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.
Showing posts with label packing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label packing. Show all posts
Monday, September 26, 2011
Sunday, September 4, 2011
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.
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.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Beware! Closets shrink clothes!!
Packed!
And ready to go ...
We don't leave until Thursday at 3 a.m., but within those 4 days, I will be working 40 hours.
eek!
I may need to have a chats with 'you', my imaginary friend, in the evening hours of relaxation. There will be no morning coffee chats for this femme before we leave.
it will be frazzled around the edges Andréa.
As we were packing, my dear love realized that all the clothes from last year's vacation don't fit.
those damn cookies and ice cream with a lack of exercise will get'cha every time my dear ...
Poor Papi was suffering, trying to find the right fit of clothing that will be comfortable in the heat of the Dominican.
do i get my 'i told'ja so' now?
I suppose it's easier for me to keep the weight off considering the fact that I'm completely, 100% obsessed and OCD with my eating disorder.
I can feel 5 extra pounds, and they don't make me happy. I abolish them!
However, regardless of the pain of finding mi esposo's wardrobe shrinking over the past year, there was a much bigger problem.
Breasts.
Papi has no way of concealing those beautiful sacks of joy. Although, to give my love credit, Papi gets an 'A' for effort for trying.
Mi esposo has spent countless dollars buying fighting chance after chance of those 'somethings' out there that will cloak those mammaries.
Nothing has really worked so far.
It's been more like we've returned to the days of corsets, only the roles have been reversed.
Every binding effort comes with a doting wife pulling down that stiff nylon article. Skin is chaffed as it violently rubs and squashes those breasts into deformed pancakes.
I really can't see anyone being able to get those buggers on without help. They're brutal!!
Papi gave up on them.
All they really did was push all the breast fat toward the shoulders and it looked like fat was oozing out of the top of t-shirts, work shirts, even sweatshirts.
sexayyyyyy
Well, the one we tried last night for swimming in, was truly horrid. It was more like a middle age torture version of today's Spanx that women wear to hide the areas that the gym workouts can't reach.
abandon binder!
Papi looked truly defeated. I felt so deeply for my love and this binding failure.
Then what I was waiting for came out, "Will you be really uncomfortable if I go topless?"
I replied no, but I know it will be a different story when we get there.
I'll be cringing when the prudes and religious zealots go insane and say nasty things or leer with hatred. I'll also be getting my boxing gloves out when men think it's an invitation to get a woody.
I guess my last days with those breasts will be going out with a bang.
Maybe it will make it easier to say goodbye?
Perhaps.
Or maybe I'm just never happy.
alas, the high maintenance femme ...
And ready to go ...
We don't leave until Thursday at 3 a.m., but within those 4 days, I will be working 40 hours.
eek!
I may need to have a chats with 'you', my imaginary friend, in the evening hours of relaxation. There will be no morning coffee chats for this femme before we leave.
it will be frazzled around the edges Andréa.
As we were packing, my dear love realized that all the clothes from last year's vacation don't fit.
those damn cookies and ice cream with a lack of exercise will get'cha every time my dear ...
Poor Papi was suffering, trying to find the right fit of clothing that will be comfortable in the heat of the Dominican.
do i get my 'i told'ja so' now?
I suppose it's easier for me to keep the weight off considering the fact that I'm completely, 100% obsessed and OCD with my eating disorder.
I can feel 5 extra pounds, and they don't make me happy. I abolish them!
However, regardless of the pain of finding mi esposo's wardrobe shrinking over the past year, there was a much bigger problem.
Breasts.
Papi has no way of concealing those beautiful sacks of joy. Although, to give my love credit, Papi gets an 'A' for effort for trying.
Mi esposo has spent countless dollars buying fighting chance after chance of those 'somethings' out there that will cloak those mammaries.
Nothing has really worked so far.
It's been more like we've returned to the days of corsets, only the roles have been reversed.
Every binding effort comes with a doting wife pulling down that stiff nylon article. Skin is chaffed as it violently rubs and squashes those breasts into deformed pancakes.
I really can't see anyone being able to get those buggers on without help. They're brutal!!
Papi gave up on them.
All they really did was push all the breast fat toward the shoulders and it looked like fat was oozing out of the top of t-shirts, work shirts, even sweatshirts.
sexayyyyyy
Well, the one we tried last night for swimming in, was truly horrid. It was more like a middle age torture version of today's Spanx that women wear to hide the areas that the gym workouts can't reach.
abandon binder!
Papi looked truly defeated. I felt so deeply for my love and this binding failure.
Then what I was waiting for came out, "Will you be really uncomfortable if I go topless?"
I replied no, but I know it will be a different story when we get there.
I'll be cringing when the prudes and religious zealots go insane and say nasty things or leer with hatred. I'll also be getting my boxing gloves out when men think it's an invitation to get a woody.
I guess my last days with those breasts will be going out with a bang.
Maybe it will make it easier to say goodbye?
Perhaps.
Or maybe I'm just never happy.
alas, the high maintenance femme ...
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
A Festering Abscess
I didn't get to feel the prick of my skin and see the ink flow.
I didn't get to feel the pain of beauty, only the pain of love.
Relationships are hard work. When we hurt one another, there is often an underlying message that isn't coming through, there is only a ball being volleyed back to our side of the net.
Papi was holding in the hurt that I inflicted, but it burst through the knife of the tongue.
The monotony of tree after tree on our ride down to Seattle was broken by hateful words. "I blame you for not letting me give Smokey kibble when he wanted it. I think that's why he died."
The blade punctured my heart, but I added pressure the pumping blood as long as I could.
maybe Papi was experiencing the upheaval of withdrawal?
I tried to let it go.
Easier said than done.
By holding it in, I became contentious and less than tolerant with every person who had the unfortunate meeting with the demon that was now speaking for me.
I had my dark cloud again. That bastard was held fast above my head. Nobody can see it, but they can damn well sense it. We are, after all, intuitive animals.
During my wait for the tattoo that never happened, I got down to work on my computer and did some long overdue clean up.
Papi said, "Well, while you're just reading, why don't you read the FtM Sex Guide I sent you."
I've been avoiding it. I thought it would be a way for partners to discover the new found body that has been entered into the relationship.
Wrong.
It was just a transgendered person talking about their clit. I was so uncomfortable and felt it was an attack on my trying ego. My soul is working so hard just to be at peace with where I am 'right now'.
'Right now', I'm not ready for this. 'Right now', I'm just getting used to the fuzzy peach moustache and wispy chin hairs.
'Right now', I'm accepting the changes in my life that are happening because of this transformation.
When I met a potential new friend at the gym, I called Papi my husband. It felt wrong. It felt awkward. But most of all, it felt like the right thing to do, so that they would consider mi esposo as a male figure right from the gate.
When Papi asked me about the guide and what I thought, the dark cloud rained upon me and words slipped out on that now slick runway. "I thought it would be about sex, but all it was, was a platform for the guy to talk about his clit like it was a dick. He'll never have a dick. He wasn't born with a dick. It's a swollen clit."
my dagger stabbed repeatedly in an effort to defend myself, after being told i killed my love's cat.
The fucked up part? I was irritable because Papi blamed Smokey's death on me, which came from Papi having resentment because I made jokes about the full body binder that mi esposo received in the mail. I retreated in repugnance when my love put a fake penis in to this article of clothing. I didn't want it anywhere near me and that was agitation thrown at my love because of the fact that Papi had used drugs.
Do you understand the vicious cycle here?
You can go back further and further and try to find the initial culprit of pain, but it doesn't matter.
We realized that the wounds we force upon one other are going to have to be spoken about right away.
If not, they will fester, and I'll wake up with swollen eyes from crying all night long.
It's just not pretty, that vision in the mirror this morning.
We have to clean these wounds before they become abscessed.
I didn't get to feel the pain of beauty, only the pain of love.
Relationships are hard work. When we hurt one another, there is often an underlying message that isn't coming through, there is only a ball being volleyed back to our side of the net.
Papi was holding in the hurt that I inflicted, but it burst through the knife of the tongue.
The monotony of tree after tree on our ride down to Seattle was broken by hateful words. "I blame you for not letting me give Smokey kibble when he wanted it. I think that's why he died."
The blade punctured my heart, but I added pressure the pumping blood as long as I could.
maybe Papi was experiencing the upheaval of withdrawal?
I tried to let it go.
Easier said than done.
By holding it in, I became contentious and less than tolerant with every person who had the unfortunate meeting with the demon that was now speaking for me.
I had my dark cloud again. That bastard was held fast above my head. Nobody can see it, but they can damn well sense it. We are, after all, intuitive animals.
During my wait for the tattoo that never happened, I got down to work on my computer and did some long overdue clean up.
Papi said, "Well, while you're just reading, why don't you read the FtM Sex Guide I sent you."
I've been avoiding it. I thought it would be a way for partners to discover the new found body that has been entered into the relationship.
Wrong.
It was just a transgendered person talking about their clit. I was so uncomfortable and felt it was an attack on my trying ego. My soul is working so hard just to be at peace with where I am 'right now'.
'Right now', I'm not ready for this. 'Right now', I'm just getting used to the fuzzy peach moustache and wispy chin hairs.
'Right now', I'm accepting the changes in my life that are happening because of this transformation.
When I met a potential new friend at the gym, I called Papi my husband. It felt wrong. It felt awkward. But most of all, it felt like the right thing to do, so that they would consider mi esposo as a male figure right from the gate.
When Papi asked me about the guide and what I thought, the dark cloud rained upon me and words slipped out on that now slick runway. "I thought it would be about sex, but all it was, was a platform for the guy to talk about his clit like it was a dick. He'll never have a dick. He wasn't born with a dick. It's a swollen clit."
my dagger stabbed repeatedly in an effort to defend myself, after being told i killed my love's cat.
The fucked up part? I was irritable because Papi blamed Smokey's death on me, which came from Papi having resentment because I made jokes about the full body binder that mi esposo received in the mail. I retreated in repugnance when my love put a fake penis in to this article of clothing. I didn't want it anywhere near me and that was agitation thrown at my love because of the fact that Papi had used drugs.
Do you understand the vicious cycle here?
You can go back further and further and try to find the initial culprit of pain, but it doesn't matter.
We realized that the wounds we force upon one other are going to have to be spoken about right away.
If not, they will fester, and I'll wake up with swollen eyes from crying all night long.
It's just not pretty, that vision in the mirror this morning.
We have to clean these wounds before they become abscessed.
Friday, December 17, 2010
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?
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?
Monday, December 6, 2010
Success
I didn't gag at the dump, but more importantly, had a nice beautiful day with my love without tears. I had to give the reminder of the 'no speak' day a few times, but it was a successfully dry day.
So, today it's time to start on the healing again. And I suppose that really does mean I have to cry it out until there's nothing left to weep. I've been told over and over that I have to talk about it, but to date haven't been able to.
There's many reasons; judgement, people gossip, people may not understand, transphobia, embarrassment, ego, and much more including the fact that I just don't want to cry. But today, I start my process of 'getting it off my chest', as my friend ordered me.
I have my first 'get it off my chest' day with one of my friends who was adamant that we get together so I can tell her what the hell is going on with me. I'm afraid she'll try to tell me if I'm this miserable, I should leave. But the tears are not because I feel trapped and want to leave, they're because I'm mourning the woman I married. I'm too weary to defend myself or my love. I just need understanding of what I'm going through. Support of the grief. No judgement and certainly no gossip.
When I made the date to go see her, I think that was the moment that I felt it was possible to heal. I've always healed through speaking out loud to healthy listening ears. I'm also the first person to say to people that you have to get it out of your head and through your mouth before it leaves your soul. But this time, I've been too afraid to let my words out to just anyone. I've felt I don't know who to trust. I've been ostracized in the community a few times from people's untruths to make me look like the villain. I don't want to have that happen again. People scare me. People have no idea what damage they're capable of.
Every person my love tells about being transgendered and going through the male transformation just looks at my love as if to say, "Duh ... I thought you already were!" It's like we were both living in denial that it would happen. Without any effort, I accepted the binding, the packing, using of the male washroom and anything else that my love needed to do to feel better about the body my love was born with. And I suppose I just hoped that that would be enough, because it was what I was comfortable with.
It wasn't enough. And the process begins. For both of us. We're on our paths walking hand in hand with that tiny fence between us. The fence that separates our feelings about the transformation while we walk on our own sides.
Today I surprised myself. I was telling one of the many pets we have that he couldn't go upstairs to the attic. I said, "Sorry Smokey, Papi is sleeping."
Papi. Not Mami.
I've never used that term before, but it felt the only thing I could use that wasn't feminine. I suppose I am getting closer to acceptance. I can't use 'he' ... it's just too much for me ... but I suppose I could use él. We do plan on moving to the Dominican Republic and by then I'll really need to have my fem/masc down because for the most part they are homophobic and of the religious types.
So, I suppose today is a start. I can call my love Papi and él. I will go and cry on my friend's shoulder and tell her 'what's going on'.
Today's mission is to find more healing. That's all I'm asking for. That's my success.
So, today it's time to start on the healing again. And I suppose that really does mean I have to cry it out until there's nothing left to weep. I've been told over and over that I have to talk about it, but to date haven't been able to.
There's many reasons; judgement, people gossip, people may not understand, transphobia, embarrassment, ego, and much more including the fact that I just don't want to cry. But today, I start my process of 'getting it off my chest', as my friend ordered me.
I have my first 'get it off my chest' day with one of my friends who was adamant that we get together so I can tell her what the hell is going on with me. I'm afraid she'll try to tell me if I'm this miserable, I should leave. But the tears are not because I feel trapped and want to leave, they're because I'm mourning the woman I married. I'm too weary to defend myself or my love. I just need understanding of what I'm going through. Support of the grief. No judgement and certainly no gossip.
When I made the date to go see her, I think that was the moment that I felt it was possible to heal. I've always healed through speaking out loud to healthy listening ears. I'm also the first person to say to people that you have to get it out of your head and through your mouth before it leaves your soul. But this time, I've been too afraid to let my words out to just anyone. I've felt I don't know who to trust. I've been ostracized in the community a few times from people's untruths to make me look like the villain. I don't want to have that happen again. People scare me. People have no idea what damage they're capable of.
Every person my love tells about being transgendered and going through the male transformation just looks at my love as if to say, "Duh ... I thought you already were!" It's like we were both living in denial that it would happen. Without any effort, I accepted the binding, the packing, using of the male washroom and anything else that my love needed to do to feel better about the body my love was born with. And I suppose I just hoped that that would be enough, because it was what I was comfortable with.
It wasn't enough. And the process begins. For both of us. We're on our paths walking hand in hand with that tiny fence between us. The fence that separates our feelings about the transformation while we walk on our own sides.
Today I surprised myself. I was telling one of the many pets we have that he couldn't go upstairs to the attic. I said, "Sorry Smokey, Papi is sleeping."
Papi. Not Mami.
I've never used that term before, but it felt the only thing I could use that wasn't feminine. I suppose I am getting closer to acceptance. I can't use 'he' ... it's just too much for me ... but I suppose I could use él. We do plan on moving to the Dominican Republic and by then I'll really need to have my fem/masc down because for the most part they are homophobic and of the religious types.
So, I suppose today is a start. I can call my love Papi and él. I will go and cry on my friend's shoulder and tell her 'what's going on'.
Today's mission is to find more healing. That's all I'm asking for. That's my success.
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