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.

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