.

There were deep belly laughs and squinting of eyes, accompanied by the pinched face of, "Oooh, that's gotta hurt," reactions to body parts being slammed into great red foam obstacles, followed by flailing limbs grasping for air as they are propelled to the water.

By the time my eyes were drooping, I could feel my love's energy had returned to a peaceful place.  We balanced out the pain just by being in each others' presence. 

We have this effect on one another.  There really hasn't been anything in our relationship that hasn't be calmed without a loving cuddle and distraction of laughs.

Two peas in a pod.

Monday, January 17, 2011


I feel like a kid on Xmas.

I get to see my love in 12 hours.

Last night we didn't get our Facebook chat because that site was behaving so unfavourably.  Papi, a Facebook chatter pro, told me just to keep turning on and off the chat and it would allow us to speak.

Ummm ... no.

Too much trouble.  I don't want difficulty when I speak to mi esposo.  So, we did our bedtime chat old school.

A telephone.

To hear my love's voice was so much better anyway.  It was like I had fallen in love all over again.

Just to hear Papi speak so frustratingly about the day at work and our 6 animals' intense performances was like soft smooth butter draping my favourite vegetables.

I am so very much in love with mi esposo.

Makes me wonder, if my heart had've been punctured by those terrifying words about my perfect butch being transgendered, and I went to my sister's sooner, would I have realized just how much I love this beautiful person?

And that all that really matters is love?

It's possible.

There's also the potential that being so distraught I may not have been thinking as clear as I am now.  Now, since finding My Person and My Other Person who finally let me know that it's all going to be ok.  My two trail blazers who have given me a path to walk on.

There is a chance that if I left my love sooner, the distress of being in the pit of doom would've made me switch to the other side.  That perhaps I don't want to have my marriage change, and that I should leave to keep it frozen in time.

Either way, I'll never know.  Just like the questions that Papi asked me after the Molotov cocktail was thrown, "Would you have called off the marriage if I had have told you I wanted the male transformation before?"

We'll never know.  The past is gone.

Just like I really don't know my future with mi esposo.  It could turn out to be the best relationship life has ever handed two lucky people.  The possibilities are endless when I look at past and future.  It's a reminder that I have to stay in the present.

Right now all I know is that I'm so thrilled to get back to Papi.

12 hours.

Half a day.

My Romeo awaits.

Sunday, January 16, 2011

There's no place like home ...

Wouldn't it be nice if we could click our heels together and just warp on home?  I'd have to click my chunky, neanderthal Sorel boots together.

Funny how people from this iceberg of a town will jump from their house to the car to the store to the car to the house in one fell swoop, in only a sweatshirt, jeans and a pair of runners.

Meanwhile, I have on 2 pairs of wooly socks, said Sorels, long johns under jeans (not a good look for this femme ... good lord! gimme back my sexy jeans booty), 2 waffle shirts, a sweater that makes me look pudgy, a long wool coat (oh, thank you My Person), my only scarf, a pair of girly gloves under my love's manly gloves and a wool hat that squishes my hair down, forcing me to try to fluff it up again once it's removed.

It seems that people will point and laugh, saying to themselves, "You're not from 'round here are ye".  But they smile while they look at me and politely say, "Well, aren't you looking all cozy!"

My sister will giggle and defend me, "She's from Vancouver, she's not used to this weather."  They smile and nod, getting the punchline.

When I'm at home I wear just a few layers less in the 'winter' that we experience.  It's really not a chill that we get and I see that now, having come to a place where you step out of the door, and pray you don't have to sniffle.  Your nostrils will freeze together in an instant.

Yes, when I'm home I'm a drama queen about the 'cold', even though we don't have a cutting chill like here.

On my mini-holiday, my bedtime is the best time of the day.  I get to speak to Papi.  Normally, my bedtime would be sweet texts to each other before my love gets down to the bulk of work at the graveyard shift and I will read a book with drooping eyelids to stop the day's thoughts from whirling in my head.

Here, our texts are million dollar tippity-taps, so we hop on to my Facebook 'trust page' and chat away for free. 

It's the best way to finally get my much needed love from mi esposo.  It's a strange feeling though.  When I go to that 'chat' it's like talking to my best friend, not the love that I'm so torn about.  I can speak about 'it' with a little more ease, even though we don't really have space for it while we're downloading our day. 

Regardless, I may have found a way to communicate a little easier.

Interesting though, that Facebook was a place I had to avoid so that I wouldn't jump into the pit of doom, until I had my 'trust page'.

I'm happy to have it.  On my public page I would never turn on my chat, because I'd be getting pop ups of that desperate 'talk to me!' sound from people I really don't know very well, and it seems they really have nothing to say.  They just want to make contact with someone.  That's bound to happen when you 600+ people in your 'friends' list.

On my 'trust page', there are a massive group of 15 people.  Every single one of them I want to hear from.  Every little pop up makes my heart gush with joy to have the contact I so need from the people I know love me and I can trust with 'it'.

Yet there's one pop up that means the world to me.  In just over 24 hours I get to have my sweet kisses from mi esposo.  I get to see that gorgeous face smile at me as I eagerly leave the corrider from the plane and wait for my luggage with Papi.  I'll get warm, strong cuddles.

Then we get to go to our skeleton of a home.

Our sewage flood destroyed home will look a little better to me than when I left.  Our barren castle will look full.  Our insanity of 6 animals will seem calm.

Click, click, click. 

Damn.  Didn't work.

I'll have to settle for the plane.

Saturday, January 15, 2011

A 3 Day Vacation.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder.  That's what they say.  I don't know about fonder.  I'd say it makes the heart obsessed.

I'm visiting my sister in Alberta, our neighbouring province.  I look outside and expect to see igloos lining the streets, or possibly even Santa Claus and the gang.  There's a lot of snow and I'm not used to that in our rainy city of Vancouver.

My love stayed home and now has to tend to 6 animals.  Alone.  It makes me giggle a little, but also makes me consumed with visualizing about Papi's solo time.

Right now in my frantic sibling's household, they're panicking about the goggles that their puppy has just annihilated, and he is now skulking away from the "bad puppy" words from the alpha of the mob.

Papi will be wading through the 6 animals who all want their food at the same time.  The meows and barks, 11 eyes wanting to be the first to establish their place in the pack.

You read correct.  11 eyes.  Our Golden Retriever is a one eyed dog.

While I'm watching the chaos of kids and animals and a scatter-brained sister, all I think about is Papi.  There's no thinking about 'it' while my heart is missing mi esposo.

There are no fears, pain, tears.  There is only the sweet tooth craving her sugar.

I believe the heart grows fonder as time brings your relationship to maturity.  That is of course, if you work for it.  And grinding the brimstone we are.

However, right now, there are no muscles flexing.  I'm just existing thinking about my love.  I'm on holiday from the affliction.  I'm watching another family and their undertakings right now.

Even the dog.  The puppy is watching intently for the morsels that may fall to the ground that are designated to the four legged child.

Here I sit.

Loving my love.

It's a much different dynamic than at home.

It's a welcomed respite from my thinking too much.

Just love.

And a very bad puppy.  Oh dear, he's digging in the back yard.  And the chaos ensues ...

Friday, January 14, 2011

I need my wheel.

I find it interesting that I can speak to some trustful others about certain parts of Papi's male transformation with much more ease than I can to my dear sweet love, who I know damn well would be thrilled to be asked questions.  Hell, I can speak to 'you', my imaginary friend, easier as well.

I definitely have more steps to learn in the dance of communication.

Last night I had a chat with a friend on my Facebook 'trust' page.  I typed until my fingers and wrists were threatening an instant case of carpel tunnel if I didn't give it a rest.

My friend is helping me so much, as he is 4 years ahead in the male transformation and can let me know about the future in a much softer way than my mind will map it out.

Among many things, we spoke about how we jump to worst case scenario in life.  Not just in this capsule of how I terrifyingly see the future of my happily ever after, but over all in life.  'We', as in the majority of the people in this world, have the same reaction to the unknown, and my worst case scenario is not pretty.

To anyone who has never read my blog here, or doesn't know me really well, they would think I'm an optimist.

Oh, the sly trickery that I have mastered.  I'm just one of those people who will 'fake it til you make it'.

Haven't made it yet.

True optimists scare me.  I just don't know how their brain functions and I can't really relate.  I can only pretend to.  I'm your typical chameleon.  I think it has something to do with being a Gemini.

My friend has given me a little more hope.  I now have 2 'Persons' that are making a huge difference in the rewiring of my mind's own level of transphobia.  I have 'My Person' who has given me hope that I can stay in this marriage and love Papi just as much (or hopefully even more) in the future.

Now, I have the other person I didn't even know I needed.

My 'Other Person'.  The person who has walked the path that my love has just fastened one step into.  The person who is not afraid to answer my questions that I'm too scared to ask my love.

I believe I've figured out why it's so hard to ask Papi, and that is because it's just too damn close.  The teenager still has her grip tight in this department.  Even though she's a green around the gills girl, she has learned all to well what happens if you step too close to the fire.  If you stare at it too long, it will jump out and bite you.

Oh, don't get me wrong.  There is communication and every fear, tear and storm has been exposed to my love, but there are definitely no questions.  No curiosity is salvaged for my love, because Papi is too close.

So many times when I'm expressing myself to Papi about my dread etc., I hear, "But 'so & so' is still attractive and doesn't look like the scary monster you're making up.  You still love them."

The same rebuttal comes like a tango we've practised a million times, "Yes, but they're not my wife and they're not sharing my bed."

The one thing I got out of snooping through the 'Other Person's' realm last night, is that it has been confirmed yet again, that this is going to be a very long slow process.

What I realized through our tippity-tappity, plastic key conversation last night, is that even though Papi and I are on parallel paths, albeit different, we are both going to mature together in this ripening of our fruit.

Papi will change physically, I will change emotionally/psychologically.

Evolution took a long time to bring us humans to where we are today.

I still have to reinvent the wheel.

Thursday, January 13, 2011


My love has never read my blogs, until yesterday.  Papi was very distressed about the lie, and then found out that I wrote about it.  'You', my imaginary friend, know that this is my place to tell you all about my journey.

The lie is part of my passage.

Sweety said, "I'm not sure I like the world knowing everything about me."

I giggled with the teenager inside for a second and said to myself, "Oh it's not the whole world, just people from the U.S., Denmark, France, Malaysia, United Kingdom, Russia, Australia, Slovenia, Germany and (**ahem**) a 'few' from Canada.

I assured Papi that there are other people who read this as well as 'you' who have no idea who my love is.  I've never used a name and there's certainly no pictures of mi esposo.  But, my love knows that there are a scattered few who know Papi and I that are reading about my venture on this voyage.

Still, I had to say, "This is my journey that I'm writing about, and you're the largest part of it.  Sorry."

The giggling teenager wanted to chime in, "So don't piss me off, or Russia will know about it!"  I kept her statement quietly to myself.

I hopped into the bath to fix myself up pretty for the evenings odyssey we were about to embark on.  My love and I were to attend a dinner for hundreds of people in our city who are mentally ill.  It's the annual Xmas dinner, always a month late.

It's really an amazing night.  I love seeing the people I occasionally will see in the community being served and treated with dignity, instead of them humiliatingly begging for a scrap of change from myself and others.

Fittingly, it would be my first outing since I lost it from the male transition bomb that was dropped on me.  It felt like a safe place to be because at this dinner I would never be judged for my insanity.

While I was in the bath prepping my tresses, I heard nothing but silence in the living room.  Our place is so empty because of the sewage flood, that you can hear the echo of a cat promenading the barren floors.

The sounds I'm accustomed to hearing from Papi are the mad clickings of computer keys as mi esposo frantically chats with 2 or sometimes up to 5 people on Facebook.  I really don't know how my love does it.

However, this time I heard nothing but the occasional sniffle or throat clearing.

When I got out of the tub, my love was just sitting with a glazed stare at the computer screen and said, "I didn't know all you wrote about was the transition.  I didn't realize this was the cause of all your pain.  I thought some of your pain was from the sewage flood and your back being re-injured from the fall."

"No sweety."  These 'extras' were just salt on the wound.

I've tried to coddle my love during this time.  I don't want mi esposo to hurt as much as I do.  No need for 2 crazies in the house.  I can fill the space just fine with my delirium.

But now Papi knows and said, "I really didn't know you were in this much pain from my decision."

My love was taking a moment to walk on my side of the path.

Then my cheeky love was exposed, "And just because I didn't say anything about the flowers doesn't mean I didn't know they were our wedding flower!"

Following this indignant statement came the part that made me laugh hysterically.  My sweetheart mockingly said in such a way that brought the image of someone in a really bad commercial standing beside the flowers in a 'Ta-Da' pose, speaking in that uncomfortable monotone manner, "Oh, I see here you have bought our wedding flower to show love." 

But, Papi did acknowledge that mi esposo didn't get what the cleaning and flowers was really saying.  My love admitted that part was very much a 'male trait'.

Later that night, after the Xmas dinner was eaten, and all of us nutbars returned to our padded cells, Papi went to work and I received a text: "I've been selfish and haven't really thought about you, just myself and what I wanted.  I don't want to ruin our marriage over facial hair and smell.  You are too important to me.  I realized that tonight.  I just wouldn't want to be at that crazy dinner with anyone else."

I received my respect.  Papi is giving it a year.  If I haven't healed from this stretch of the tour, alternative choices will be made.

This brought me much closer to forgiving the lie.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

well, at least i made it 10 days ...

Ah damn.  It was too good to last.  The happy face is not on today.  Cranky, anxiety, tears, pain.

My love had told me that there would be no increase in the hormones.  Papi lied.  Mi esposo had already increased without telling me.

This was because there was a fear of tears to witness.  Well, tears or not would have come, but when you're lied to, they're sure to fall.

I don't know if Papi really thought about the betrayal that would be the overwhelming feeling that I would encounter.  A bond will be broken if there's betrayal or lies.

I asked my love to keep that to the only time that the lie experiment would happen.  I don't want our bond to be broken.  It's what keeps me here in this relationship even though the pain of being with this sweet love is greatly threatened by this transition.

It's an honour system.  That's what a bond is.  You have to trust yourself not to break the bond through betrayal.  It will actually harm Papi more than it will me in the long run.

So, the tears flowed, the hyperventilating ensued and we finally got to the place where my love would answer my question,"What else is going on for you that you need to talk about?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean anything at all that you need to talk about that I need to hear."

"I don't feel supported in this transition."

"Tell me what I can do to help you feel supported."

"You're not able to give me what I need."

I asked what it was that I couldn't give that I could help on my end to make my love supported.

"I need you to be happy."

Oh dear.  My love is right.  I can't give that right now.  I'm not happy.  I'm terrified and trying my best to get through this, but I'm not happy for my love to be doing this.  I didn't marry my perfect butch with the foresight that I'd be losing my wife.

No, happy I am not.

So, now after the tears of feeling I wasn't respected in the promise that my love wouldn't go up in the dose of hormones, my love has shown me that I'm not giving the dignity that mi esposo needs as well.

It was  a hard morning.  It was a serious crying session.  Both of us.  Tears flowing as we looked at each other wanting so badly to stop the other's pain.

We concluded that we are both alone in our journey together.



It's not fair that we have to feel this isolation from each other in a time where we both need each other so greatly.  We hold each other physically.  We need to find a way to hold each other emotionally.

Hard day.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Changing by a hair

The one thing I can count on from my love is to find humour in almost anything in life.  This is just one of the traits I fell in love with.  I couldn't be in love with someone who was anything less than a big ol' dork.  Silly people need each other.

It would be impossible to live an entire life span too seriously.  'You', my imaginary friend, got to see what happens when life gets too serious.  Cookie binging, La-Z-Boy body fusing, swollen aging eyes and jeans that now fit a bit too tight.

Seriousness has hurt my confidence.

I can see that my personality is returning, because Papi has decided to rib me with as many penis connotations that we could possibly encounter in one day.  Thank god my love isn't going to go for the nasty phalloplasty.  That would definitely be a deal breaker.  That thing would not come any where near me, I can promise you that.

There was also a lot of joking about the potential moustache that could be barging into my soft, smooth realm of kisses.  All I see in the word moustache is the last four letters: ache.


I do NOT look forward to this phenomenon of my perfect butch changing over and having a fuzzy, Brillo pad scratching my delicate lips every time I want a little of my love's sugar.

Papi had asked me to look and see if there were any changes to mi esposo's lip hair.  I wouldn't do it.

"No!!!" I said, with that playful stubbornness that says to my love, I don't want to look, but I'm not taking the possibility of the caterpillar so hard that I can't laugh.

This went on for a few minutes until I finally took a half hearted look and said,"Honey I have more of a moustache than you do, sorry to say."  We were having a very sweet day together and I didn't really want to dive into 'it' quite yet.

The evening came and we did our very best to snuggle on a 'love seat' that is usually inhabited by one person; the grandmother who is out in Calgary while they put our house back together because of the sewage flood.  This couch is only one of 3 pieces of furniture left in this skeleton of a house.

I finally found a position that was soft and supportive to my still healing back and then it happened.  I saw it.  There it was.  A little strand sticking out of my love's beautiful upper lip that didn't belong.

The teenager wanted to pretend to be oblivious to it.  Remember?  If you ignore it, it will just go away.

But the developing adult couldn't help herself and blurted out with a knee jerk reaction, "Oh my god!!!"

It startled Papi, but when my love looked at me to see what the problem was, it was obvious that I was staring at the area where a moustache could be.

My love bellowed, "It's there isn't it?!?!"

I felt ambushed and had to admit it, "Oh my god there's a hair."  One burly black hair, that tried to imitate a whisker sticking out like a stunned Great Dane in a sea of Chihuahuas.

There it was.

A 'man hair'.

Papi was rejoicing while I, with love, all I could do was sit there and laugh at the reaction.

"I told you!  I told you!  It's changing!  I'm getting a moustache!"

I couldn't be upset.  I couldn't be angry.  I couldn't be repulsed by the antenna-like feeler.

I could only smile that my love was so sweetly impressed by this one quill.

One solitary bristle.

That's all I have to accept on this day.

Monday, January 10, 2011

No rest for the wicked.

The effortless way my love speaks about 'it' is a load very difficult for my weak legs to carry.  For my fragile temperament, it's so wearisome to get the words about 'it' through my mouth.  I have to choose each syllable with caution.

Our family doctor called on a Sunday night to speak about a letter.  She's writing a letter to MSP so that my love will be funded for the transition.  It's a bit odd for a doctor to be calling on a Sunday, so I really had no idea who Papi was speaking to, but the entire conversation was about 'it'.

I sat suspended on the couch playing Freecell, my new obsession to keep me from letting my mind wander into dark places.

Don't speak.

Just move those cards to a safer place on the board.

When my love got off the phone, there was an obvious cloud poised above me.  Papi identified it and began to wade through the haze in an effort to move the silence that could possibly have put my toes on the edge of the hole I so recently escaped.

Don't speak.

There's a better place to put the King of Hearts.

My love intuitively asked questions where all I had to do was nod.  I can nod.  I can shake my head in a silent 'no'.

The questions came so that my love finally got to the crux of the tentative distress.

"Is it because the process is starting now?  Is that what has you scared?"

I actually spoke a squeak of a word, "Yes."

That damn teenager poked her head out again with the pouty lip.  Goddam!  When will she just give it a rest!?!?

Yes.  The letter means that Papi will be taking another step towards an obvious happiness that keeps me in obvious grief.

"It's so hard to see you so upset about something that makes me so happy."

My confute: "It's so hard to see you so happy about something that makes me so upset.  I feel guilt."

In honesty, Papi replied, "I feel guilty too."

How is it two people who love each other so much can be so far apart?  It just makes no sense.

My love reminded me that the process won't be starting for quite a few months even though the letter is being written in present day. 

The conversation came back full circle to the root of all my fears; "T".

So I had to know, why then, did my love have to start on this hormone that terrifies me in such a grandiose way?

I was told it's because it takes a long time for it to start working.

Then Papi told me there was an appointment today that will be all about 'it' and did I want to join in so that if I have questions I can be a part of this leg of the journey?

Hell no!!!!!  I don't need a repeat of trauma I had at the surgeon's office that fateful day that toppled me miles further into my tomb of doom.

No.  I will pass.  I will continue to work on this, but I won't disturb the small part of happiness I just fought to sustain.

No.  I've learned my lesson in pushing my boundaries in this one.

Oh my love.  I'm trying so hard.  When will you and I be on the same path?  When will this fence between us be disassembled?

Oh my love.  I have so much work to do.

Sunday, January 9, 2011

The Manly Trait

It was a wonderful day yesterday.  A little rough in the evening, but that's kinda what happens sometimes when you're in transition from depression to living your life again.

However, overall it was like I had a normal day.  I haven't had one of these days for a month and a half, so my 'normal' seemed out of place.  It seemed exciting and new!  I was smiling at people I didn't know.  When I saw someone smiling like me, I thought, "Did you just crawl out of your hole too?!"

My day included yoga, pretty hair, contact lens, a walk without dogs (had to sneak out very quietly) and I walked an old lady home.  She said her name was 'June'.  That won't be hard to remember.  It's my birthday month.

She was using a crutch on one side and carrying her purse and two grocery bags on the other.  Yikes!  That's gonna cause some compensation pain.  So, I wouldn't allow her to argue that she was fine and walked her home holding her gems for her.  She lived further than I did from the store!  Sweet, feisty old bird.

My mission to the store was for flowers.  Not just any flowers, but our wedding flowers.  I got the last ones!  I made our living area tidy and clean, and rearranged the mantlepiece to remove X-mas cards we received and place our wedding flowers smack dab in the center, bookended by two of the pictures of us adoring each other's companionship that Papi had salvaged from the flood.


It's going to be perfectly obvious that there has been a change.

Then I waited.

And waited.

During my time wasted, I puttered some more and made the horrible mistake of going on to my public Facebook page.  The social site that screams to me that I'm forgotten about.  That site where I had to set up a private page that I now call the 'trust page' of people who I know will be there for me.  15 people who I can say whatever I want to and not be judged.  15 people who I know will return my email, phone call, text or whatever.  Sometimes, they reach me by telepathy or instinct.

But there is my public page.  This page is shrieking madness.  Friends that I've written to in pain asking for help still have not gotten back to me.  People that I thought would notice something was up that I couldn't show my face leaving me insincere wall posts of, "Hey haven't heard from you in a while."

Ya think?

Tears came from the pain of realization that some people I thought cared, really don't.

Papi was STILL sleeping from the dreaded graveyard shift.  At 8:00 when I couldn't handle the loneliness I had instilled upon myself by going on to a backlit page of deceptive friendship, I finally went up to our barn-like attic, woke my love and said, "I miss you."

My love had taken the weekend off from the 2nd job so that we could spend time together.  I got all prettied up in hopes that this would happen.  But obviously Papi needed to sleep off the work-a-holic month that has been accomplished.

By 8:00, I'm pretty much starting my dozy-eyed face.  I'm no night owl that's for sure.  My hopes were that we would spend the evening together and possibly get out of this loony-bin of a house filled with 6 animals, fake floors and a skeleton basement suite.

Nope.  Free movie from Shaw instead.

I had done everything I could to show Papi without words that I'm coming around to the love that I won't abandon.  Making a house clean so that there would be an awakening to a fresh feeling.  Arranging the mantlepiece to give a sign that I'm here, and our marriage is still my whole world.

Papi saw the flowers, "You bought yourself some flowers!  Wow it's so tidy in here!"

My reply was, "I bought US flowers."  I had hoped Papi would recognize that they were our wedding flower.  My favourite flower of all time.  A purple, verging on crimson, heavy petal of strength.  The African Daisy.

Some call it the Gerber Daisy.  But that to me speaks as though it is infantile and weak.  I have been brain washed by marketing from the Gerber Baby Food company.  The African Daisy suits it so much more because it is such a strong flower.

But Papi didn't notice.  I suppose there is a part of my love that really does have manly traits.  This made me giggle.

... And accept just a tiny bit more who this amazing person is that I didn't know I married.

Saturday, January 8, 2011

Never say never.

I had another session with yet another counsellor.  This one however, is a woman I've been seeing for over 13 years.  She knows my dirt let me tell you.  She is not a gender specialist like the other two I've spoken to.  Nor has she been in a relationship with someone transitioning like my trauma therapist, but she's so good for me.  This woman has done more for me in my journey than any other.

I had to stop seeing this therapist when I was in my motorcycle accident, as ICBC stated I needed a registered psychologist who they could nab my 'confidential' information from whenever they wanted.

So, I ceased to see my long time guidance.

This therapist has walked me through grief of losing a girlfriend to heroin, getting clean and sober, grief over losing my dog of 11 years (ah Gypsy, I still miss you every day), a nervous breakdown, pain of being dumped and made homeless, friendless and having to start my life over again.

I wasn't allowed to walk with her through my brain injury.  I had a very nice psychologist who it turns out HAS had the experience of being in a relationship where her partner went through gender transformation.  The only part I can't relate to her about in my experience is that I am going to stay in the relationship.  I am choosing to maintain the love I have for Papi.  It's too strong to leave.

The other half of this equation is I am not allowed to spend my sessions speaking about my grief over losing my wife to a transitioning male.  It has to be specifically about my trauma of the accident, PTSD, the lovely flashbacks etc.

I felt I needed to speak to my therapist from years and years gone.  I just needed to download with her. Every life experience I've had, she has pretty much lived through, and if not exactly, pretty damn close.  Even if it's something she's never experienced I have had successful work with her.  She uses humour to call me on my shit.

I stroll in and start to pull out all the answers to her questions, and lo and behold she found a way to make me see things in a different light.

Yet again.  Like the medication decision.

I have had a chemical imbalance since I started out on my venture of pain at the breakable age of 11.  My chemical imbalance started with anorexia and carried on into all kinds of pleasantries for the demons that bound me.

I refused to go on medication, because I had a bad experience with it as a teen.  The first dose they gave me, I was allergic to and had hives from head to toe.  So, here I was, anorexic, depressed and suicidal and looked like I'd been playing with angry wasps.  Not a good look for a teenager who was hanging on to life by a thread.

The next medication they gave me had me so messed up, I tried to commit suicide.  That was enough for me to say, "Never again."

I walked my journey of trying every single thing I could find to heal myself.  I dug through natural methods and hard work.  Everything I tried would give me some relief, but then it would plateau and I'd be left feeling the doom, yet again.

I laboured through St. John's Wort, removing food allergies from my diet, getting clean and sober, acupuncture, countless therapy sessions, ah the list goes on.  Every single thing I did made me stronger and healthier in my imbalance, but there was one missing ingredient.


Nope.  Wasn't going there.  Told my therapist that time and time again.

Then came the nervous breakdown.  My therapist said, "So, you have 2 choices here.  You can either kill yourself, or try an experiment with medication, and you'd rather die than take a little pill?  Your gravestone will read: 'Here lies Andréa.  She won dammit!  She NEVER took a pill'.  You would choose this over medication?"

We both laughed at the ridiculousness of it all.  I tried the experiment.  And I lived.  I started existing in a life I'd be fighting to find the majority of my life.  It finally happened.

I had peace.

In yesterday's session I said, "I made the decision never to have a relationship with someone who would transition.  It's just not what I want, and here I am stuck in love."

She reminded me, "Yes.  Ok.  And this is what you said about medication.  Remember you said you would 'never' go on medication?"

Oh god.  I've been listening to the stubborn teenager again.  How the hell does she sway me to her side all the time?!?!  Jeeeeeeeezus.  She's crafty that one.  I could feel her clinging to me desperately so I would not take that step away from her.  Then I saw her yet again with the pouty face and folded arms across her chest.

Man, she was pissed!  She gave me the death stare that said she is going to hold in everything she still has in her control.  Unfortunately, she doesn't get to hold in that tiny piece of hope that I snagged from her while she wasn't looking.

I can be crafty too.

My mind opened a little bit more to the hope that I can still love Papi even though there will be changes.  I have to let go of the 'never'.  I'm in it.  I'm in love with someone who is transitioning.

I felt it in our sweet goodbye kisses when my love left for work.

I think that I have to never say never again.  It seems that life will give you that 'never' in the blink of an eye.

Friday, January 7, 2011

Oh, communication ...

I have now seen the effect that crying for 6 weeks straight has had on my love.  You never know what this darkness will bring to those around you.  Well, I see the outcome in this particular case and it's not pretty.

Papi works graveyard 3 nights of the week, and when my love asked me not to refer to the transition as disgusting during our goodnight texting session, I was overthrown with shock!  Someone may as well have shot me in the heart with a stun gun.  Sleep wasn't going to arrive anytime soon.

I reserve that word for hate.  I don't feel I've thought of any of this transition in a loathsome way.  Yes, I'm terrified, I'm grieving loss, I'm feeling alone and abandoned, but disgusted?  Please tell me I didn't use that word in anguish.

I suppose because I spent so much of my time catatonic, except with 'you', my imaginary friend, Papi could jump to 'worst case' scenario, as there wasn't much communication on my part.  It absolutely shook me to the core that the point my love would go to for 'worst case' was that I felt disgust.

I would offer this word to a certain person in our community and their doctor.  Before Papi had come out to me as transitioning to male, we were standing in this person's hallway saying goodbye.  Papi had asked this person questions about the hormone and they had found it appropriate to flippantly offer mi esposo some 'T' so my sweetheart could just 'try it' like it was a new flavour of ice cream.

This same person also has a doctor who will pretty much give this serious hormone to people without going through proper procedures.  So, when my love was considering taking the hormone, this person gave my love this doctor's contact so my sweety could get it without any effort and blammo!  Mi esposo was on the hormone on the spot.

This person doesn't have gender dysphoria and are quite open about the fact that they want to be part man, part woman.  Their doctor who gives out this hormone willy nilly also thinks that this is ok.  This is a life who has obviously got a mental illness and they have a doctor who is entertaining their 'experiment'.

That my friend, is disgusting.  These are the people I conserve this word for.

But my love?  I adore mi esposo so much.  There is not an inch of this beautiful soul that I would ever look at with so much as a simple 'ew' entering my brain.

True.  I don't like body hair.  True.  I've kissed a bio-male with a moustache and that gets an 'ew'.  More like an 'ow'!  Don't like it.  Never thought I'd have to give it a second chance in my lifetime.

As for the picture that remains a psychological poison in my brain, that person who has a bushy moustache that looks like they have a dead squirrel on their upper lip?  The fuzzy mass gets the 'ew' vote!  However, I don't think that I would categorize them as disgusting.

The act the person is performing is something that disturbed me greatly, and has played a large part in my fears.

But disgusting?  No.

I had to dissect my thoughts about this journey and look at each little piece of the pain to figure out where I've gone wrong.  Is there a place in my heart that would allow my love to feel I would think this way?

I really think that my sweety has jumped to 'worst case', but now I really feel that I need to look at every entry I've written to 'you', my imaginary friend.  I really need to see if there's somewhere that would confirm my love's thoughts.

We can get pretty apathetic when we're in the throws of pain.  We can definitely say things that we don't mean when we're not heard properly, or when we haven't found the correct way to communicate our feelings.

My love didn't paint a picture of my 'worst case', my own dark artistry did this.

Could it be that this is where my love has gone because of my tears or is it Papi's own personal fear?  I really hope it's Papi's exclusive dingy hole of despair.  If it is I who actively put mi esposo there, I will never forgive myself.

Off I go to do some forensic reading.

Thursday, January 6, 2011

The bitch is back

I realize now that I've been jumping so far into the future that I've forgotten about my present.  I've done that all my life.  I create anxiety for myself entertaining my brain with the 'what if' phenomenon.

There isn't a chance that I will ever know what is in the future for myself and my love.  I don't get to know what my love will look like.  Right now, Papi is here with me and the only change is that 'man stink', which is being masqueraded with smelly soaps.

Papi may look good after the upheaval, but my mind jumps to the people that have not transitioned very well and think it's ok to look like a dumpy middle aged man.  I've been reminded by the lovely doctor yesterday that if Papi is someone who takes pride in appearance in present day, that this will more than likely continue in the future.

Oh, speaking of the doctor, I had an interesting reminder of the femme that was on psychological leave for 6 weeks.

When I took the elevator up to the doctor's office yesterday, I was accompanied by an obvious F-M.  He looked about 12 years old.  I knew exactly which office he was going to, but he had no idea I'd be following in his wake, because to the world we femmes are an invisible member of the gay community.

Upon entering the cramped space of the waiting room, there were 2 chairs.  One was inhabited by a purse and jacket, the other was free.  This unripe F-M took the empty seat.

My mind was telling me to say, "Ok, listen.  If you're going to do this, there's some things you've got to learn.  The first thing is you need to be a gentleman and offer the lady a seat."

Chivalry is dead.  Well, except in the case of my love.  But I digress ...

Instead of saying it with words, I stood and made the young buck uncomfortable by standing directly in front of him, peering over his shoulder at books.  I couldn't tell you what any of them were.  I was just looking at nothing really.

Then I decided that like a good femme, I needed my lip gloss, so I proceeded to take care of my ego right in front of the perched developing fledgling.

Out of the office came the happiest fag I've ever seen and lo and behold, he was shocked that I was standing!  There's the gentleman!  He apologized profusely for the seat being taken over by the doctor's pretty belongings.

"Oh dear, she likes to throw her things all over the place.  But then, it is her office.  I suppose she can do whatever she wants," he said with a sweet giggle.

He removed them and gave the lady a seat.

I said sarcastically, "I wasn't sure if that was a seat that was being saved for someone who really needed it," with a smile.

I took my seat all the while still exuding the massive amounts of energy that I tend to have.  The youngin' beside me seemed to vanish from my wattage and I realized at that point that I'm doing much better.

The bitch is back.

When I had my session with the lovely doctor, I realized that I certainly AM doing much better.  I delved into the far little corners of my pain and only once did a few little tears escape my eyes.  I don't consider that crying.  That was just a leak.

I left feeling stronger, but I had feared the future would have me leaving the office with red swollen eyes and matching nose.  I didn't.  I strutted out the proud femme, and down the elevator I pranced to my waiting chariot and prince.

I remember the doctor had said that my voice on the phone sounded like I was so very small.  That was how I felt.  I wanted to get smaller and smaller and just vanish.  Witnessing my behavior in the waiting room and in the session, I realized I've grown.

I had a phone call from a friend last night and we spoke for 2 and a half hours about 'it', about a certain person in the community who pushes people to delve into 'it' and about life's past experiences in general.  There were no tears.  There wasn't even a leak.

There was a lot of anger and a lot of fun banter, but I was far from tiny.  I enjoyed my company right up to the phone threatening to kill the conversation at 4%.

I'm beginning to see the robust Andréa again.

God it's been a long month and a half.  I'm so glad I'm feisty again.

It has certainly been a happy new year.