Pain Med Party!!!!!!

Hurts to yawn, sneeze, laugh, roll over in bed, get out of bed, lift my coffee cup to have a sip of black goodness, or go over bumps in the car.

Never mind about driving the car.

When my back is at a 9/10 pain level, I can't even press in the clutch.  It's about the only time in life that I wish for an automatic vehicle.

Anyway, I was too busy having a pain med party yesterday to write to 'you', my imaginary friend.

I'm getting a head start into my writing before I slip off into la-la-land with my new best friend, "Whoop Ass Butter".

It's the perfect medicine for intensely acute days.

Sometimes it's difficult to find the silver lining in nasty times, but I now have one when my back is bitter and biting.

Pain Med Party!!!!!!!!!

Hey, I'm taking them responsibly and only when needed, but as a former wake 'n bake femme, I do have to say, I'm starting to feel a lot less guilty about enjoying my 'down time'.

Yup.  It's definitely a silver lining.

Now when my back goes out, I'm not frustrated about what I can and cannot do.  I just smile and do what I can with a little help from my MC Guru and the pain relief I deserve after almost 3 years.

And now with my most recent flare up, Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert, Roseanne's Nuts are the perfect companions.  I save them up for these days and have a marathon of smiles.

Even if it does hurt to laugh, it's better than hurting from crying.  It's a much better reaction.

Music sounds a little better.  Playing my piano or my bass is possible and for this I am the most grateful.

On codeine, percocet, or morphine, I would look at my piano or bass and think, "I should go play that," then I continue to stare at it for a little while and realize that hurting for the sake of filling my musical heart is not a benefit.

Well, now it is.

I guess doing the video was what put me in to this predicament.  Well, not so much just the video, but perhaps the fact that I think I have superpowers when the pain killers kick in and I washed the tub.

Boy, did I ever get the reprimand riot act from my lawyer's paralegal.  "What were you thinking?!?  I see you hunched over and in pain every time I see you and you washed your tub?!?  Your health is much more important than a clean tub."

Touché madam, how right you are.

But dammit!  The Yank, our honorary room mate, is coming this weekend, and I'm pretty sure the tub hasn't been washed since the last time she was here.

Housekeeping is reserved for 'good' days, and cleaning that damn tub puts me into a seized state every time.

in·san·i·ty

 [in-san-i-tee]

noun, plural in·san·i·ties.

1. the condition of being insane;  a derangement of the mind. Synonyms: dementia, lunacy, madness, craziness, mania, aberration.

2. Law . such unsoundness of mind as frees one from legal responsibility, as for committing a crime, or as signals one's lack of legal capacity, as for entering into a contractual agreement.

3. Psychiatry . (formerly) psychosis.

4. a. extreme foolishness; folly; senselessness; foolhardiness: Trying to drive through that traffic would be pure insanity.

b. a foolish or senseless action, policy, statement, etc.: We've heard decades of insanities in our political discourse.

There's a saying in those anonymous rooms for drunks: "The definition of insanity is repeating the same action, over and over again, expecting different results."

I'm definitely one of 'those', and I'm not so good at acceptance.

have you figured that out already?!

I refuse to acknowledge the fact that I'm permanently screwed up from the motorcycle accident.

I have had such high hopes that I'll be back to the body I had before.  My 'normal'.

It's time to start accepting that this is my new 'normal', and it's time to hire someone to wash the tub.

Papi won't do it.  It's not in his repetoire.

My love's strong suit is DIY projects, cleaning the kitty litter, and doing all the laundry, so that there's piles of it for me to fold.

I'm staring at it right now.

It is sprawled along the ottoman as if the laundry basket just puked up a big hairball.

I think I'll wait for the pain killers to kick in before I attempt folding, or perhaps I'll actually take care of my back today and do fuck all.

That sounds good to me.

Love Letter

I felt even more love for Papi yesterday.

My love apologized for making light of my phobia.

Mi esposo likes to rib me.  We have one of those relationships where one person does things to shock the other for fun.

Our life is full of laughs and 'stop its' and 'omg you're such a twit'.

Mainly coming from me.

I remember when I was a kid, my grandfather used to tease the hell out of me.  It hurt because I was so sensitive, but my family would say the same thing every time; "If he didn't tease you, then it would mean he doesn't like you."

I get that.

I also see that Papi's G'pa used to tease the hell out of G'ma, and in turn, my love teases G'ma and myself.

It's just a dynamic.

Some people don't like it, others, well, we enjoy the attention.

Like me.

I am a true attention whore and I'll take attention in any way shape or form.

insecure and needing validation much ?!?!

However, when Papi thought that teasing me with penes would be another way to get a rise out of me and a chuckle, my love didn't realize that it would do more damage than good.

Yet, the person that I love looked back at his actions and apologized, "I owe you an apology.  I have been insensitive about your issues."

My love admitted that it was just for fun, but didn't realize how it would make me upset.

While we were talking about it, I became that insecure little girl again.

I felt as though my words were a mere 'squeak' when they left my lips.

My shoulders rounded in to hide my body.

My head lowered and I looked up at Papi like I was infantile and repenting for being bad.

My hands were sheltered by the inside of my thighs.

I tried to disappear.

I shrank.

I squeaked.

It was so difficult to talk about it, hence I've kept it quiet for years.  I also kept the denial surrounding my fears down in the Pit of Doom.

I keep it there because I don't want to see it every day.

I saved it for when I felt strong, and I suppose that time is now.

I have the fortune of having a life partner who understands that he will never understand, but will try hard to be sympathetic.

I am not alone on this path.  There are many just like me who have been hit with the realization that it's time to deal.

This is why I have to wait 6 months to speak to someone about it.

We all have our own 'timing' when it comes to dealing with our 'stuff'.  It doesn't even matter what the 'stuff' is.

It's just 'stuff' and we've all got it.  You really can't get through this life without it.

We're all just guinea pigs on our own paths, and we don't know what each step will bring us.

I really feel my path is paved with love and good intentions.  My love has evened out the trail so that I don't have troubles walking on uneven ground.

Papi has also widened it so that I don't walk alone, but rather, mi esposo can hold my hand as we travel.

I fell a little bit more in love with Papi yesterday.

The apology gave me so much strength, and it wasn't even necessary.

I know my love's intention is never to hurt me, but we're human and we err.  Admitting our errs is what makes us a better friend, lover or partner.

I am safe.

Phobia.

I remember thinking how crazy it is that people are afraid of dogs.

People would cross the street when they saw me coming with my Dearly Departed Gypsy.  She was my doofus of a rottweiler who left me for that fire hydrant in the sky 6 years ago.

i still miss my baby every day ...

She was the sweetest soul who needed to be loved by everybody to feel whole.

sound familiar?!

So, when people would be afraid of her I couldn't understand it.  I would think to myself, "If they only knew the soul inside of the brute physique, they'd see that all dogs are not fear worthy."

Hell, my drummer was terrified of dogs from a childhood trauma, but he loved Gypsy.

Anyway, I spent years thinking that people were ridiculous for being afraid of these wonderful companions.  Granted there are a few who have been brought up to be vicious by their owners, but they're not all corrupt.

One day, my friend sent me a picture of a massive spider that was making it's way to Canada.

It was a hoax, but having a phobia of spiders, I couldn't get into the shower for a week because I was afraid they'd come down from the ceiling.  I haven't eaten grapes since that day either, because I found one in my grapes. 

Yeah.

pho·bi·a

 [foh-bee-uh]

noun

a persistent, irrational fear of a specific object, activity, or situation that leads to a compelling desire to avoid it.

Stress the word irrational.

So, from that point forward, I understood how people can be afraid of dogs.  I had a little bit more appreciation of their irrational fears.

Well, Papi doesn't understand my fear of men, and more specifically, male body parts. 

Ok, that wasn't so specific.

Penes.

So, the other day, my love thought it would be funny to stand in front of me, lift the lower edge of his boxers a tiny bit, and expose the tip of the Plastic Penis.

I almost crawled out of my skin and was pretty grateful that I'd just had a dose of pain killers to numb my senses.

It affected me greatly.  I haven't stopped thinking about it for days.

sorry i didn't tell you papi ... 

Yesterday, my love informed me that I got my thoughts wrong in the blog.  You can't pee out of the Lifelike Penis.  Mi esposo then announced that he would indeed be buying the LifeLike Penis.

I couldn't really talk about it.  I would just continue to fondly slice Papi's veggies for a turkey sandwich made with love.

"Why do you always stop talking?" my love asked.

I answered honestly, "I don't know," because I've been like that since I was a kid.

if you ignore it it will go away ...

I was silent and scared.

Papi pressed on with the topic, and asked, "I don't understand why you can't see that it's me and not be afraid.  You know that I would never hurt you.  Has every single male you've encountered been horrible?"

Well, not every one.  But the ones that really fucked me up did a damn good job.

So, I recognized the phobia last night.

It is indeed a phobia.

a persistent, irrational fear of a specific object, activity, or situation that leads to a compelling desire to avoid it.

Well, as they say, admitting it is the first step.

It's a wobbly step, but it's done.

Now give me my fucking counseling appointment so I can wash that bitch outta my Honky 'Fro.

Pee.

When Papi reads my blogs, it seems I always have portrayed the body of the story wrong in terms of my dialogue.

You know?

He said/she said?

So the other day when there were an abundance of penes around the house, my love was sad that I didn't explain that each of them has a specific purpose.

you're kidding right?

I just see a Plastic Penis.

Well, now I must tell you that one is for packing, another for peeing, and yet another for sex.

Apparently, you just stick a rod in it to get the full male effect.

ummmmmm ... i say no thank you.

I'm quite satisfied with Papi without toys.  I enjoy myself.  I don't need the lifelike penis coming at me.

Then there was the Good Vibrations card that my Blogger Friend has given me.

I told my love to pick out the better harness, because that nasty one that he's using looks like it's been in a few too many rugby games, hanging to dry on the shower rod.

So, Papi goes online, and instead of looking at the harness, what does he look at?

Lifelike penes.

Lifelike.

No, I don't want lifelike.

My love went on to explain that it can do all of the above.

Ok, then it's a definite no.

My love could have the 2 out of 3, but that thing is not coming near me for sexy time.

I prefer the ones that don't look anything like the real specimen.

Besides, they're better.

That is of course from what I remember.

I did spend my time in the closet wacked out on whatever my addict brain could find to keep me obliterated, and as far away from reality as possible.

Well, after my 'hell no!' came for the 'lifelike' torpedo, it was decided that I will now use the gift certificate for something that I want.

Anyway, the whole point of this is not about that 'lifelike' penis, it was really to get to the point about the one penis that pees.

The PeeCock.

I told my love to practise.  Practise makes perfect after all.

So, my love tries, and tries, and tries to get it right, but bathroom time is full of cussing.

"Fuck!  I peed down my leg again.  Guess I'll have a shower," or, "Why does everyone say this is so easy!  It's not easy!  I'm constantly peeing down my leg!  Fuck!!  I'm pretty sure I cleaned it all up from the floor."

Yesterday's was most bizarre, however.  My love was complaining that everyone says it's easy and that the Top Surgery didn't hurt at all, and the hysterectomy will be a cake walk.

Yeah, I don't know who these people are that say it's easy, but I remember my mother being in the hospital after cancer and having her full hysterectomy.

It was not easy.

Papi will get through it, but when I'm really looking at everything that my love has to do to achieve inner peace, I find I want to support mi esposo even more.

I had so much trouble accepting all of this, but where we are now, I feel more compassion for Papi and the difficulty he must have had to get to this place.

Now looking at what lengths my love will go to, it's pretty eye opening, and I'm now at the point when people call my love female, I look at them like they're crazy.

Papi's transformation is indeed changing my mind along with my love's body.

This confirms my statement in the beginning: It's not only mi esposo who will be going through life changes, it is indeed changing my life too.

And it's not so bad anymore.

All Hail Snak Oil!

Yeah, everything always works out.

I now have in my hot little hands enough grocery money for a good 2 weeks, and Papi can now spend all his on gas, credit cards and rations for the Fuzzy Family.

I am fortunate enough to be sharing my life with a very generous person.  My love hates that I don't accept money from him without a fight.

I think I am this way because when I was young, I had a single mom who had to take care of 2 girls on her own, and I learned that handouts are embarrassing.

As an adult, I know they're not.  I know that giving to someone who is down on their luck makes us feel good.  It's not a burdon.  It feels good.

I have offers from beautiful friends for help right now, yet all I want to do is find my own way.

I am too stubborn and too independent for my own good sometimes.  I feel like I have to do everything on my own.

None-the-less, I will have enough to feed this organic eating body her treasures of nutrients to continue to repair this broken carcass!

I'll tell ya, earning my food on the shoot was so much fun.

I now know that I really need a job where I'd be allowed to take pain killers.  I felt the pain, but it didn't debilitate me like it would have if I hadn't had the option to slay that bitch with Snake Oil.

At one point, things were a bit dicey in my bitch of a back, and I took a bit too much to kill the pain, and I kinda had my own little party there on the set. 

whoops!

Damn my bass is heavy!

It's damn fucking heavy!

But that's what I bought it for.  Heavy bass with a heavy sound.

I feel like I need some kinda contraption that would just let it float while I play.

Lord knows that because of the Motorcycle Accident I won't be touring with that beast of a bass anytime soon.  I think this new body is much happier making film scores.

My mind however?  My mind was ready to jump on the bandwagon last night and sign up to a tour for country loving fans. 

just hook me up with the Snake Oil and I'll be on my way!

Anyway, I really started this rant about how life really works out.  The moment you're down to your last penny, something comes along.

I remember needing to find a home that was mould free.  This is a hard thing to find in Vancouver, because we're living in a rain forest, hence almost every home has mould.

One week before I would have been homeless and sleeping in my car again, I found the place.

Crazy isn't it?

Sometimes life is just so sweet, which is good, because it makes up for the crap we have to deal with.

As long as you can see the positive and be grateful for it, it will always come.

You see, sometimes it does come and we don't really see it.  Sometimes it's because we're so fogged up, focusing on the bad.

When I got clean and sober, I had to learn how to see the good.  If you're feeling like you have nothing good in your life, take this challenge.

Get yourself one of those Fat Little Notebooks, and every time something good happens, write it in.  By the end of the day, if you don't have 10 things to be grateful for, think again.  There's always the one we miss first.

We have good friends and family in our life.  And if you can't say that, then start searching for them.  They're out there.  I've found mine.

Look, in terms of gratitude, I'm talking about even driving to a destination with a great green light wave.

You know the one right?

You get green after green after green and you wish all those days of commuting could be so lovely.

That little moment of 'yes!' is a time to see that there are so many good things in life if you look for them.

Write them down.  I'm telling you my friends, it teaches you to learn gratitude, and send that pessimist elsewhere.

And now, I'm going to go roll in my $50s that I earned yesterday, then I'm going to take them shopping and buy some bright, gorgeous, organic green collards.

Working it!

And today?

I'm going to be a bass goddess in a country video.

I'm gonna get grocery money!

Now Papi doesn't need to give me an allowance for a couple of weeks.

phew!

It's just not nice taking all my love's hard earned cash.

And the best part?  I can take pain killers while working on the job.

Here I go!

Gratitude comes in strange packages.

Lordy when life hits ya, it hits ya good I'll tell ya.

My brain is being pushed to the limits right now.

I haven't had a penny come in for over 6 weeks now, and I don't qualify for anything.

I just called to request an advocate for People With Disabilities.

I can't fight alone anymore, and one of Papi's friends at work recommended one of the best, so we'll see how this turns out.

I don't qualify for Employment Insurance, because I'm short 20 hours.

I don't qualify for Social Assistance, because I'm living with a spouse and have assets.

which i've already put into lists of what will be sold first to get food.

I don't qualify for Long Term Disability, because I used it all up trying to get back to work.

I am slipping through the cracks of some strange system and dammit, I'm fucking scared.

When I called, I did get 2 suggestions that should help matters.

I was recommended to go to the Food Bank instead of using my credit cards for groceries.

Perfect timing, because the credit cards are maxed and I have no wiggle room there.  However, I have to admit, it feels a little humiliating.

ok murphy, don't be throwing us anything that we can't handle financially right now please.  we've got enough.

It was also recommended that I start going to a support group for people with Brain Injury, because I'm so frustrated about the fact that I can't process what to do next.

Yeah.

I'm scared.

So, at this point in time, I'm pretty fucking grateful.

I'm grateful that I don't have to deal with pain on top of it all.  I am so damn happy with the results of the Medicinal Cannabis I can't even tell you.

Yesterday was a particularly painful day, and I still managed to get shit done with the help of the new pain meds.

I'm grateful that I have Papi's male transformation to think about instead of money.

My love always gives me something to think about rather than fret over the fact that I'm now eating the reserves in my kitchen.

Take yesterday as an example.

I was sitting on the loo with one less Bathroom Buddy ... 

The World's Loudest Snorer went home ... i may just go kidnap her back ...

... and it hit me!

I'm changing my behaviour around female stuff in the house.

I'm actually feeling self-conscious about tampons hanging about the bathroom.

I don't know why, but it's actually starting to feel like a male is in the house.

I think I'm beginning to see that stranger I was so afraid to see.  I'm seeing the person I didn't know would be in my life.

You know?  The horrible vision I saw of the person that was replacing 'my butch'?

Well, Papi is not the scary monster my mind told me he would be.

I still have the person I married, but it's just different.

For example, the feeling that there is now a male in my life.

It's weird, wacky and way out there!

I can't even begin to tell you when the switch came, but there was a slow gradual creeping of it and has left me wondering a few things.

Is Papi an illusionist and that's why I'm seeing my love differently?  Or perhaps I've actually lost my mind from being on pharmaceuticals for three years?  Or maybe I'm just on some strange trip from pain killers and I don't even know it.

Ya?

No.

All that's going on here is I'm sensing a shift in the house and it's pretty fucking bizarre.

See!

I've stopped worrying about money!

How lucky am I?

But I also know that everything works out.

Everything.

I've made it this far in life and I'm not going to be left behind now.

The Rise of Dr. Scissorhands!

Sometimes, I'm curious about just what it is we do with our faces when we get our picture taken.

You know?

We take bad pics that have our face in some contorted fashion, to be captured on film forever!

We had been to a wedding, and Papi and I had a couple of pictures taken.

There were pics of so many people posted on the newlyweds web site, but none of ours made the cut.

And I know why.

Here's the reason:

Now at first glance I just look a little psychotic.

But what you really need to do is take a closer look at my face:

What the hell is that?!?!

Look at Papi all handsome and then there's me.

It looks like I've just seen another penis hanging in the bathroom.

There was a nice one as well.

I look a little more sane here.

And again, Papi looks handsome.

Upon looking at the pic, my love said, "I look more masculine now."

Mi esposo then strolled over and lifted my glasses so I could see up close, "There's more sideburns coming in!"

I favoured being in denial, "I can't see it.  It's too dark in here," I said, blaming it on the cheerless days that are heading our way for our next 6 months (or more) of our bleak West Coast weather.

Papi chose to get even closer saying, "C'mon, you have to be able to see it!'

I couldn't discount those straggles of hair by Papi's ear, "Ok, maybe."

"Yes!  That means you can!" my love said, while expressing joy with a gyrating Elvis move.

I've seen this move a few times in our relationship.

It comes when we have our plans booked for a holiday, or we acquire money we didn't know we'd be receiving, or the excitement leading up to another of my love's surgeries for the male transformation.

Recently, we were told that Papi's hysterectomy will be in November.

Yet when my love was told this, there wasn't an Elvis Gyrating session, there was only nervousness.

I can't say that I'm proclaiming a sense of allay, even though I'm feeling more durable.

Dr. Scissorhands will be taking care of removing the last of Papi's female identity; my love's uterus.

I was really messed up for the Top Surgery, and my love has asked me, "Are you going to be able to be there for me?"

Mi esposo didn't feel like I was able to be a caregiver, because I was so disturbed about the loss of Papi's breasts.

Yes, I was a disaster for The Great Breast Disappearance.

This time, I may be better, even though I thought I'd be ok for Papi's Top Surgery.

I didn't know I was fucked up until the day I was leaving on a plane to go support my love in Florida.

We'll see, I suppose.

At least I don't have to look at the carnage when this one is over and done.  There will be nothing more than an itty scar on my love's belly button and pubic hair line.

Phew!  No nipples slipping down the drain on this one!

Can I get a witness?

How does this make you feel?

I'm sure you know I'll tell you how I feel.

There are penes everywhere.

It's almost become comical!

I was about to start my evening brace face brush and floss and I found another one.

It's a little bit like Easter around here, only the eggs to find are not edible chocolatey goodies of delight.

I like my coconut chocolate balls better than the ones I'm finding strewn around our home.

Oh dear, I got going on a rant about chocolate balls when really I was meaning to talk to you about the next place I found a penis.

Right.

Back on track.

So, I was about to do my evening routine and here's what I found:

If you can't figure out which item does not belong here, then I'm sorry but I can't help you.

Yes.

A penis in my pampering shelf.

I also never really got to show you what the penis looked like that I found the other day.

Here's what I thought would go in the wash:

And here's what I found when I picked it up and realized that there was something squishy inside:

Yes, there was a surprise inside.

I've now been told by Papi that if I see a clump of towel lying around that it's best I don't pick it up.

Oh, my love, this kinda negates your argument about the lack of cleaning skills I have.

Anyway, I just thought I'd share.

I needed a witness to my mayhem of penes in the house.

If I don't go crazy first, it just may be what I need.

Maybe I need to see them everywhere so that I can be ninja girl and realize that they're not going to jump out and attack me.

I will be poised for every surprise penis I find!

Actually, she look a bit like she is holding her taco.

Oh, and by the way?

The World's Loudest Snorer has slept in the bed every night since she's been here.  We worked it out.

She gets to do what she wants and we just accept it.

It's too hard to hear her whimper and cry to be let on the bed.

Good news is though, I'm so fucking tired that I slept through her trying to push me off the bed last night.

I just woke up with a corner, and that was ok by me.

There's another girl in our bed ...

Sorry I haven't written for a few days.  We've been a bit distracted in the house.

For the past 2 nights, we've had a visitor sleeping over.

It's not The Yank, our honorary room mate.

No, this one has been sleeping in bed with Papi and I, and our king size bed no longer seems to have room.

She's a bit of a space hog and sprawls herself under the covers with us.

The first night she stayed it wasn't so bad, because Papi and The Golden were at work, so it was ok to starfish around her and find my space.

The 2nd night however, it was The World's Loudest Snorer, The Golden, Sir Bark-A-Lot and The Bastard Prince all up in the bed.

Oh, you know what I forgot mention?

Papi and I are supposed to be sleeping in that bed too.

Right.

We're all going to fit in this bed.

The Mrs. was the only intelligent animal and stayed in the living room, where she had all the space she could ask for.

As much as I had no sleep last night, The World's Loudest Snorer is a doll to have around.  I love her!

I adore her strong personality.  I also adore the drama queen posing she does for the camera.

I mean really.

This:

is the rest of the clan posing.

This:

... is The World's Loudest Snorer's posing.

You can see why I'd adore her.

I really thought by tucking her in to her own couch, with a pillow and a teddy skunk, she'd just want to stay there and live a lap of luxury.

I was wrong.

As soon as we got settled, she hopped up into the bed and started pushing Papi over to my side of the bed, until eventually, I was forced out.

She's only here for a few days and it's been so much fun having a bundle of strength as my bathroom buddy.

I will never have to fear being lonely on the loo.

Honestly, does it really look like all those animals could fit on a kingsize bed with 2 people and another cat who thinks he's a dog?

Nope.

Not to me either.

That's why right now I'm writing to you from the La-Z-Boy, and it's almost 6 a.m. and I haven't slept yet.

Of course, I'll have to edit this tomorrow after I upload pictures as well, so it will be a little neater than this disarry I'm currently staring at.

**update ... i made it through the day ... though my brain hasn't quite caught up to me ... i'll be back soon with my usual musings **


The bedroom door will be closed tonight to ensure sleep happens.

I will find my mind tomorrow.

They're everywhere!! They're everywhere!!

Fake, plastic penises.

The grammar nerd in me had to look up if the plural of penis is peni.

It's not.

It could be penises or penes.

Whichever you choose, they're everywhere.

Last night when Papi was getting ready to leave for work, I came around the corner and there it was.

A bulge in my love's boy ginch.

I averted my head quickly enough, so Papi couldn't see that I saw.

It wouldn't matter if mi esposo knew I saw, but there's some part of me that says, "Don't look!  For the love of god, if you look then it means you're ok with it!!!"

Earlier this week, a Blogger Friend has sent us a wee gift.

Well, not quite wee.  It's a $50 certificate for the online store Good Vibrations, and my love had immediately gone online and checked out our options.

I received a text from my love last night, "There's a packing thing I want and I think it is on that kinky website we have $ for.  Can I get it?  Or do you want something for both of us?  I was gonna get it from another website, but saw it there too.  You look and if you see something you really want, we can get it."

Normally, I would gladly hand over something to Papi before myself.  I love to make mi esposo happy, but this had me in a bit of a tizzy.

I felt that I need to find something fast, or there will be another Plastic Penis in the house.

I mean really!  Today, I got up and started to arrange my area for writing, and there was an open box on the ottoman with a penis inside.

I put it away for Papi, then limped ...

yeah ... the bitchy back is in a foul mood today from yesterday's strengthening ...
 
... to the kitchen to finish my blogging breakfast routine and saw a used workout towel sitting in one of the cubby holes in our shelf.

I thought I'd throw it in the wash.

However, when I picked it up, I noticed something squishy inside.

I unwrapped it and sure enough it was another Plastic Penis.

They're everywhere!

They're in my texts, in my kitchen, in the living room storage boxes and on my love.

Penes.

It reminds me of one of the nightmares that I used to have.  I don't really know why it's a nightmare, because really, I'm not the one being hurt in this reoccurring dream.  Never-the-less, it scared me.

In this dream, I'm on a boardwalk that has been turned into an art exhibit.  The exhibit is all about penes.

I would always wake up when I got to the penis wall: A glass encasing with hundreds of penes, freshly cut at the balls, and swimming in blood.

This filled wall is still etched in my mind.

I would stare at them, because they couldn't hurt me.

It was like I was mesmerized by them, almost as if I'd created the display myself and was proud of my work.

Anyway, I'm experiencing feelings that I've obviously stuffed away for a safe time to deal with them.

Then last night, I made my usual chocolate, coconut balls, and ate too many.

It's not abnormal.  The first day I make them, I gorge, right on cue.

Then the nausea set in and I jokingly wrote to Papi like I do every time, "I ate too many balls."

The joking turned into my love wanting me to eat real balls.

I couldn't speak and froze.

I wrote back, "I don't know what to say :( I don't know how to talk about this.  I'm so freaked out.  I'm so sick in this area baby.  I wish I wasn't."

I honestly feel like I'm back on that boardwalk.

Penes.

Everywhere.

And a big ol' 'Fuck You' to you too.

My braces are too tight to eat and the Brace Face is in full force this morning.

Not to mention my coffee is weak.

But hey!

My love gave me $40 allowance, because I haven't received a penny in 5 weeks.

I thought of finding out the woman's name who hit me almost 3 years ago and asking her if she could spare a little.

Today I'm not feeling very forgiving.

Papi has a ton of new 'friends' on Facebook.  The majority of the 'new' friends are transgender.

Makes sense.  People like people that they can relate to.

Well, yesterday, one of these 'new friends' posted on their status about how the partner in the relationship should keep their mouths shut about how hard it is to see their partner go through a male transformation.

This person's words were something like, "To all you people who are having a hard time with your partners transition, get over it or leave.  It's not about you, it's about the person who's transitioning."

Really, bitch?

Papi and I were pretty sure that was this weasel's response to my blog.

go ahead and hate me, i don't really give a fuck, but thank you for the page hit.

Good thing I'm in a malicious mood today, or that might've hurt my feelings.

Instead of being hurt, I'd like to say fuck you.

You're young and have absolutely no idea what it's like to find your soul mate who is the perfect butch, fall in love, marry them and then find out 4 months later that your butch is being replace with a balding, pot bellied, hairy, middle aged man.

When you're in a marriage, it's about both parties.  You don't get to be selfish and say, "It's all about me."

Well, you could do that, but you'd find out pretty quickly that your marriage is ending and you're left alone.

I'm pretty sure you must be single and bitter, and this is the reason for the pungent taste in your mouth after reading my blog.

I didn't leave my soul mate because he's changing genders.

No, I had to grieve because she was leaving.

The person I married is dying, and I'll now be married to a different body.

So, no.  It is not all about you.

In a relationship, there are 2 people.

One day, you'll grow up and find out what that means, and you can let go of your self-righteousness.

I'm grateful that I've had 10 months to work out my grieving and find strength.

Those words that you spoke are the very words I was afraid people would say when I was first hit with the bomb.

They are hurtful.

However, I'm feeling pretty fucking feisty after finding out what the root of my fear about in this transition, and I'm not hurt.

I'm fucking pissed.

You are the very people that we as partners are afraid of and the reason I started this blog in the first place.

We matter.

Others out there are having difficulty with this, and they're afraid to speak out, lest you say those acrid words and make us feel bad for having natural feelings.

Papi 'unfriended' this immature person, but there are more out there.

We find this defensive attitude everywhere.

How about you remember that we're all in this together?

And again, fuck you.

Death Sentence.

My brain is swimming here and there.

I just received the phone call to get on the waiting list for therapy via VISAC.

I realized through talking that I'm really ok, but damn, I got stuff to deal with.

When I think too much, that's when my brain flails.

It's because the woman on the phone had a list of questions to ask before I could be put on this list.

It occurred to me that I had just given a verbal résumé of my mental health.

We went from childhood trauma, to anorexia, to suicide and that's when I realized that my life is so damn good.  Nothing can take away the work that I've done to get as strong and happy as I am now.

One of the questions was about past counseling and I was able to confidently say, "I am in a good place.  I had issues to deal with that I thought were over, but having been in counseling since I was young, I have tools to work with.  I just know that I've been triggered and I need more attention on this topic than I thought."

We spoke about what triggered it, and it was too damn clear.  I let her know that by having a spouse go through male transformation, I'm forced with having a male being in the house.

Even right now, my gentle heart pounds.

But it is ok.

I am safe.

I am strong.

And now I have to wait 6 months before anyone can see me.

This program is only for adult survivors.  Here in Vancouver, there are that many adults that have been abused, that we have to wait that long.

Never mind the poor little souls who are being abused right now and must be given counseling at a young age, or, later when they finally realize they're strong enough to deal with it.

It's sickening to think that there are this many victims and this many assailants.

What the fuck is the matter with people!?!?!

I know this is going to spark a massive blast from the Hen Peckers, but I'm all for pedophiles and rapists being put down.

We put down dogs, raccoons, bears, tigers etc. when they attack us.  Our system thinks it's safer for us because these 'animals' will attack again.

Well, what about the walking abscess that we call sexual offenders?!

These muther fuckers go into jail for a few years, then bide their time until they can get out and re-offend.

They run to the hills ignoring their probation, and find the nearest person that tickles their fancy.

Then we have to hear about it in the news.  Then we have to be warned that another is being let out and we must keep an eye out for the predator, because they are at 'high risk to re-offend.

WTF?!?!?!?!?

These people are rabid and could NEVER be rehabilitated, unless they get a fucking lobotomy.

whoa.  if my heart wasn't pounding before, it surely is now ...

Get rid of them.

When people stop acting 'civil', why the fuck should they ever be granted 'civil rights'?

I'm all for the vigilante who has a vendetta and gets rid of these bastards for us.

Lord knows it's the only way these pussballs of mucus could ever be stopped.

And now, I must go calm myself down, and wait 6 months.

6 muther fucking months to deal with this fucking issue that I have already spent years of my life dealing with.

All because of the offender.

Fuck you, and if I ever figure out which one of you did this to me, you should be wary of your own safety.

end rant.

Bring it on already!

Papi was going on line to a forum or some other social site and asked me, "So, now what am I?  I don't wanna say straight, because you're not straight and it would imply that."

i'm back to losing my identity.

My love said he needs a t-shirt that says, "My wife is a lesbian."

People would just look at it and think it's funny.

They wouldn't think it's serious when they see two 'straight' people walking down the street.

The other day when I had my, "Are you gay?!?!" freakout, it is really what I was getting at.

Now that my love is changing gender, both of our identities will change.

Not internally, but from the outside world's judgement.

Papi just finally ended up saying, "Well, i'm not straight because you aren't either, and I'm bi-curious because I'm attracted to F-Ms, but I'm not gay either."

Finally my love came up with, "I'm Gender Queer."

Sounds good to me, but no matter what we feel on the inside, the world will label us to fit into a perfect little box so that they have a way to identify us.

That's the part I hate.

I was terrified of coming out of the closet, and what people ...

... family ...

... would think of me.

When I finally found the support I needed to help me come out in a safe place filled with love, I took the plunge.

I was proud, because the people around me made me feel that I was loved, no matter whom I loved.

Well, looking back, I see that pained young lady who was stuck in a closet with her 'secrets', and I never wanted to visit there agin.

I suppose it's why I'm so adverse to having people think I'm straight.

A lot of people who stay in their closets will never know the freedom they could have when they are finally able to love whom they want to.

I guess some people just deal with it best they can, and stay put in their misery.

I can't do that.

But now, it's like I'm being forced back into that place.

It's fucking amazing how my love's male transformation has inflicted me with old Ghosts and Demons.  It's crazy that I am now obligated to look at the pain I had at a younger age, and finally deal with it.

You know, that old saying is so damn true.

If you don't work it out when you should, it will come back and bite you in the ass.

My ass is feeling rather raw right now.

Those teeth are having a feast back there.

I really have to look at why I'm so afraid of being seen as straight.

I honestly can't put my finger on it yet, but judging from how Ghosts and Demons have reared their ugly, skanky, pussing heads, I'll be finding out soon.

Everything in life happens for a reason.

Everything.

We can look at all the affliction we've dealt with in our lives and see how it worked out.  It makes us stronger.  It teaches us lessons of life.

it prepares us to deal with harder moments ... they never seem to stop coming ...

Well, just like how my body being in 'near perfect' strength saved my life in my motorcycle accident, my moments in life that were so difficult bred backbone to deal with life's curve ball now.

It always works out.

So let's just bring it on and get it over with, shall we?

Goggles of Denial

I've never like glasses so much as I do now.

They're hindering my vision for anything up close, because of some physiological decaying, that is a gauge of age.

Yeah.

I'm en route to 'old' I guess.

don't tell anyone, k?

Well, anyway, I have to take my glasses off to see up close.

Papi goes on about 'this hair' growing and 'that hair' growing and I just don't see them.

My love parades around with these fledgling spurts of teenage maturing feelers that are sprouting out all over the place.

I hear, "Do you see my sideburns?" or better yet, "Do you see my chesthair?!"

no ... as long as i keep my glasses on, i don't.

However, my love is hip to my trick and told me to take off my glasses so that I can see it.

I begrudgingly did it, and sure enough, there they were: 5 or 6 dark course hairs on my love's chest, and little bristles of stubble directly beside Papi's ear. 

Yes.  Here it comes.

So, we were at a beach the other day, and Papi blurts out, "Should I grow my armpit hair?"

This question came about because of the men that were obviously having their very own pageant of: 'Who's the Hairiest in the Sand?'

There was hair everywhere!!

Back, armpit, chest, facial, leg and even this line of hair down the middle of their stomachs!

Mi esposo is realizing that men don't shave that shit off.

So, now to become integrated into the male world, there must be hair.

HAIR!!!!!!!!!

I have to admit, I'm not the best at my upkeep for my lady bits to look perfect every day.

Nor my armpits.

I'm pretty low maintenance, and it's good.  I couldn't imagine primping and prodding myself to perfection like I did when I was a teen.

Back then, it was like I lived in the bathroom trying to get the perfect eyeliner curve on my lid.

But I digress.  That's a whole other blog about ego.

Papi looked at the guys on the beach and said, "He has a nice amount of chest hair," in an effort to show me that this is what my love wants.

"No.  He doesn't.  If you get hairy like that I'll be waxing you in your sleep."

It was then that I realized how bloody bizarre this whole thing is.

I have a prepubescent for a spouse.

Most 'men' have their hair in place before they meet 'the one'.  This guarantees that the other half of the relationship knows what their getting.

I don't know what I'm getting when it comes to the hair.

As an adult with an adult spouse who's going through teenage puberty, it's fucking comical!

This is seriously the weirdest thing I could ever imagine happening in someone's life.

Now that I'm able to actually speak to my love about things ...

well ... if i'm being honest, it's really listening to papi ... then rolling my eyes because it was too much information that i'm not ready to hear ...

... it seems like the strangest conversations.

These dudes on the beach have finished their maturing, and I suppose that some women may like the hair, but dammit, I don't.

Really.

So, in answer to the armpit hair question, I'm the wrong one to ask.

Yet, I'm always the one to hear these questions.

Man hair.

It has completed it's journey reaching my love's groin and is now continuing it's trek to higher elevations.

I think I'll keep my goggles of denial on until I'm ready for the fuzz.

On the Upswing.

It's amazing how the moment we speak about 'secrets', they begin to lose their power.

I believed that nobody would think my 'secrets' were something to be affected by.

As a young teenager, I went to my mother for help with my emotions, and was told, "You've got nothing to cry about."

I replied with, "Well, the counselor told me I do have something to cry about," and I proceeded to tell my mom I'd been abused.

The reaction I got from my mom was very difficult, "Was it dad?" she asked.

As far as my memory was concerned at that point, I could only shake my head 'no', because it wasn't the memory I was talking about.

However, hearing your mother jump straight to assuming it was my father has left me with questions to this day.

did he?

Anyway, it's all related; the reason I went off the edge over papi's male transformation.

I know I was looking for something to explain why I reacted so bad.  I know it's not normal to become catatonic for 6 weeks in a La-Z-Boy when your spouse tells you they're going to go through gender transformation.

Well, I get it now, and it really has lost it's power.

I've connected the dots.

I now realize why I slipped into the Pit of Doom when the bomb was dropped.  It was a familiar place of fear, same furniture, and the silence was the same reaction.

It was somewhere I would frequent, until I figured out how to work with the pain and stay out of the Pit.

Now that I'm out, I realize there is another layer to work on, however I can see that it really can't hurt me this time.

I've learned too much from life to allow it to win.

Yeah ... I needed to really look at my 'secrets'.

I also needed to 'check out' in my every day life for a few days.

Papi and I took a little drive down to the U.S. to visit the Yank for her birthday.

During our drive back, it really kicked in that there were dots to connect.

I felt the fear of my 'secrets' dissipate when I spoke about them to Papi.

I didn't ever want to admit my 'secrets', because I couldn't handle another person saying, "That's nothing to cry about."

Papi didn't even come close to laughing at my story.

Instead my love wanted to find one of the fuckers that created my pain and have a 'word' with them, "No, that's something to be upset about."

I had confirmation that I'm not just wallowing for no reason.

I don't know where it comes from, that as the victim in assault, we tend to negate our own feelings and pass them off as 'no biggy'.

We downplay.

We decide not to press charges.

We don't want to talk about it, because someone may laugh and tell us we're being ridiculous.

We all do it, but why?

Now that I have strength from my love telling me that it was a big deal, I'm feeling that I can overcome it.  My fighter instinct has risen once more.

It's going to be work, it always is, but all I need is support.  It was all I needed to get moving to the next level of healing.

I was able to hold Papi close, give loving kisses on his cheek and say, "I love you soooo much," without any exceptions.

Bring it on bitches.

There is no way it's going to keep me having adverse feelings about my love's male transformation.

Indeed, if I believe mi esposo has such a massive, understanding heart that they would make an exception to his line of work, then damn!  I should feel very fortunate that I too get to experience my healing of this 'male' figure as a good teacher.

I didn't marry any of my offenders, and that's all I need to remember.

Night Terrors

When I was little I had anxiety, but I didn't recognize it.

I was too young to know that it wasn't a 'normal' feeling, and it was my 'norm' for the majority of my life.

My family would joke that I could never be a hippy because I was too stressed out all the time.  My mother would tell me not to worry so much or I'll get an ulcer.

I really had no idea what they were talking about.

That is of course, until I found out what it's like to feel peace.

It is my only mission in life: peace and happiness.

Armed with dietary restrictions, I found my first phase of happiness.  Food allergies played a big part in my chemical imbalance.

Next I went to St. John's Wort, cut out all my caffeine and began an exercise regimen that went very well with getting clean and sober.

Life started falling into place, and the last piece of the puzzle was getting on anti-depressants.

I became less and less anxious, until my motorcycle accident.  That was when P.T.S.D. sank in, and for the first time I recognized that I had anxiety attacks when I was a kid.

I would lie in bed, unable to move a muscle, except for my eyes.

I envisioned wolves, sharks and only the heads of beings circling the floor of my bed, as they pulled my hair taught, so I couldn't move my head.

Trapped.

Frozen.

I would be driven over by snow groomers from the ski hill.

Ghosts would pile mattress upon mattress on to my body, expunging all the air from my lungs.

I couldn't breathe.

I felt my hands and feet swell to the point where they felt full of helium, until they really weren't part of my body.

Numb, petrified and fixed to one place.

I would see family members sitting by my side saying, "Don't worry, it will all be over soon," yet none of them would help me.

They would only watch as I was torn and heavy objects were forced upon me.

Fast forward to my ghosts reappearing in modern day.

The anxiety level that I'm living with right now is almost too much to bear.

I have to say, my new found Medicinal Cannabis is helping me keep calm when I use it.

Only thing is, I'm using it properly, which is only when I need it for physical pain.

If I was to start using it for emotion pain, you'd be seeing me revisit those anonymous rooms for addicts again.

I mean really, it was the emotional pain that I was running from when I started using drugs and alcohol as a very young teenager.

It would make me forget all the secrets I have, and I could laugh with people.  I could speak to strangers.

i would be taken advantage of ... too many times ... against my will ... the feeling of mattresses piling on me so i couldn't breathe ...

None-the-less, here I am.

I'm experiencing the same fear I did when I was a child, only this time, that familiar feeling is a tad bit easier for me to handle.

"Feel the fear and do it anyway." by Susan Jeffers

I've never read this book.  All that I've ever known was the title and I've lived by it for many years.

I am definitely feeling.

I am definitely in fear.

I am definitely wanting these ghosts to leave for good this time.

That sweet innocent girl needs to be as carefree as the photo I still keep in my mind.  Her favourite red and white paneled, floor length skirt, with halter top to match.

Beautiful long blonde hair that attracted the predators, because she looked like a little doll.

She needs to be as innocent as she is in that picture, standing under the strength of a walnut tree, blowing bubbles.  She mindlessly watched them float in the air with peace, free from fear.

She deserves the same freedom, and I think it's time to make it happen.

No more running.

One of the questions from my award yesterday was, "If given the chance, which one would you choose: Your life now, or past?"

My answer was, "I definitely choose my life now.  My past is what I run from."

It was the first thought that came into my mind.  The next thought was a memory of being in self-defense.

When I went through a course to learn how to not be pegged as a victim by offenders, I gained some great tools to keep myself safe.

One was to walk like a boy.  Offenders don't look for that in a victim.  They search for a meek soul that they can overpower.

Yet, one of the most important weapons was to stand tall against your attacker, and make yourself heard as you scream, "I don't know this person!  I need help,"(or some variation of the two) while your adrenalin is pumping so fast, that you kick and scratch, surprising even yourself!

You could probably blurt out something else, and it wouldn't even matter.

The point is, these pussing bags of scum can't handle it when you voice your distress and they usually take off, looking for someone more passive and timid.

I realized yesterday, after writing that I run from my past, that the time has come to scream back in it's face.

My own offender of Ghosts can't hurt me if I choose to face it head on.

However, it doesn't take away the feeling that is human nature.

shaking ... heart pounding ... tears fall today ...

This morning, I woke with endorphins rushing through my blood, as my first thought of the day was of the sweet teenager who hid under the kitchen table whispering to the kids' crisis line.

I needed to speak to someone about the fact that I was attracted to girls.

I was a drug ridden, suicidal young girl who believed that to be a lesbian was (very vocally) viewed as 'disgusting' to my family of religious zealots.

I was called disgusting a few times.

Not because they knew I was gay, but because I kept myself completely obliterated to deal with my 'secret'.

"You're disgusting.  You're no better than your father."

I hid under that kitchen table, confiding in the ear of a stranger.  I cried as I admitted this shameful, covert information.

Then it hit me: Could I trust them? They would have my phone number!

They would trace it back to where I live and tell my hopeless, single mother that was stuck with two kids, just how 'disgusting' I really was.

I hung up the phone as fast as I could, remembering from T.V. shows, that tracing takes a few minutes of talking before they could find you.

Maybe I got off the phone fast enough?!?!

I shrunk under that table, as if it was a refuge from my very own earthquake.

I repressed it even more.

I kept it down by refusing to open my mouth, even to food.  If I could fade away, along with those numbers on the scale, then I wouldn't have to try (and fail) to kill myself again.

just ... disappear.

Every day I would write my weight on the top of my diary page and think to myself, "Just 5 more pounds and I'll pass away."

shrinking, shrinking, falling away with the weight ...

One night, I was willing my heart to stop.

It felt like it did.

I was scared that I actually could die, and finally went back for some help.

Well, this is just one of the memories that I have felt the need to run from.

No more.

It's time to take care of that sweet teenager who never got to bask in the light.  She was a pretty young girl who would walk with her head down, hiding the world like blinders on a horse.

if you just ignore it, it will go away ...

I think I can see now that it never really goes away, so now I need to face it, like Momma Bear. 

fake it till you make it ...

This is where I heal.

i wanted to let you know that i've received another beautiful award from another wonderful Blogger Friend of mine ... it's here in my awards page :)

I can't let go of the fact that Papi went ahead and started hormones and the male transformation without discussion first.

It's been almost 10 months, and the feeling of my love taking the plunge, with me following in his wake, won't leave.

So much so, that the moment mi esposo starts speaking about 'other' options as an F-M, I panic, thinking it's not just discussion.  It's my love telling me he's moving on to another surgery.

I have shell shock.

Papi is like a bull in a china shop, destroying everything in his wake so that he may get to what he wants.

I try so hard to keep up. 

It feels like the moment I begin to breathe easy, there's another bomb to be let off.

Today, my love started speaking about a surgery similar to phalloplasty.  "The thing is I would like to penetrate you.  You wouldn't like that?  I just thought we could talk about it.  It's what couples do."

I could barely make a sound, but I was able to peep out, "Your idea of talking, is you talk about it, then you do it."

"I haven't looked into doing it and I don't have plans for at least 5 years.  Don't start crying and getting stressed out.  I understand that with the hormones I didn't have a conversation about it and I just did it.  I'm not going to just do this.  I want you to know that, but I just wanted to show you the options and discuss it because I don't have anyone to talk about it with.  I don't want the big penis.   This is different!  It's not phaloplasty it's just a lengthening of the clitoris."

so ... what you're saying is you'd like the 5 foot clitoris to be made a reality?

"It feels so much like ... "

"Like what, sweety?"

I just couldn't speak.  I could only stare forward.

memories ... horrid feelings brought up by ghosts ... don't speak ... if you ignore it, it will just go away ... memories ... nightmares ... they fog my vision ...

Papi was concerned that I went off to never-never-land.  "I just wanted to talk.  We'll discuss it together, and if it's going to disgust you, then I'm not about to do it, because I want be able to have still have sex.  It's just that there's a different option.  We don't even have the money, so I'm not going to spring it upon you and do it."

My love tried a different angle to get me to speak and not stare off at ghosts, "I am pretty happy that I have facial hair and no breasts.  I don't want you to get upset about it, but shouldn't couples talk about these things?"

"I feel like every time I begin to relax, you spring more on me and I'm just not ready to move forward.  I just want to get my head around what I've already accepted."

"There's nothing to spring on you, it's an option and I won't do it unless we decide together that it's all right.  I'm not even sure how much it would hurt, it's just that you can pee standing up.  I can perfect the Pee-cock until I can get better.  I just have to practise because I don't want to piss on myself again."

Papi could see I still have troubles trusting that he isn't going to run off and do it.  "Well, you always knew I wanted the top surgery, but the hormones I did spring on you.  The hormone thing wasn't very good of me.  I regret that whole situation and should've brought you into counseling.  I'm not saying I'm doing it I just want to discuss it it.  I won't bring it up again."

Now I felt bad, so I timidly squeaked out a few words.  "When we discuss things, they immediately happen, and I don't have any say."

"You can you have a say.  I'm not married to the the decision."

"But if you were wanting it, you'd just do it.  I don't have a say in anything with this transformation."

"If I'm thinking something, I should be able to tell you.  Don't you think that is right?  If you're thinking something you should tell me.  I'm not just going to go do it.  I promise you that.  I'm telling you I'm happy right now and I want you to believe me."

"It's hard."

"I know, but can yo please just trust me?  I do know that getting a penis would be a deal breaker for you."

My love then took the initiative to call the hotline for adult survivors of sexual abuse to start the ball rolling for my healing.

Papi asked me if I have to write about everything in my blog when it comes to our discussions.  Mi esposo would like it if we could just have a conversation without me writing about it.

Sorry Papi.

This is where I heal.

This is where I'm heard, and can speak.

This is safety for me when I'm feeling there is none, and right now, I'm scared.

Gender neutral pronouns please!!!!

I had a day without pain killers yesterday.

Those are some beautiful days when that happens.  I've had 2 in the past week and a half.  I hope this ball keeps rolling!

Papi and I went and sat on the beach.  Same beach we went to for The One Year Wedding Anniversary Extravaganza.

It was difficult for Papi to not take off his top.

When there were breasts there, Papi would always expose them.  I'd cringe because people ...

... creeps ...

... would stare and even sometimes take pictures.

Then there were the mothers who thought that seeing breasts would scar their children, even though that same child suckled her very own bosom.  It was thought of as a beautiful act when that mother could feed her child directly from her body.  How can they see them as offensive?

Anyway, now my love has two massive scars that spread straight across his chest and for the average straight person to see those, they'd probably just wonder if it was cancer.

There was something I read about these scars and that they shouldn't be in the sun.  I'm not sure, but I think it was my Blogger Friend, Vee who told me this information.

i'm too lazy to go find it ...

So, I've been telling my love, "I read it!  If you expose your scars to the sun it will take longer to heal, or not heal as well.  I don't know which one, but just keep them out of the sun!"

Papi has listened to me, but it was very difficult for my love to remain with a shirt on.

My love would sit and stare at men who were just walking around without tops and be envious.

I would sit and stare at the girls who got to move around and play frisbee with a flick of their wrist, or pummel a volleyball.

I, too, was with envy, as I just sit and watch now.

I also compare female bodies to my own.  This is not a healthy thing to do when you have an eating disorder.  It could bring disaster.

I stopped myself and told myself the same thing I have to every time I hear the demon whisper in my ear, "I'm not her.  I am me.  I am healthy."

Afterward, when the self inflicting pain stopped, we went to visit a friend who is having pain of her own.

She's a lovely soul who has gotten herself into a bit of trouble with addiction.

It was really hard to listen to her ask Papi all the curious questions.

My love would just answer with frankness, as if they were talking about a hair regime.

I would fall silent.

I'm sure that if my love were only a friend to me, I'd be just as easy going with it as well, but I'm not.

None-the-less, it was still difficult to hear these questions being answered in a lackadaisical manner.

It's interesting to see how some people see my love as a male and some see a female.

It makes Papi wince when people say, "She," and this friend did quite often.

The strangest phenomenon is happening to me though.  It's also making me feel odd when people say it as well.

Then there's the other day when I realized I wasn't thinking of people as any gender what-so-ever.  I've really stopped using pronouns in every day life, not just with Papi.

I suppose my mind is a pendulum and I'm just swinging to the other side to help myself get past this pronoun thing.

Someone, somewhere, has got to come up with a new pronoun that is gender neutral.

That way, everyone could just be a human, instead of placing a description of their gender.

I would breathe easy if that happens.

Dream on ...

Shaking in my boots ...

It's hard to see what someone else is experiencing if you haven't been there already.

My love wanted me to read more of the myths and transgender information.  Papi asked, "Do you want to look at them some more and see if there's anymore questions you have?"

I'd really had enough when I thought my love was trying to hint that he was gay.

"No, not right now.  Maybe another day, but not right now."

I have enough to chew on at the moment.

My heart is trying to deal with the fact that I need to revisit old demons.

I never would have thought this would come up.  I've already done so much work around it.

None-the-less, my love just can't understand that when there was phony penises before, they didn't bother me.  Now that they're attached to a person who's giving of an air of male-bodied-ness, it is a different story all together.

Papi could never really see why I am triggered by this.  Mi esposo is one of the lucky people in this world who hasn't suffered the trauma of another person's offense.

However, it's not much different than me not understanding being transgender.  I could never really get it.

I am learning though.

We were discussing how I don't really know much about the process.  For example, I didn't know that the whole process takes 5 years to complete.

I really thought that there would be a new person in my bed in a heartbeat.

It's slow enough that I can work out the changes one by one.  They affect me, and I need to deal with them, but so far I've gotten through.

Then my love told me, "The most ignorant thing you've really thought was that transgender people are a third gender."

I just couldn't get past this thinking.

I suppose I really am a black or white person.

Male.

Female.

Third gender.

It's the only way I could process it, but it's not true.

Every person is not a cookie cutter of the next.  There's no way to generalize with every person.

However, I am now seeing why I've had an aversion to being in a relationship with an F-M.

The whole male thing really gets to me.  Being in the closet for so long has taken it's toll on me.

If I wanted companionship, then I'd have to appease my homophobic, religious family.

I had to date males.

It was very difficult and I spent those years obliterating my mind with drugs and alcohol just to deal with the fact that I didn't really want to be with male beings.

When I finally decided to come out of the closet, I thought I was home free and never had to deal with a male being in my bed ever again.

Here I am.

I get it now.

I understand why I am closed minded to the transgender world.

I need to feel safe, and the only person who could help me get through this phase is Papi.

I wouldn't have been able to get there with anyone else.

My love has made me promise that I will work on this to get past it.  Mi esposo wants me well, and in turn wants our relationship to be well also.

Of course, I would do anything for Papi.

That includes working with my ghosts so that I may have a relationship without fear.

It makes me shake.

Detachable Penises.

My friends are people who will tell me to my face if there's something on their mind, and I love them for that.

One person has caught up to my life and feels very defensive for me.  She still loves Papi, but she is thinking the same way I used to when the transgender bomb was dropped.

Every word that came out of her mouth were the exact words I felt in the beginning.  It is strictly one sided thinking that I can now recognize, by looking back at where I was 9 months ago.

She helped me realize how far I've come.  I have changed those thoughts and would like for her to see another side as well.

It actually blew me away when I saw my mirror image and didn't like what was in front of me.  Her defensiveness for me made me defensive of my love.

I remember thinking, all those tumultuous months ago, that I would need to defend Papi at some point down the road.  However, I knew I couldn't do that until I had enough strength to defend myself first.

Looks like I found that place.

In that same day, another friend made me really realize another side of a story.

It was about how protective I was of my love when the Hen Peckers went on to a forum and discussed what mi esposo should do in his life.

Not really any of their business, but none-the-less, I was hopping mad that they could discuss how they think someone should live a life that doesn't belong to them.

She said she just wanted to play devil's advocate.

What she did was open my mind a little more to where some other people may be coming from.

Her perspective was; if they grandfather in Papi to allow a trans-man to work there, then it must open the door to others, not just one person.

If they open the door to trans-men, then they can't close the door on bio-men.

If they open the door to bio-men, this 'safe house' may not feel safe for the women who have suffered from the violent hand of a male predator.

I thought about this in terms of my own survival.

Papi says he's never met someone who is such a man hater as myself.

In my defense, I'm not a 'man hater'.  I'm a 'creep hater', and not all men fall into this category, just as there's women who do.

In the same way an offender can smell a victim, I can smell an offender, and my instincts are usually right.

In this way, I trust my senses, and I follow their feelings.  No different than a dog that can smell someone with ill will and their hackles will stand on end.

Oh, trust me.  Mine do as well.

I have many male friends that are so much sweeter than any woman could ever be.  There are beautiful bio-male people out there.

Which brings me to the third opinion that opened my eyes again yesterday.

My love and I were taking care of a friend who was a little ill yesterday, and we stayed with her until the partner came home.

Papi asked her, "Do you think I should leave my job?" from a place of true curiosity from someone whom we admire for their honesty.

Her opinion was that Papi's boss really thinks it's for the better of the women that my love stay at the house, because they don't see my love as any one gender.  They see Papi.  They see a good person who is there to brighten the day of a world where there is so much darkness.

Then she went a little further.

We discussed how there are some amazingly beautiful men out there who would be a good person to have in such houses, as it would be a great place for them to really learn that not all men are offenders out to break their spirit.

Earlier, she thought of a way for me to heal from my ghosts.  She suggested that I come by and make penises.

yup. you read that right.

Her and her partner make silicone penises for trans people, and for those female bodies who feel it's hot to pack.  She recommended that I get to know them while they're not attached to a person.

If I make one from a place that won't bring me fear, I could possibly see that they're not attached to an offender.

So.

Looks like I'm going to be making some detachable penises.

What a world I live in.