The Last Piece of the Puzzle.

2 more days until Papi changes again.

I get stomach flips and heart flutters.

I'm so lucky that I have friends out in bum-fuck-nowhere who will be keeping me company and keeping me distracted.

sorry if i've offended thee with my opinions of drunks, zealots 'n pedophiles out in your area ... i'm sure your area is lovely in your world ...

My love is no longer having panic attacks from the fear.  A little Clonazepam and medicinal cannabis has Papi in a very relaxed state.

I'm not used to it.  Normally Papi is a 'Frantic Go-Getter', as one of his clients puts it.

The only thing I am not appreciating is my love's talk of death.  "Well, what if I die on the operating table?!  Then you'll need to know stuff and I have to have everything in order!"

This is the part that I hate the most.

No matter how many times I ask, "Why are you talking like this?!" I get the same reaction.

In some ways, I just want Dr. Scissorhands to get in there and get out so I don't have to hear anymore doomsday talk.

papi, i swear to your god, if you die, i will kill you ...

People have hysterectomies all the time, so this one will be just another routine surgery and it will all be ok.

It will all be ok, because everything works out.  All the time.  Every single thing.

If Papi were to leave this planet, I have a La-Z-Boy that I'll just dwell in and the Fuzzy Family can just fend for themselves.

I'm sure the last one to be standing will be Sir Bark-A-Lot.

Mind you, The Bastard Prince can get up into cupboards where there are other treasures to find for food.

The Golden would probably peter out.  He's not too good at being bad and finding food on his own.  So, The Mrs. will feast on The Golden.

G'ma and Psycho Kitty will be fine upstairs.  Psycho Kitty will just eat G'ma.

See!  It will all work out just fine.

I will reside in the Pit of Doom in my La-Z-Boy.  I've been catatonic before.  I'm a pro.

What I've done recently is completely distract myself so that I don't even have to think about all this.

You know how it is, right?  I'm so good at denial.

Last night, my sister asked me if I'm nervous about my Discovery for the motorcycle accident coming up this month.

I had to remind her that because of the brain injury, I don't remember very well, and that I'd forgotten about it, so there's no point in worrying.

However, ever since she asked that, I've remembered.

argh that sucks ... my denial has been stripped!!

Mind you, I'm probably not worried, because I have nothing to hide.

It's pretty cut and dry.  I got hit on my motorcycle, flew 15 feet through the air after tumbling over the hood of her car, and landed on my head.

There's nothing really to discuss.  I deserve to be taken care of by my insurance, which is why we pay through the nose every year.

Oh right!

Back to the denial about the surgery!

I can officially say, I'm out of denial about it.

2 more days.

All I can say is, I'm happy it's the last piece of the puzzle that we have to go through to making my spouse the person he's always felt like inside.

There will be no death.  There will be healing with 'droopy face' from all the pain meds.

It's my turn to giggle at Papi for being zonked out on pain killers.

Drool away Papi.  Your friends who believe in their higher power are all praying for you.

I'm just going to sit with the energy of 'everything always works out'.

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.

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.

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!

Ghosts ... they're pretty scary.

"C'mere, open up."

It was meant to create a laugh, and I do laugh when I'm scared.

Ghosts.

They come back.  Every once in a while they get a heap full of advanced life support.

and hoooo ... it's a nasty visit this time round.

There are foods I won't eat because they make me gag.

bananas.  milk.  yogurt.

It also happens when I brush my teeth.

My body remembers physically what my denial won't allow me to think about.

I only have memories of the inflicted violations that I can handle.  Yet still, my ghosts make sure I know there is something I haven't seen.

Heart pounding, I finally opened up to Papi about my past.

Tears fell.

Frantically, I shared honestly about why there's some foods I can't eat and why my gag reflexes are so sensitive that when anything/anyone comes near my mouth, I salivate.  My mouth is making an effort to be a self cleaning oven.

or why i think my mouth won't open enough to even fit food in ...

Malevolence.  Malignity.  Malice.

Their need for power has slain so many of our spirits.

I just never thought I would have to look at my ghosts again.

They hover, just waiting for the right time to become translucent, then opaque. Today they're pretty solid and I'm scared.

My love resurrected the packing penises.  They make his transgender body feel more complete in it's surroundings.

Papi came at me in a moment of Tranny Terrorism.  His phallic weapon was poised to maim, and I laughed.

I gave in to fright.

My love didn't know that I had more issues to work on, because I didn't know myself, until today.

I had accepted the packing before the bomb dropped.  I thought, "If that's what someone needs to do to feel good, then they should do it.  Isn't hurting anybody."

I felt this sense of acceptance as to who my love is. 

and i didn't see papi was trans? that should be a pretty clear sign that my soon to be spouse was transgender. i'm pretty sure if they could bottle my depth of denial, it could be used as a bio-weapon ...

Since the procedure started, there hasn't been a need for my love to employ his silicone right hand man.

Until yesterday.

It may not have affected me before, because I was in denial about Papi ever going any further in the male process.

Now it's attached to a transgender male body.

everything happens for a reason ... it echoes ... we are where we're supposed to be, even in fear.

I am attracted to masculine women, because honestly, they have the best of both worlds; strong sense of dyke energy that allows me to be vulnerable enough to let down my guard.

Soft stoutness that exudes peacefulness, and it will always keep me safe.

Here I am.

The person I trust more than anyone in the world is taking away my safety net.

I trust that this is where I am supposed to be right now, in the same way I understand why mi esposo trusted me to be the one not to leave because of a changing exterior.

Papi knew I would stay, because of who is on the inside.

It's meant to heal me, in the same way that I am like a muscle; torn for strength.

I suppose it's time to deal with ghosts.

They're pretty scary.

Is 'selfish' one of the 5 stages of grieving?

Soooooo ...

I'm still screwed.

Not that it's really anything out of the ordinary in my world of re-occurring back injury flare ups, but the timing on this one really couldn't be worse.

Remember I was talking about the Gender Odyssey and how they actually accepted me for a subsidy?

Well, there's not a hope in hell that in 48 hours I'll be strong enough to handle a 3 hour drive to Seattle.

Hence, I've missed the Pride Parade, missed being in Dykes on Bikes, and now I'm going to miss going with My Person to Gender Odyssey, even though I've already paid my subsidized entry.

permission to have a temper tantrum now, please?!

What's interesting to me however, is the fact that I was really looking forward to going.

yes. you read that right. i was looking forward to going.

It's a strange phenomenon, because never in my life have I even stopped to consider much about the third gender.  I've been burrowed in my bubble, never thinking that for a second that I may need to take the time to think about the topic.

Really!

I mean, if I'm not going to date an F-M, because it's not what I'm attracted to, why would I need to grow and learn around this?

ahhh ... the irony

No.

I'm just going to date someone of the third gender, be in denial about it for a couple of years, marry them, then 4 months later, sit in a La-Z-Boy for 6 weeks straight sobbing because my soul mate dropped the transgender, male transformation bomb.

So, when I think about the fact that I was looking forward to going, it shocks me.

Now I do want to learn more about my core issues, so that my mind will open further, and there will be acceptance and love around this topic.

this also means I have to learn to love the hairy legs that have popped up on mi esposo.

I actually am grateful to Papi having thrown me into the pit of doom on this one.

There is nobody else in this world that I could love this much, and stay with throughout this.

So in turn, I'm forced to find a place within my heart where this male transformation can fit, and I can be more of a loving person, instead of fighting this every step of the way.

I feel horrible when my love has problems with injections and I'm not there emotionally to help.

Oh, I'm around, but I'll be in the other room, trying to pretend it isn't happening.

if you ignore it, it will go away ... wait ... i've been trying that for almost 9 months now ... how come it hasn't worked yet?!?!?

The other day, my love asked with sincerity, "Honey, if I'm having trouble with my injections, do you think you're able to help me now?"

I wanted to say, "No," like I have from the beginning, but this is my love!

I stopped the bratty teenager from blurting out her negativity and took a look at mi esposo.  I saw the pleading look in Papi's eyes.

I can't keep hanging this sweet soul out to do everything without any support, so I said, "Yes, I can sweety."

This is the person who has been my care-giver since the accident and does everything for me when I need support.

How could I ever not help mi esposo?

How selfish can I be?!

Yes, it's hard, but damn!  It's time to get off the pity pot and start being there for Papi.  If I'm sticking around to see this love through to the end, then I should act like it.

I guess that's why I was excited to go to Gender Odyssey.  It was to be fresh steps into the rabbit hole of my own mania.

I want to learn more about myself and my clandestine contention around all this.  I really want to be of support and giving of love.

I have to remember that if it were reversed, Papi would drop everything to help me.

Papi's Dog House

She said, "Your eye prescription has changed, but not by that much.  If we change the prescription on your glasses and contacts, then you won't have the proper near vision.  You won't even be able to see your phone apps."

So, my Dr. and I left it at that and I took her suggestion to remove my glasses when I want to read or see things up close.

This will pose a bit of trouble when I have my contact lens in ...

which is almost always ...

... but I'll just deal.

because we must suffer for our pretty femme-ness

Later today, Papi came up to me and with a perturbed attitude said, "I can't believe you can't see the hair on my sideburns!  You have to be lying!"

Then I did as my optometrist suggested and removed my glasses to get an up close look.

"Ah.  Ok.  Now I see them."

There they were.  8 coarse little dark hairs that just shouldn't be there, and they were definitely the beginnings of a sideburn!

crap i can't pretend anymore ...

Alas, now my love will be sportin' the 'burns.

And the mole hair that I thought I saw, well it was that there's more hair on the other side.  That one had a few more in a close area to the mole, granting me the previous day of denial.

The hair conversation continued while were at dinner, when my love told me that indeed, the only place that is desired is the soul patch and it's the only place it's not growing.

We spoke about shaving, my usual dislike of it, and about my lack of doing the deed.  "I can't even keep up with my arm pit hair.  Every time I turn around I have to shave again.  Why on earth would you want to have that crap on your face and have to deal with it all the time?!?"

My love was rubbing the very outside of the chin.  That same place where the little critters stick out in the wrong places and said, "Well, it's only right here that I'm getting it, and it's grey!  I can't stand the grey!"

Well, I like grey hair and said so, adding, "You can just get that 'Hair for Men' stuff then."

"Yeah and I'll have to get my head done too!  I looked in the mirror and realized I have twice as much grey as before!"

stress'll do it to ya!

My love and I are 8 years age difference, but it doesn't really matter.  Yet my love spurted out, "With all this grey I look as old as you!"

ummmmm ...  pardon?!??!

Oh no my love, you didn't!

The look on my love's face, after I threw a fresh bomb of the stink eye, told me Papi clearly understood that there was going to be trouble for that one.

My retort, "Yeah, but I already look younger than your actual age is so it's fine.  You can look like the older one."

My love paused.

I did not appreciate the lapse of time and said so, "You paused!!  What the fuck!?  You know I look younger than I am!  Everyone is always shocked when I tell them how old I am!"

Again, Papi recognized the look I gave as danger.  "Well, it's just that I already know how old you are so I can't be objective."

small save my love, small save ...

There will be some dog house days for this I can promise you.

Papi had a male moment.

Perhaps there is a guy hanging out in there somewhere?

Grant me the fucking serenity!

So there I was, having some sweet 'goodnight my love' texting moments and what do I receive?

"Will you be upset if I get a pump for my clit?"

excuse me?

I just didn't have the brain power to ask wtf or even entertain this inane question.

I honestly have no fucking idea of the whys and whats my love is talking about.

To me, it's humongous, ginormous and colossal enough without any help.

my brain is still assimilating the sexy time situation ...

What the hell is a clit pump needed for?

When I told my love I just can't deal with the question, Papi told me we'd talk about it later, "My poor lil 'no tranny understander'.  Later convo I will explain."

But do I really want to know?  I'm not really over the 5 Foot Clitoris yet.  Do we have to go for 11?

Papi is right.

I don't understand.

I'll tell you, sometimes I just don't want to.  I really like my bubble.  I get to just pretend none of this is happening.

This is how I cope.

Yesterday, my blogger friends Tricia, Dirty and Bio all commented on how good Papi's chest looks.

All I see are flat breasts; The Great Breast Disappearance.

When I look at the pic I posted yesterday, it almost feels naughty.  Like my love is bearing breasts for the world to see.

dear blogger; don't delete me for nudie pics!

Not that it is any different than real life.  My love would flash those babies any opportunity anyway, so why would it make any difference here?

I still see my love the way I want to see my love.

My cushy bubble is tepid, pillowy soft and always smells like sweet lilacs.

Please don't make me leave by talking about a clit pump!

for fucks sakes!!!!!

Papi is right though.  I really don't understand the secret world of F-Ms.  I'm very certain I'm going to know it inside and out before this is all done.

don't burst my fucking bubble!!!!

I understand this is just a journey on my path that I have to accept.

Hell, it's what I tell the G'ma every day, all day, over and over again, ad infinitum, "We have to accept the things we cannot change."

Oh, that doesn't mean we forget.  It's just that if we don't accept whatever is going on for us, it will eat us alive.

or drive us to drink.

But wait!

What's the other part of that serenity prayer I would whisper for years on end?  Oh yeah, right; The courage to change the things we can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Acceptance.  Courage.  Wisdom. 

Oh, speaking of G'ma,  we have found a way to possibly deal with the gramma drama.

Papi told the G'ma about the sex change.

Hopefully that will be the topic for the next few weeks until something else comes up that she will dwell upon.

Still searching for my wisdom.  I'm sure I left it here somewhere ...

Tranny Lovers Anonymous

Sometimes, words can be misconstrued.

When writing from mind to page, we can mean one thing and someone else will take it as another.

Dear Papi thought I was harmed by the most recent Tranny Terrorist antics, as did an anonymous follower or two.

i'm a drama queen ... you'll have to get used to it

If you're new to my blog, I want you to know that when I'm speaking of the Tranny Terrorist, it usually means that at some point, Papi has made me laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

Yes.

This is fucking hard.

But no.

I'm not being harmed by Papi or by my love's silliness.

Mi esposo's playfulness is one of the reasons I'm still here.

I've learned a long time ago that I can heal with humour.  Papi knows this about both of us.  Our relationship is filled is laughs 'after the fact'.

i just want the 'after the fact' time to come soon ...

I am not being harmed by Papi.  Honestly, I'm being harmed by myself.

It is I who has the feelings of pain, and the only one responsible for these feelings is me.

Transgenderism is all over the world.

I sometimes put my anger into these feelings and talk about gender transformation as a fad.  This is really just a way for me to rationalize.

In Vancouver, it seems we are losing all our butches to the male transformation phenomenon.

However, this is because we're a little more forward than other places in the world.

How many straight people look at a dyke and say, "Is that a chick or a dude?"

it's a human being fuckwad.

How many people in other countries are feeling like they're born the wrong gender?

A hell of a lot.

In other countries, you'll be killed for being transgendered.  In Vancouver, you'll just have to deal with adverse emotions from your family and your partners.

hey that's me!

I love butches.

I am attracted to masculine women.

So here I am.  Married to the world's most perfect butch who ...

i found out through denial

... is going through male transformation.

I am a closet Rah-Rah-Tranny who's desperately hiding behind that door.  My knuckles are white from holding it closed, while my love is trying to open from the other side.

This is more painful than I could ever tell you.

Despite my pain, the only one responsible for these emotions is me.  I could leave any time I want to.  That would be easier, yes, but I'd miss out on living my life with a wonderful spouse that is my soul mate and very best friend.

except when i'm being ignored because papi's texting like a maniac ... it's all about me dammit!

I'm still in this marriage because I love the person who's going through the male transformation.

These tears won't kill me, so know that I'm safe, albeit I'm fucking pissed that this is my new reality.

This moment of strength was brought to you by a nice cup of dominican coffee ... stay tuned for more episodes of sifting through the pain.

The Epiphany

Miami, Florida airport.

Family from hell.

No matter where I go to escape them, all 9 of them find me.  Yes, they're sitting right across from me at the gate.

I actually chose a seat that they wouldn't be able to sit next to me, and I figured they wouldn't want to occupy only 3 seats with all their bags and a double stroller.

WRONG.

The fucking family from hell are all squeezed into one small area.

I swear to gawd, if there is one, then there is a fucking devil, and he followed me from the hotel just to try to get under my skin for the last few moments of this fucking journey.

I felt as though I had shaken the demons today.

I had no tears and I had some smiles.

It feels so sad leaving Papi alone at the hotel.  The rest of mi esposo's healing has to be done alone.  No help from the over-doting wife.

I'm sure my love will do ok.  It's probably just the tail end of my emotions tugging at me.  I won't get to see mi esposo again for 4 more sleeps.

I'm quite afraid of what I'll see when Friday comes.  By that point, Papi will have all the bandages off and be rid of the draining paraphernalia.

I had a nightmare about it last night.

I dreamed that my love's nipples were really high above where they were supposed to be.  There were also really hideous scars that were jagged and in really bad directions.

So, I suppose that's worst case scenario.  Dr. Scissorhands of Florida is touted as the best in his field.  I'm sure he did a fine job.  I'm sure it's just my demons coming out to play while I sleep.

fuckers will get me wherever they can.

My love put a picture of the wreckage up on Facebook today.  I'm dying!!!  It's so awful for me to see that on the page where I go to communicate with mi esposo.  It's too much.

I want only to see Papi's gorgeous face.

Just like in the calendar of ugly mugs, I personally don't see why anyone would want to expose this as a picture of pride.

But Papi is different than me.

Here's a wonderful moment however!!

I have figured out how to get around using a male pronoun for Papi.  I don't ever have to say 'he'!

EVER!!

If I use my love's first initial, 'E', then it sounds like I'm saying 'he'.

At the tattoo shop yesterday ...

yes ... of course i got a souvenir ... who the hell are we talking about here?!

... they all called Papi a 'he'.  If i had have said 'she', they would have looked at me like I was the one on Vicodin.

So, when Mr. Bare-Beerbelly Tattoo-Man asked, "Now, where has he gone?"

I simply answered, "E's in the washroom."

It struck me then that it really did sound like 'he'!!!

I'm good now!!!

I don't ever, ever have to use that fucking pronoun that to date has made me feel like my skin is crawling with slugs.

ahhhhhhhhhh ... denial is a beautiful thing, no?

It's all good.

48 hours

D Day.

The Countdown.

48 hours.

All I can say is thank gawd for work.  I'm so exhausted working 11 hour days of non-stop work that I really don't have time to cry.

My eyes will well, but then I find myself pressing buttons on the screen that tell me where to go for my next jaunt, or I'm getting up and out to help someone who has less mobility than I.

I did get to watch my love's plane leave right from underneath the take off path.  I did get to film it.  It was heartbreaking waiting for it to go, but when Papi passed over me, I felt mi esposo's love and happiness filled my heart.

The next day, I was able to start my taping of this experience.  That was really hard.

I was a blubbering mess when I really started to talk about the experience on the whole.  I really put 6 months of pain into a 10 minute monologue of story telling.

I suppose it's ok, because the video really does show how I can go from normal speaking to blubbering in a matter of seconds when it comes to my love's male transformation.

I got through the hormones with some acceptance that turned into healing from that neck of the journey.

However, The Countdown to top surgery is the next hurdle.

My stomach turns.

My mind wants to rush me to another thought.

denial ain't a river in egypt

Like I said, I'm grateful to be working to give my mind a break.

I got to speak to Papi on Facebook last night.  It was 3 a.m. in Florida and I'd just come back from work, still donning my uniform.

We were both so tired, but it was necessary just to have a connection for a moment, even if it was virtual.

Well, today I pack, do another 11 hour shift, then come home to prepare.

I leave at about 4 a.m. tonight.

my stomach ... it just keeps turning.

I put a call out to some Trust List friends who had been through this, and requested some talk time with them when I get to Florida.

Of course, I was greeted with love and a bunch of "Of course!  Anytime!!"

Yet I'm so afraid that when the time comes that I need to actually get words out of my head, I won't use my safety net of this circle of love.

don't speak ...

The flip side is, I may just talk about something else.  You know?  Denial?

I'm terrified.

I'm nauseated.

One sweet soul reminded me to eat to stay strong.  Good advice.

I will go eat my breakfast now, even if my stomach is telling me to do otherwise.

This hurts.

speechless

"Ok.  We're back.  So now we have to talk about it.  These are YOU'RE 'rules'."

I guess Papi's right.

While my love was texting, the woman in the phone that automatically corrects mi esposo's spelling was frantically trying to keep up to Papi's maniacal typing.

It blurts out things like, "Capitol I," and other words, that perhaps it finds a more suitable option.  One word stuck out for me, however.

"Denial."

So, I had to ask, "Why are you writing denial?  Who's in denial?"

My love answered, "I'm talking to **a Trust List friend** and telling her how you're in denial about my top surgery."

is that something like, if i ignore it, it will go away?

Maybe I am.  Maybe I'm just trying to stay on vacation, even though when we got off the plane it felt like I could see my breath.

toto, we're not in kansas anymore ...

But seriously, I'm new to the male transformation gig!  I don't know how to deal with this other than to ignore it!

Alright.  I'm in denial.  But that doesn't mean that I'm not going to accept it when it happens in less than a week.

i think i just threw up in my mouth a bit, or maybe that was the eggs telling me i still have a parasite?

The Countdown is increasingly more anxiety driven.

4 days until Dr. Scissorhands #1 gets his game on.

i promise i will play 'nice'. i promise not to give him the stink eye or the death stare.

I watched Papi get the video camera ready for mi esposo's taping of the experience.  My love eagerly charged the batteries, put in a new tape, and made sure everything was running well.

I also watched Papi go nutty getting ready for the flight to Florida.  My love basically came home, did laundry, had 2 sleeps, and then will be off as a frequent flyer.

Mi esposo leaves today.  I'll be at work when Papi is en route to the airport, and at the end of my day, when I park my bus in the lot, mi esposo's plane will be leaving 15 minutes later.

I will stay in the lot and watch my love go, unless I'm off early.  If I'm off in time, I'll go sit under the plane route on a little bench they've made especially for this day.

the narcissist in me is sure that it's just for me. it's all about me.

Either way I will be able to watch Papi's plane take off.  The airport is basically a 5 minute drive from where we park those yellow 'short buses'.

Work will be difficult today, as it will be my first shift alone since doing my last gradual return in November.  You know the one?  Where I was doing my first return, but fell, then have been off for 6 months again?

Anyway, it's going to be tough, but it will probably keep my mind off things to come.

4 days ... it whispers from the pit of doom ... it's breath is hideously rank

I just sat and stared at the screen for 5 minutes, so I suppose I'm done for today.

I don't know what else to say right now other than, thank you, my imaginary friend, for another day of an open ear, and a shoulder.  Things are going to get tough now.

I'm grateful you're here.

Ohm.

I've had a couple of people now ask me if I'm in denial.

Could be.

I suppose it's all part of my 'ignore it and it will go away' survival mechanism.

denial ain't a river in egypt ...

I do know that when I've had enough for my mind to be tortured by, I shut it down.  I move into being busy with anything I can get my hands on.

It has to be my hands.  My mind is too active to be bullied into relaxing.

This is where music has always come in.

Some people can meditate, I can't.  Unless, of course, you consider the falling into those bewitching sound waves of music meditation.

This is my meditation.  This is where nothing goes into my mind except the game of perfect timing, or being physically swept away by the most chocolatey, smooth groove.

I consider the harmonics that are scattered in the air a celestial being.  They are my angels singing to me.  It's the only time I feel like there could possibly be a higher power.  It's the only time I am in a state where the world ceases to exist.

They're more than just notes.

Last night, I had a session with Lin Gardiner for BlueLight.  I did a couple of bass tracks for the last 2 songs of our full length CD.

While I was playing the 2nd song, I fell into the notes and slipped away into never never land.  I wanted this session to go on forever.  There was one point where the song was ending and my dear heart practically cried to me, "No!!!!  It can't be over!! Do it again! Do it again!"

I remember my nervous breakdown I had 7 years ago.  I was in such a messed up state that I was on the verge of suicide.

One day, I was playing my cello, and while I was reading the notes from the page and translating them into music on the strings, I stopped crying.  While I played, the pain floated away, being replaced by musical serenity.

But then I had to turn the page.

The music had to stop.

Tears began to fall once more.  They seemed to well up from my toes.  They shot through my muscles, veins and bones, until they found their entrance to the main stage.

I turned the page and resumed the music and the tears dried once more.  The salty enemy simply turned into droopy peaceful eyes.

I played on for hours, in an attempt to keep the sorrow behind me.

Meditation?

Maybe.

It sure felt so last night.  That is, of course, until I was asked, "So, how are you doing with everything that's coming up?"

As I put my bass away into it's nylon padded bag, I replied, "I'm not doing so hot.  But we'll just pretend I am, K?"

Denial.

Coping?

Denied Access!!

While we were out for the muddy walk with 2 of the four-leggers, I told Papi that there will be no more 'hiding' and running away in secrecy when the hormones are to be used.

Mi esposo is so respectful when there's no jester to be playing with.  Papi will use those nasty hormones and try to conceal it from me.

But I always know.

It's more stressful for me to pretend I don't know, than it is for me to have the information.  I think it will work out better if Papi just tells me, "I'm going to go do it now, so don't come in the bedroom."

Or whatever room happens to be the space for my love.

I guess I am healing and I am accepting.  I suppose this is how it works.

Whatever is going on, I felt so much more relief at saying those words to my love.  It felt like perhaps it was a moment of us walking on the same path.

Later on that night, my love came up to give me a goodnight kiss.  I saw it as my moment to pounce.

My version of pouncing is to 'hint' that perhaps I may want a little Papi time.

Mi esposo laughed and we went at it.  But, every once in a while we have the passion patrol to deal with.

The one eyed retriever.

Sometimes, I start getting a little Papi love and that crazy animal will bark at us.  It's not in a playful manner either.  It's serious!

We can't figure out if he thinks my love is hurting me or not.  There have been times that the 'hurt' is intentional and in a fun way.

The Golden doesn't like it.  He's terrified that Papi is hurting me without my consent and there's nothing we can do to calm him down.

Last night, when the lovin' was on the move, The Golden jumped on to the bed and sat on my legs with his back to us.  He was just staring at the wall.

When we didn't stop the good times, he moved over to Papi and tried sitting there.

Well, our laughing and loving kept moving right along and he finally left the room.

phew!  i can't have pillow lust with a furry staring at me!!!

Those kisses from my love are so addictive.  I don't know what it is.  Mi esposo's touch brings me to a place no other has ever taken me.  I can move with freedom knowing that those strong hands will always keep me hooked into their magic.

I felt the strength to explore the 5 Foot Clitoris.

Here it was!  The moment we've all been waiting for!!!!

Denied.

It just so happened it was one of those times that Papi doesn't want to be touched.

Goddamit!

First I almost cried.  I had a moment of paranoia.

papi doesn't desire me?!

My love said not to get any strange thoughts.  That I shouldn't be worried, "I just don't feel like it."

I trusted my love to tell me the truth.  I relaxed my brain, and went back to those enslaving kisses.

But damn!  Just when I thought I was brave enough to go exploring, I was denied access.

Guess I'll just have to try again.

Perspective.

Life is all about perspective.  And it's all about relativity.  When I was younger, I used to think my chronic knee pain was the worst physical pain to deal with, until I was in a motorcycle accident 2 years ago.

When people I know have physical pain that they start to talk to me about, they tend to stop themselves and say, "But it's nothing like what you went through."

I have to remind them that their pain is their own, and even if it's the worst pain they've experienced, then relatively it will be the worst pain they've had.  We can't compare each our pain to one another, as the other won't know what it feels like until they've experience it.

Then there's a saying that you aren't dealt things in life that you can't handle.  This saying has always made me sick to my stomach in thinking about what life could hand to me next.  After my brain injury from said motorcycle accident, I thought that nothing else could amount to the intense fight I had to get my life back.

Well, this is a different pain and a completely different struggle.  This is an emotional battle, and it's the worst one I've ever had to deal with.  It hurts the most.

While I was recovering from brain injury friends ran to my side to help, and I felt I was supported in the every small way that they helped.  They would bring me shopping and push my wheelchair.  Sometimes they would have to walk me into places where the wheelchair couldn't go and they would ignore the looks and leers that people would give me as they judged me.  I was just an obstacle in people's path because they were in a hurry and every step I captured took more than 2 seconds to achieve.

Doesn't seem like much when you glance at it, but even a turtle strolled faster than me at that point.  Hell, the 95 year grandmother we take care of was faster than me.

I have felt alone in this strife.  I have never felt so isolated because the support from the few people I've allowed to look through my window hasn't helped.

Until I found my person.

Yesterday was a day full of hope.  The sun was a little brighter, the air was a little more fresh, and I actually managed to take care of myself by way of a healthy salad and then there was a big step.  I was able to show my face in public and smile at people.  I was able to pull my view off the ground to look around at my much bigger world.  I was beaming because I was living instead of rotting away on the La-Z Boy.

This morning, I woke up with a seed of strength.  I started to think about the little things that I do that make me happy.  I want to leave the house again.  I want to do my hair.  I want to cook myself a good warm meal.

All it took was feeling that I had one person who'd been where I am.  The one person that said the words that I needed to hear that is acquainted with my every fear and sorrow.

Then something else happened; because of that one person, I felt the support I received from people who didn't have the right words to say was now enough to begin to heal my fragile heart.

It was such a treat to wake up to unswollen eyes today.  I know that it's a momentary breath that I am granted in this time of 'right now'.  I don't care to look at the future tears that may fall when I have to witness the changes in my love.  I want to be back in denial for this moment so that I can say hello to 'me'.  I haven't seen myself for about 6 weeks.

Hello, Andréa.

Welcome to 2011.  May it be a year full of strength, love and acceptance.

It's all about perspective.

5 stages of grief.

You're supposed to go through these in order, apparently. So far I'm not following the norm, but in my life, I never really do. It's supposed to start with denial, move to anger, begin bargaining, fall into depression and finally accept it. Well, I'm like a bull in a china shop right now, crashing from one to the next.

Really I started with denial before my love even told me about the decision of male transformation. I honestly thought that if Papi just kept binding, packing and using the men's washroom that would be enough. From the beginning of our relationship, my love has been vocal about removing those beautiful breasts through 'top surgery'.

I could understand Papi's pain in a way, because I have never been happy about my own breasts and wanted to have a breast lift since I was a teenager. I have never wanted them to be bigger, I've wanted them smaller so I would never have to wear a bra like some of my itty bitty titty friends. That has always been my dream. But I learned to accept my breasts and I found million dollar bras that made me feel more comfortable about them.

I've never really been happy with anything about my body and my eating disorder has hindered what I see in the mirror. I had to come to terms with my disease and take control of it. I now have control over the disorder, it doesn't rule my life anymore, but I still see distorted images of myself in the mirror. I honestly don't see the 'tiny' body people tell me I have. I just accept that they see something different than I do.

Anyway, back to the stages. When Papi first told me of the decision to become an F-M, depression set in and it hasn't left. I have cried tears of grief over losing my wife every day but 3 for a month now. Sometimes I feel like when I'm being honest with my love about my feelings, I'm giving Papi a look into my war trenched brain and I have hopes that this will give my love a hint that I would like to bargain.

I won't bargain out loud, because I cannot be the one to ask my love to change anything about this decision. If my love does anything to change this decision, then that choice wouldn't be for Papi, it would be because of my pain over the whole thing. If that happened, there would be resentment on my love's behalf, because Papi wouldn't be doing it for anyone but me. It would destroy our relationship. Resentment seeps into love and rots it.

So, just as my fear predicted, there were the words last night from my love, "I'm going to stay on a low dose of testosterone."

I was terrified. Was Papi doing this for me? Oh my god, if that's the case then there could be bitterness in the future. I said, "You can't do this for me. It will destroy our relationship."

"But I see you crying every day and I don't want my decision to be what destroys our relationship."

So. There was a bit of bargaining. I just stared at Papi and didn't say anything more. I can't be the one to make any decisions for my love. I have to remain silent when it comes to this. I already harmed the heart of Papi by telling the truth about the change in smell I've noticed and how it affected me.

This is so hard. This is the hardest, fearful and lonely thing I've ever gone through in my life. My gorgeous wife is leaving me and is being replaced with a person I don't even get to see or meet until they're here. I don't know who this person will look like and they are not who I married. I married my beautiful butch. All I want is my beautiful butch.

The grief is overwhelming. If this is the depression part of the stages, I really don't want to see the anger part! It might be over the top! In my life, I've noticed that a sign of my own depression is when I take on strangers as if I were a mama bear and god forbid anyone do wrong.

It happened on my 'off day' day off from speaking to 'you' my imaginary friend. I saw a man hit a woman because the elevator was too full and she was trying to tell him to stop pushing. Nobody did anything, so I intervened by stopping the elevator door with my foot, grabbing him by the shirt and telling him to "Get the fuck off this elevator NOW!"

He was shocked and slightly afraid, but I saw him look for any kind of evidence that I was someone with lawful authority. When he realized I wasn't that person, he told me he was staying on this elevator. I told him I would remove him if he didn't do it himself and then everyone left the elevator leaving me, the other crazy person alone with the nutbar.

Finally, a man bigger than me decided to take control and I happily allowed him to. When I got on the next elevator with all the people who had left the violent man, one woman said, "You're very brave to have done that, but you have to be careful. You don't know what you're dealing with."

I replied, "Oh I know exactly what I was dealing with!" Us crazies know each other well.

"But he could have hit you."

"I would have hit him harder." And I looked at the 80-something man beside me who gave me the nod of approval.

Yup. When I'm crazy, I'm really crazy. I wanted to take out all the hurt and pain on someone who really deserved it. I would have become that mama bear that in the past has lifted a man off the ground by way of his shirt and slammed him against the wall, leaving him to piss himself.

He was drunk and was warned about my precious keyboard that he was leaning too close to. He fell on it and spilled his beer onto the knobs. I saw red and it resulted with him running out of the party with piss stained pants practically crying of fear. I was too busy trying to save my keyboard to notice the flee.

I don't know where this mama bear comes from, but when she's here, she's a scary person. My heart's pounding just thinking about her. She's an odd part of my personality. If I'm having a depression over the grief this bad, I'm very afraid about the anger stage.

I would like to just jump to the acceptance part if I could. That would please me. I want someone to tell me how to do this. Anyone?