I'm realizing where I can feel safe is amongst strangers.
These outsiders don't know what the hell is going on with me. These unknown people are not going to ask, "How are you?" or become one of the brutes who may think my love is a freak and I'm an aberration for loving a transitioning transgendered person.
New-comers will talk about things that are funny to entertain each other, or light conversation to keep the flow of company going, sans white noise.
I went out for dinner last night with a person on my Trust List, and a bunch of her friends.
I got myself all worked up about going. Stomach turning, hands shaking, legs weak, the conversation in my head of why I shouldn't go ...
When I got there I noticed there were 3 foreigners with that dear heart I love so much.
(and two more that i've met a few times, but they never speak to me anyway, wtf is that about?!? what ... ever ...)
I sat myself down and started chatting up a storm.
I was fine!
I was having fun!
I had no fear because they didn't know my secret, giving them no reason to be mean or start a serious conversation that might make me get sad, angry or scared.
I just enjoyed myself.
I was a little more reserved than I usually am in groups. Being an extrovert, I would normally need the attention on 'me'. That entertainer will rise up wearing the boa, arms raised in a 'V', eyes to the sun, inviting that luscious light to shine on me, and those lucky enough to be around it.
it's all about 'me'
Last night, it was just a great time of banter, about 'us all', minus the 'secret'. I got to call my love my 'wife', 'she', and other things to be sure the ladies there all knew I too was a lesbian. I needed to keep my identity strong in the face of similitude.
I needed to prove I was no different.
I didn't get to see Papi yesterday, and that's probably part of the reason I found the strength to go. I hadn't dealt with 'it' and wasn't a maelstrom of emotions.
My dear soul mate is again working too hard. Not sure when my love will realize there's a reason for the non-stop sickness; overworking.
(note to Papi if you're reading this, "you're not 20 anymore my dear!!!")
Anyway, I didn't have to download and talk about 'it'. 'It' is still deferred to another day.
I have to come to terms with the fact that the surgeon recommended Papi go up in the hormone dose to help stop Papi's menses.
My stomach just sunk thinking about it.
More hormones means that my love will be stepping further into the 'man zone'. There will be more changes. More to deal with. More to work on.
More to accept.
I was just getting used to this point in time.
I don't know how this will play out for my injured, limping ego, but currently I'm back to shaking, feeling nauseas, and fear is ripping through my blood.
oh, i see you, my demons, i see you ... you don't need to pull so hard at my wrist
I don't want this, but it's going to happen. I had a nice month and a half of coasting on no more changes. I suppose that was a small gift of a brain break.
It's time to deal again.