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?

C'mon!

I'd even take a cookie.