well ...

We talked about it.

We're really not in a financial position to pay for a child.

Now I have to break the news to Our Fave's Mom.  This is going to feel bad.

Yet, not as bad as being tapped financially and having regrets and resentment later.

I didn't get a veggie garden and fruit trees SOLELY because I like them.

Lord knows I'm lazy and would rather just buy my food from the store.

I did this to prepare for our near future.

We need to live off our own land as much as possible to keep our costs down.

If we need to keep our costs down for us to be financially well in the future, then we certainly can't afford to support a little person.

Again, I'll give the children in the village my time.

I wanted to start the children's choir in April, but here we are at April and we're not settled yet.  There's still too much stress to start thinking about lesson planning et al.

We also found out there's another repair that really stung.

I haven't wanted to talk about it, because I wasn't ready to accept it, but our well started out clean for our healthy water, but has quickly turned dirty again.

Our 1st plumber we had was here to help us with the pool, because it had problems and when I told him about the new well and the water, he just looked at me and told me as sweetly as possible that we wasted our money.

The well doesn't work and was built for no reason.

We need a different system with a filter to have our clean water.

So, when I thought we were only in the hole a little bit for what we originally set out to spend, I realized the tear in our pocket just got a little deeper.

The well is going to be taken apart and beautiful plants will be put there, or maybe another fruit tree.

We just got the yard repaired from all the damage the pool workers did and now it's going to be dug up once more for more work.

Ugh.  It truly never ends.

I had such a nice skype chat with my Eternal Friend yesterday, and she told me that the 3 months it took her to adjust had nothing to do with all the repairs etc. we had to do with Casa Paraíso.

Hence, our 3 months is looking like maybe it will take us 5 or 6 months to settle in.

Jeeeeezus.

I sure hope there's an end in sight and we can just start living.

Then, maybe I'll have time to find true friends I desperately need here.

I have accepted the fact that my true friends are not going to be people that are here in the village.

There's nothing wrong with being loving and friendly toward everyone.  I genuinely have so much appreciation for everyone here.

However, we could never understand each others lives, never having lived in one another's shoes.

My shoes look awfully fancy to everyone here.

Yet, I look next door at Mr. Richy Rich and think his shoes are just a little shinier, so my judgement is no different than anyone else.

I guess I could never understand HIS life, either.

All I want is love.  It's really all I ask for.

I say the wrong things a lot.

I do the wrong things a lot.

People dislike me for it and I'm a proud member of The Pariah Club, because I know we're all on this world learning together, and I understand other people's mistakes, as long as they're a good person in their core.

None of my mistakes take away from the fact that my heart is always in the right place.  As long as I have guidance from people who still have love for me, I'm happy.

All I want is to be loved.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go dodge the raindrops that are teeming in our bedroom.

Oh, Mr. Carpenter, could we get this roof done pronto!?!?!

i see myself realistically and objectively

gee ... haven't had a hater in a while ...

Dear most recent commentator on my disclaimer:

You signed it from 'someone I did wrong to'.

I'm sorry, but you'll have to be more specific.  There are many who feel this way.

They're mostly people I don't agree with, and am not afraid to be verbal about it.

I'm thinking, you are either one of two most recent people I've pissed off:

a) A person who condones pedophilia and NMBLA that I informed I couldn't be your 'friend' because of it. (Oh, btw, do I need to alert the authorities about you?  Are you a predator raping children too, because they 'like it'?)

or

b) A person I couldn't be friends with anymore, because you felt I did 'nothing for you' and that your view is I am a racist, selfish asshole for not going broke and giving you everything I worked for.

Or you're less recent:

c) Someone who's been holding resentment for way too long.  Perhaps some therapy would help you stop obsessing over me?  But hey!  It's sure nice to know you think about me so much.

OK!  Let's get to the note shall we?  I'd like to say thanks for the advice on our well water.

Yup!  I'm completely aware we're living in filth, hence the fresh water well is almost finished.  We are fortunate that we didn't actually get a parasite.  We're both feeling much better now.  It was just a virus.  But thank you for your concern!

As for living in shit water, it's better than living with the shit that your head is swimming in right now.

At least I can wash it mine off with my water from my reverse osmosis machine.

Oh, and also, the advice on a raised veggie garden!  Thank you so very much, but I already have the model for my raised garden underway, but that info would have really helped me had I not.

Now, to say we have everything is a bit silly and exaggerating a tad.

We don't have everything, but dude next door?

Now, HE has everything.  Wowee you should see his place!  Acreage and a place for horses!  You'd hate him for sure!

Ours?  Well, it's what they call 'shabby chic'.  Papi and I are very fortunate that we could afford to buy it with inheritance Papi received and money I got from my accident.  It's a bit of a fixer upper, so we got it at a good price.  One day it will be worth a lot!

But, we don't have everything.

Maybe we have more than you, and that pisses you off, but with some hard work and a little good karma, I'm sure you'll get to where you need to be as well.

And of course I know we live in a developing country!  It's the only way we could afford to buy something, silly!  I'm finding really good people in this country.  Not all of them are out to harm us.  I've learned something I'm going to pass on:  it's not fair to generalize.

I thought I'd also let you know that we have a Colt .45 in case someone does try to murder us.  It really is nice to hear your concern for us, though.

Now, let's address the 'stupid girl' comment.

Fortunately for me, when I was undergoing all my testing after brain injury, I learned that my IQ is well above normal.

That's probably why I'm such a nutbar.  Hey!  Maybe that's your problem too!

So, perhaps what you're confusing for 'stupidity' is my issues with coherence and memory?  I do have troubles there.  These things happen after you fly through the air at 50 km/hr and land on your head.

However, you'll have to adjust your wording a little bit.

Maybe you could get a thesaurus?  They have lots of other words that would work for you.  Besides, 'stupid' is so boring.  I'm far from boring.

The last thing I want to address is the fact that I change names.

Of course I do!  I don't want to get sued!

And writing about people that piss me off?

That's why I have a blog in the first place!  To get things off my chest.

Kinda like I'm doing now.

So, if you'd like to continue calling me names, that's really ok by me.

Not sure if you've read my blog the last few years, but I have many haters, and none of their words or intimidation have stopped me yet.

Oh!

One more thing!

Fuck off.

all false messages about me are now dissolved in total grace

lucky bitch?

Do we ever stop looking to the other side of the fence, wanting more?

It's a strange phenomenon.  No matter where we get to in life, there's always more we wish for, or maybe it's just me?

Since we've bought our dream home, we constantly hear, "You're so lucky!"  We are, and we're also lucky enough to be very grateful, which is to our benefit of knowing joy.

There's something that people have to understand, though.  If I hadn't have been hit on my motorcycle and had to rewire my brain for walking, memory and function, I wouldn't have had this 'luck' of having a beach front house in paradise.

We'd have a home, but not the beauty we have right now, with the opportunity to rest our bones.  We would have to work more than full time.

Still, there's something that I long for, that I can no longer have.

Months before the accident, I was in the process of finishing my latest HECTOR CD, was an intern studying the process of being a studio engineer/producer and was working my way up the ladder in the music industry.

During this time, I had a conversation with Chad Kroeger about my music.  True to the boys club of the music industry, he was going on about 'what sells', and without even hearing my music was telling me I wasn't good enough.

Indignantly, I declared, "You know what, I KNOW you'd like my music, so I really don't GIVE a fuck."

I stormed away, but felt a tap on the shoulder.  When I turned around, it was Chad with a look on his face seemed to say, 'you'll never work in this town again', but instead he verbalized, "You know what?  That was really fucking cocky.  Now I wanna hear your music."

Just a few months later, I was in the throws of feeling like I was walking on a canoe and having 5 minute memory, never mind having the cognitive know how to turn on my computer, or how to work my recording programs.

Forget about holding my bass guitar!

So, 'luck'?

I still have such execrable distress for everything that has been stolen from me by losing those 4 years to recovering from that motorcycle accident.

Last night's torment was no less loathsome.

I needed to take some of Papi's clonazepam, because the angst I was feeling made me want to shrink into inadvertence.

Once that accident happened, my life changed.  In 4 years of the music industry, you become nobody once more, and you need to start from the very beginning again.  Everything I worked for was erased in those 4 years.

Oh, and the hard work of getting my life back to liveable has worn on my face, leaving me with a few more wrinkles and grey hair.  I'm no spring chicken and I certainly don't have fake tits.

My love had to remind me, that at one point I was short-listed by Courtney Love herself, for Hole, and that I should be proud of what I accomplished prior to that fateful day.

I allowed myself pride, then almost cried that my performing career has been stripped from me in a second's worth of time by a woman who made an error in judgement, when her illegal U-Turn changed my life.

So, when people sometimes get a little bit green with envy, or those who really don't like me wonder, "How the hell does someone like her deserve that?!" I have to remind myself and others, that they're just looking at my life from the wrong angle.

When someone says, "I want your life," I wish I could say, "You really don't know what you're saying."

What if I never got hit and inherited that big record deal?  What if I landed that big gig as the bass goddess of rock?

Would I have this life with mi esposo?  Would I be have been so fortunate to be as happy as I am now?

My life changed, and I can't say for better or for worse, it just changed.  Life will change for all of us, sometimes the way we want, sometimes not.

One thing I can say is, I have learned what it means to go with the flow of it, even when it brings tears of loss.

My life has been quite the ride.

Sometimes, the changes and loss really hurt, but someway, somehow, I have to believe there is still a magical life of music out there for me to continue with.

Every cloud has a silver lining, and currently, mine has an ocean view.

i am successful

I understand so much now.

I suppose if she's allowed to assume for me, then I'm allowed to assume for her.

Especially since she won't talk to me about it, so here's my assumption.

The way our friendship was severed was not like any 'little' friend's spat.  It was more like, "That's it!  I've had it!  That was the last straw!!!"

Even though I didn't know there were any straws being pulled.

I'm pretty sure by going back over all the emotional belting I received, that it's all about resentment.  It usually is.

Here's my take on it:

I was so gung-ho before my motorcycle accident.  As one person said, "Andréa will never give up.  She'll just keep going until she succeeds."

I used to work so hard that people would tell me I was going to give myself a heart attack.

Then the accident came, and to find the energy just to get out of the chair was a day long task.

To walk to the bathroom and back took all my strength and I had to sleep for 4 hours afterward just to recuperate.

Hence, I am not the same person I used to be.  I don't overwork myself, because I can't.

I don't have the strength, energy or brain power.  These things happen when you have lived through brain injury.

Problem is, she saw me so enthusiastic about music before, and now I'm much more lackadaisical about it.

I don't really have a choice.  That aggressively dedicated girl was taken from us in the accident.  I've had to say goodbye to her.

Only problem is, if you're not living in my body/mind, you could never understand, because to everyone else, it seems she's still here.

I look the same.  I don't look like I'm disabled, yet, I am.

She wanted me to have the same passion as I did with HECTOR, however, I didn't have that girl to call upon with BlueLight.

Therefore, the majority of the work fell on her lap.

I couldn't possibly do everything she did.

Just to find the energy to get to my computer is impossible when my bitch of a back is nagging at me.  I just hide and berate myself for not doing anything.

She did everything and furthermore, spent everything by creating her own record company, now that I'm on disability.

I can see where the resentment came from.

She can't see that I'm not the same, so she assumed that I'm just not into it.  Confirmation came with her words, "I always knew you weren't into this as much as me, and now this proves it."

She decided for me that I quit the project because I sold a few items.  It's not about the items, it's not about me moving, it's the fact that she'd had enough of being the head honcho trying to lead around a horse and cart with a carrot.

She'd had enough, and now our friendship is over.  It's killing me, but I'm getting closer to letting it go.

There's nothing I can do about our friendship, that decision was up to her.

And on that note, I'd like to purge a bit of HECTOR.  If you'd like a free cd, I have a few, just check out the HECTOR fan page and it will tell you how to get them.

I can't bring them with me to the Dominican Republic.  I can only bring a few and leave the rest in storage with my baby sister.

I can't rock out for HECTOR anymore, because I can't stand and hold my bass, so in essence, I have actually given up on that project.  It's all for licensing now.

I can't send you any free BlueLight, because I'm not the owner of it.  You'll still have to pay for those ones, but I'd do it soon, because it looks like it's only a collector's item now, and besides, I'd love for her to recoup the money she spent on it.

Anyway, I've had time to think about it and I completely understand her side, not that it makes it any easier.

It makes me angry at the person who hit me on my motorcycle all the more for changing my life.

i am loving and accepting of myself just as i am

mommy dearest.

I said it wrong.  Sometimes, my brain can't catch up with my words.

Oh, how it's a common occurrence.

"I wish my mom loved me."

Papi knew it wasn't quite right, and supported, "She does love you.  She just doesn't understand you."

Sometimes though, I wonder if it's really love?  Is it love, or is it warped human nature of a mother who has birthed children?  Is it some strange pull that connects two beings whether they like it or not?  Is it some product of my mother's religious upbringing that tells her she better stay in contact or the devil will get her soul?

What I really meant was, I will never make my mom proud.

I was a 'surprise' to my then teen mom and dad.  They did pretty good for a while, but unfortunately, my dad started dealing drugs, and the undesirables were hanging around her two babies.

... were you the ghosts who did this to me? ...

My mom did the best she could, dumped him to the curb and set him free to spend endless years enjoying his true love; drugs.

She had to raise two utterly out of control girls on her own, ...

... one a little more so than the other ... i'll let you guess who ...

... with no support from the father of her kids.

She had to work a full time job, then come home and work there too.

I basically had to raise my baby sister for a good portion of every day, so, there was perpetual mayhem.

My mom was so young, but don't you worry, she had a good time.

I remember one of these crazy times, with the lovely hippies and yahoos in our lives, my mom drag raced up Cambie Street.

I think on that same eve I remember her puking out the car window from too much drinking.  She got right back up again and kept going.

Trooper!  I learned from the best!

Anyway, I can see how getting knocked up and getting a dud for a dude would have her feel a little resentment toward me.

It was I who changed her life at the age of 18.  It's not my fault, but I do represent the loss of her youth.

Still, I wish she could find an ounce of pride in me. 

I know others out there who do.  I appreciate your pride.

The last phone call I gave her a week ago has brutishly affected me for days.  I missed her and wanted to say hi.  We hadn't spoken since I called her on X-Mas day to thank her for her generous gift.

I called expecting to have something that she would find fantastic about my life, considering I find my life something to be proud of.

I didn't get her pride.  I never have, and never will.  So, why is it I went back to that place of repeating the same expectations?

Those expectations have to change.  If I know that when I call, she's not going to find anything positive about my life, then I can expect that.

If I can expect that, there won't be any surprises.

So then, why bother calling at all?

Maybe I'll send her cards.

Oh!  Postcards!

I'll get a bunch of postcards and when I'm thinking of her I'll just send her one so she knows I love her and neither of us has to go through the destructive dynamic that has been our relationship.

Or, I'll just wait another month and get my emotional beating.

I'll do one of the two.

That is of course when I have time. 

Right now, I'm pretty busy with my exciting, beautiful, positive, wonderful life.

the valleys in my life help me appreciate the good times

Purge.

The Papirazzi is on full force today.

A very sweet reporter we met the other day just so happens to be doing an article on transgender people in the work force, and asked if my love would like to be interviewed.

Papi has been trying to get a date fixed with her to have this dialogue, but their schedules didn't really work out to do so.

This morning, however, I woke up to hearing my love on the phone with the reporter, answering questions about being transgendered from up to down and all around.

Papi said, "I don't know how personal you want to get about this, but other things happen, like the clit getting bigger."

I giggled while I prepared my Dominican Republic Coffee.

yes ... still some left ... almost out though ... maybe if i tap my heels 3 times, 'there's no place like home'

Then Papi yells out, "Hun, do you think it's gotten bigger than 5 centimeters?"

Oh great.

Don't drag me into this!

"It's bigger."

Papi chuffed to the reporter, "No, it's not.  Don't listen to her.  She has issues with it."

They started to talk about a penis, and my love said, "They don't make one that is like the real thing, so forget it, and besides, my wife would leave me."

ok. so we've got that down. phew.

Papi doing the interview made me proud.  Not that I wasn't already.

In the same realm that I've walked along side my love through this male transformation, Papi has also had to stand beside me in my conflict.

This also means defying the haters.  Those beings who have read about themselves here in my blog and decided to despise me for my honesty, instead of proving me wrong.

Those who bury under the blanket of protection of political ideals, then judge me for my openness about my strife.

Those who say to their followers, "Ok, so now we don't speak to Andréa anymore."

And those who heed the demands who can't think for themselves.

Haters.

I looked to Papi's Facebook page, and under the 'things that inspire me' shout out, I found: My Wife.

For my love to blatantly propel the repugnance of those who resent me, by saying I am an inspiration, made all the pain float away.

For all the support I felt I was needing to give to the person going through male transformation, there is also a balance in our world of love.  The need to support the partner.

My love does this.

Then proceeds to wave the 5 Foot Clitoris at me, "It is not that big."

I answer, "It's huge."

"No it's not."

"It's huge," I repeated.  Then true to any debate in marriage, this mundane back and forth colloquy went on for a good 2 minutes.

"Are you ok with me having my picture in the paper?"

you have to ask a performing extrovert this?

"Of course!  Why wouldn't I be?!"

"Because if people who don't know see it, then they will know your spouse is going through a male transformation."

"That's ok.  It'll weed 'em out faster."

Truly.

Purge.

the incredible shrinking woman

"Night baby.  Sorry u have to go through this," was the goodnight text I received.

I have been told by others that a person going through the transition will be the most selfish they could ever be.  It's not on purpose, or vengeful, it's just a rite of passage.

Yesterday, I really got to see what this means.

I don't even want to look at my swollen eyes yet.  Let me have my coffee first, then I can sift through the rubble and see what crying myself to sleep has resulted in.

I usually get an I love you text from Papi at the days end, but all I got was an apology.  I was torn to pieces so small I felt I could vanish.  I felt all the words I'd said prior were ripped in half and then again to shreds, so they no longer exist.

The tears rolled as I let a piece of myself fall to the pillow where I laid.  I just wished to have my veins crimped so as to stop the flow of oxygen.

please just let me disappear

I wrote back, "Take the ring."  I'll find another way to have my jaw surgery.  I've got a year to save.  It will be fine, and Papi is really good at paying off credit cards.

The money isn't the reason for my tears.  I know we'll both get what we need.

The tears fell because I know I now have to step aside and allow my love to do whatever is needed.  If I stand as an obstacle in any way, shape or form, I will be the resentment in a marriage.

Papi needs me to be the caretaker after the surgery, but after taking 2 years off work from the motorcycle accident, then another 4.5 months from a simple fall at work, my neck is already on the chopping block.

If I take anymore time off work that isn't scheduled, the Americans will rub their hands together with glee, in anticipation of axing one more full time worker.

Then I won't have braces, never mind jaw surgery.

Ergo, I can't take care of my love if the top surgery is done anywhere other than right here in our city.

I could feel Papi's resentment of this already.  That my love couldn't get what was wanted right here, right now.

I feel I'm the one holding back mi esposo.  I am the irritant that created Papi's ire.  I am the massive boulder in the path of an addict who always get their way.  My love is not used to thinking about the other half and admitted so in a text.

I believe this is what hurt the most.  That my love would have had this done yesterday if it weren't for that pesky little marriage in the way.

This truly is a time of 'it's all about me' for Papi.  I really have to respect that I am not in the equation.  I must step aside and allow my love to do whatever is needed.

There will be no room to fight for my importance right now.  I see it.

Why this is so hard, is there is a second addict in this relationship that wants what they want as well.

Me.

All I want is a normal, "I love you, goodnight," text.  It's just what I want.

Instead, I got an apology and then, "I think San Fransisco is the best bet."

I am so small.

The transgendered person's world is so large.

I am a shadow in an afterthought.

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.

Baby steps.

I feel as wiped as I thought I would today. There was a lot of 'getting it out' yesterday. I think today will be a 'no speak' day.

I need more sleep. I got up early so that I could have more time to let these eyes settle down. The longer they're open, the better they get. I have to see my mother today, and the last thing I need is for her to recognize that I've been crying the night before.

I love my mom, but she's not someone I can trust with my emotions. My parents are part of the reason I am tilted more towards the depressive side. It wasn't the best upbringing to have. It could have been worse, but growing up with a drug addict and (functioning) alcoholic mother was problematic as I'm sure you can understand.

My parents split when I was 10, leaving me with a deadbeat, drugged out dad and a mother who was way too young to know how to deal with two orangutan kids. She didn't have the mentoring that she needed from her mother either, so being a young woman stuck with two kids, she grew a lot of resentment for us. I've sensed it all my life.

My mom did the very best she could with what she had. She really did try. She helped us grow up with everything we needed, and I love her for it. I didn't make it any easier for her being a suicidal, addicted and depressed teenager. All of these life experiences make me out to be the person I am and have wired my brain to give me the feelings I encounter today.

And here I am. Last night at my friends house, it was 2 people asking a million questions and giving harsh suggestions, 1 person answering with as little defensiveness as possible and one person sobbing for 4 hours.

Can you guess who the weeper was? Yup. You win a prize.

This is the reason I don't want to see anybody or speak to anybody. 'You', my imaginary friend, can walk away any time and not have to listen to it. But imagine being stuck in the room with me? Bound to a chair while you witness the grief that has thrown me into this dark place and you can't reach in and pull me out? You can only helplessly observe the disaster unfold.

I really can't stand to subject anybody to this madness. But I'll tell you that last night I felt so supported, protected and loved. I really do have wonderful friends who love me. I'm hand picking them one at a time in this event. I've found two who would lovingly fight for me and last night they did.

In my therapy session yesterday, I expressed how I was feeling about not wanting to share my pain with anybody, lest I be judged and abandoned. She told me something that I hadn't really admitted. That all my life I've held back my pain so that nobody sees it. She identified that I've done this out of fear of people, but at the same time, I'm screaming to be held and supported. I incedingly accepted this. It's so true. And last night I was physically held every time the tears took over my breath and I reeled into the hyperventilating landslide. I was held by my love and by my friends.

It felt really good to be embraced, and at the end of the night, I was told I am loved. On the ride home, I was told I'm protected. The little girl had a place to go to get the love she's never trusted she could have. I love my mom, but I realize that she is the reason I can't speak right now in my darkest place. I understand now that not everyone is going to be that mother who doesn't want to wipe my tears. Not everyone is going to be that father who will abandon me then nervously laugh at me while I'm lying in a hospital bed after a suicide attempt.

My friends helped my love see what the male transformation decision is doing to me and they convinced Papi to just take a small step back to take my hand and help me on to the train. The train that my love has driven from the station, leaving me alone on a platform to watch it go.

Abandoned.

There was compromise that came out of the evening. Papi will stop the testosterone until the hysterectomy is done. After the hysterectomy it's mandatory that Papi goes on a hormone, and we can deduce that it's definitely not going to be estrogen.

This is Papi's way of putting the train in reverse to come help me on to the train. It's a very steep step and I'm not able to do it on my own.

My end of the bargain is going to be very difficult. Not that all I'm going through now isn't already hard, but I do have to lift my foot on to the step and reach my hand out in order for my love to pull me into the cab. I have to actively learn about testosterone and when my love wants to talk about everything, I have to engage in communication.

Good lord.

My love's sacrifice is hard, I know this. My sacrifice seems more difficult every time I think about it. I have to tell the stubborn teenager to go and distract herself because she can't look at it right now. I have to let her go protect herself in the only way she knows how. The teenager thinks that if you just ignore it, it will go away.

Well, it's time to hail the adult who has the toolbox. She has to come out and deal, learn. The teenager is offering every manipulative trick she knows, but unfortunately, she has to go sit in the station and wait for a different train. Damn she's stubborn. She just doesn't want to do this and is throwing a hissy fit. Damn good thing the station is empty and we're alone.

The adult has to walk away and let her sulk.

I have to learn, grow and deal. For my soul mate, for me, for my marriage