Mercedes Day.

So, off we went, back to Santiago hospital for my X-Ray results, and subsequent follow up with the surgeon.

As we were driving The Moca, that hairy-scary road that takes us there, Papi said something idiotic like a typical male, and I, being a typical female, gave him the silent treatment.

You know how it goes.

But there were things I wanted to ask, like, "Why is there so much traffic today?"

And, "How come there are so many children out today?"

It was Tuesday.  You would expect that from a Sunday, but not Tuesday.

I just thought that perhaps there was an important funeral.

People show up in droves for funerals here, and if you're in a hurry, you better calm your hormones, because you are NOT getting past the procession.

Then we got into town, still silent with the bad energy hanging about in the car, and I noticed a few stores closed.

But it's Tuesday!!

The hard working people of the Dominican Republic only shut down on Sunday.

Then another closed store.

And another.

Then a whole strip.

And I finally broke the silence, "Why are all the stores closed?" in such a way that was cold and not very inviting to conversation.

Papi grunted back, "I dunno."

It wasn't until we got to the major store and saw it was closed that we realized there was yet ANOTHER holiday here.

The holidays here rival those of the Jewish holidays!

I don't mind so much, but damn!

We drove for an hour and a half, through the scariest road in the world, with a ridiculous silence between us and pain in my ankle, only to find the hospital shut down.

Of course, nobody would tell us NOT to return Tuesday.

Why would they?

No, no need to inform the foolish gringos that they shouldn't return to the hospital on Tuesday, because it's Our Lady of Mercedes Day.  Everyone knows that!

So, we went to one of Papi's fave restaurants, Pizza Hut, so Papi could have his American pizza, and I could have probably the worst salad I've ever experienced.

Upon sitting, there was an apology from Papi, communication from me, and the mood lifted.

But there was still the drive home to get through.

It was a bit treacherous, as people drink their faces off on Sundays and holidays.

They get drunk ON the holiday or Sunday.

Someone has to tell them of the Canadian way.  You drink the night before, so that you can sleep in, and sleep off the hangover ON the holiday.

Those poor souls get up after a night of drinking and go back to their hard work.

Anyway, we took home a route, that to me, was safer than The Moca, but the amount people that seemed to be playing chicken with us, or driving us off the road was terrifying.

Furthermore, there are no street lights on highways here.

I'm pretty sure this country is going to age me, if it hasn't already.

There is a new 'rule'.

Kinda like when you are going to pick someone up at the airport, you check the flight is on time BEFORE you drive?

Same goes for holidays.

We now check the holiday alerts before we make a move, because those damn holidays spring up all over the place here.

Oh, how you in Canada would like to have this many days off with pay!

We're going to go back to the hospital tomorrow.

I've checked three lists.

There are no holidays.

i learn something new every day

be kind to one another

I remember once, I had to stop watching TV, because of what I saw.

Someone had killed a bear that was rampaging through neighbourhoods in search of food, and unfortunately, killed someone in that desperate search.

They pulled the bear up into the back of a pickup truck as if it were a sack of garbage.

I conceded.

I decided my heart was just too sensitive to deal with seeing these kinds of things.

It was good for me.  I threw away my TV and got on with life, realizing there is so much more to do than watch the bad news.

I realized that I would hear about the news if it was important enough.

Right now, things are important enough, and I'm having a hard time understanding the state of the human race.

Not to mention, automatically being clumped into the same category of supremacists because of the colour of my skin.

I read so much of what people posted about the brazen racism that is unfolding in this world in silence, as I felt I wasn't entitled to an opinion, even if I agree.

Some people were blatant about not being entitled to an opinion, when people said, "White people are not allowed to comment on this, even if they are in support."

However, even though they are excluding an entire race, we are not allowed to call it racism, discrimination, nor segregation.

It still hurts no matter what anyone calls it.

Indeed, two wrongs never make a right, but I kept reading, no matter how much it hurt to read how someone was treated for being a person of colour.

Then I googled one simple word and found more malice in antisemitism.  Don't read THIS if you are as sensitive as me.

Hatred comes in so many forms, and I realize now that people will use it in as many ways as they can.

I haven't been able to write the last few days from the pain of how people can treat one another.

Trayvoning?

Seriously?

How can people JOKE about the killing of a child?

I need to stop this roller coaster of witnessing venom in every corner.  I'm far too sensitive for this.

I need to continue with being who I am, doing what I do, knowing that I am not harming anybody with my intentions.

Rather, I am doing anything I can to uplift another person, knowing the damage others can bring by putting one another down.

I need to continue with the words of Mother Teresa, even if I'm not the religious person she is.  She is right, and spirituality comes in many fashions.

I feel, right now, that the world is on the brink of 'Divided We Fall'.

We have to come together to help each other and stop fighting.

The bad will take control if the good don't link arms in strength.

Please.  Be one of the good to help stop the hatred toward one another, no matter who we are.

We need to stay together to stay strong.

I'm taking a short break from surfing around Fecesbook for a few days.  I am far too sensitive for it.

I'll keep writing here.

I've been too afraid to voice my opinion, until this morning, when I realized that if there are people spreading hate online, I have every right to spread love.

This is not entitlement of being white.

This is entitlement of a human being.

Today's mantra from Ellen DeGeneres:

be kind to one another

Well, at least we're still alive.

Sometimes, I really do wish there was a 'god' to believe in.  If there was, I would have prayed yesterday.

Papi woke me up wayyyyyyyy before my time, excitedly chanting, "Baby!  Get up!  We're going to Seattle Pride!!"

I thought, perhaps this was a joke, but my love knows better than to wake me up for mischief.

My love prepped my coffee ...

... that was where the trouble started ...

and I did my best to get to 'pretty femme' in 20 minutes.

Needless to say, it was a hat day and I wore the clothes from the birthday party the night before.  It was reminiscent of my drinking days where I'd be strolling around in yesterday's party dress, complete with skanky, buffalo breath and day old panties.

This time my teeth were brushed and I wore clean underwear.

Anyway, we fought on the way down, partially because my coffee wasn't doing it's job, my bitch of a back was screaming at me for sitting in a car first thing in the morning and my love hadn't slept from his graveyard shift.

No, it was not our finest moment, and we very rarely fight.  Very, very rarely, which already made it an odd start to our day.

Eventually, the pain killers kicked in, the coffee did it's job and Papi took a clonazepam.  Then we thought the fun would start.

We got to the parade and had the absolute best spot.

That was, of course, until the religious zealots came with their horrid signs and stood where we could see them.  I couldn't handle it.  It made me crazy that some dude thinks it's ok to spread hate, with a sign that has a picture of jesus skinned alive on a cross, in lifesize form.

That just doesn't say, 'come join our loving family' to me.  However, that wasn't even the worst of it.

The worst of it was afterward, while we were enjoying our people watching at the festivities end, a man sat beside us and abused his dog.

Not being the type of folks to sit back and stay silent, we tried to tell him there were better ways to train your dog other than kicking and abusing it.

I tried to connect with the dog, but he wouldn't allow me to show it love.  He pulled it away from me, however, I still had a moment to notice blood on it's left eyebrow.

I was almost sick.

We stood our ground while he threatened us for speaking out about his abuse, but were grateful when it seemed like he had left.

Wrong!  Mentally ill abusers don't leave without the fight they came for.

He returned and got in Papi's face violently, and when I stood to put my body between him and my love, the women all around me shook their heads to say, "Please, don't engage.  Please, don't do anything.  Please, stay safe."

Fortunately, he exited again before I got pummeled, but he also left us with his energy.  It took me so many breaths to calm from his abuse toward the dog and us.

I wanted so badly to save the dog, but also I wanted so badly to shove the tip of my boot into his groin, give a palm thrust to his chin and stab his eyes with my fingers.

We didn't have any positive experiences after that, especially when he wound up in our vicinity once more where we thought we'd be safe from him.

Both mi esposo and I were so scared for our lives that we had a tandem panic attack.  We were also scared for the dog's life, but there was not much more we could do safely.

We left Seattle, silently.

We drove back to our home and since that moment, I've wished that there was a 'god' who would actually listen and help heal our damaged people and animals.

It's making me really feel that this world is no longer a place I want to be.

It's making me yearn for a planet where I can give love to animals, to people who need it and to have peace.

All I want is peace.

This agnostic, who verges on atheist, wishes there really was a 'god' to bring that, but alas, that 'god' still hasn't called on the phone to talk about all this.

I'm still waiting.

i will never stay silent.  i will always stand up for those in need.

Sit In Silence

Music is my only way to transcend into a place of inner peace.

Even if I'm playing music some would consider 'heavy/dark', it doesn't matter.  Every note I play runs through my veins with love.

Every finger that moves, brings in a sound wave from the fret board of my bass, or the ivory keys of my piano, straight through my chest cavity and into my heart, where it feeds my blood and eventually, my mind.

That's when my mind becomes calm.

My thoughts are on nothing but the instrument and the notes themselves.

It truly is the only time I can say that I can even come close to what other people call 'meditation'.

Problem is, I can't be bringing my bass or my piano around with me all over the damn city.

Especially on the 'short bus'.  Those bitches leave me stranded at the side of the road too much.  It would suck being stranded and stuck holding my oh so heavy bass.

Yeah.  It doesn't work that way. Especially with HandyDart.

You see, they're now owned by a for profit, American company, called MVT, who pretend they're from Canada.

It's not that I don't like Americans, especially The Yank.  I just don't like American corporations.

MVT just can't seem to understand that waiting at the side of the road for an hour increases pain, which is the whole reason I use them!

Anyway.

My whole point is music.

I remember before I got on anti-depressants, I would go into really heavy valleys.  It was almost impossible for me to get out of the Pit of Doom.

Those demons were licking my heels with every breath I took.

One day, I was crying horribly, but I had to practise for my cello lesson. 

As soon as I felt those notes floating through my bones, I stopped crying.

Until I had to turn the page.

It's quite the job to turn the page playing a cello.  Do you use your bow hand and flip that bugger all over the place, hoping that you don't rip apart your bow hairs?  Or do you use your fretboard hand and lose your place?

There are no frets on a cello by the way.  If that means anything to you.  It did to me.  Unlike my bass, I had troubles finding my place a lot. 

Anyway, turning the page would take a moment, and for that moment, I would begin to cry again, until the page was turned and the sound waves were directing my blood once more, and the tears would stop.

The past week, from the grief of losing The World's Loudest Snorer, I've been very touchy with my emotions.

The past two days, I've had the freedom to play as much music as I want.

The same thing has been true as the cello epiphany.

Music heals my heart.

I've always wondered, are musicians born a musician, and the emotions follow?

Or are emotional people drawn to music, because it heals our hearts?

Either way, I'm ok with it.

At least I have something that I can count on to help my get through hard times.

As my drummer from HECTOR/best man at my wedding/father to The World's Loudest Snorer once said, "It's ok when you have bad things happen.  That's when you write your best music."

So, then maybe I have had an 'interesting life', because that's my journey.

To write the best music.

Yesterday, as I practised my bass, I played along to the BlueLight song I wrote, Sit In Silence.

I realized, I have to listen to my own advice.

if you are passionate about something, pursue it, no matter what anyone else thinks.  That is how dreams are achieved.

This is where I heal.

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

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

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

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

I have shell shock.

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

I try so hard to keep up. 

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

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

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

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

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

"It feels so much like ... "

"Like what, sweety?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's hard."

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

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

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

Sorry Papi.

This is where I heal.

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

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

I love ya, tomorrow ...

It's always better 'tomorrow'.

I'm feeling a lot more 'human' today, vs. perfect.

A few of my blogger friends reminded me that I am hard on myself, and that it's important to remember I'm human.

I'm pretty sure that my recent back injury flare up is responsible for the weakness that let the demons in to play.

I had a dream last night that the G'ma left the house and Papi and I were free to paaaaaar-tayyyy!

wooooohoooooo!!!! **fist pumps the air**

I think that's what the demons do.  When my brain can only handle so much pain, they come on in like rats searching for a meal, and I am the morsel they have a food fight with.

None-the-less, I am feeling much better emotionally today.

time to jump the next hurdle?

Papi asked me if I want to go to something called Gender Odyssey.  They have closed workshops for the spaz of a spouse/partner/lover who just can't find 'happiness' during a gender change, yet is secretly a Tranny Lover.

yeah ... that's me all right

Everyone in this particular workshop must be the gender they were born with.

So, while Papi will be out flashing The Great Breast Disappearance with all the other F-Ms, and everyone is patting each other on the back, "Way to go bro!" I'll be wallowing and sobbing with all the others who have healing to do.

I hope they're ready for me.  Oh, I'll be there in full force.  I'll more than likely be the loudest one there, but if there's one who is as frantic as I, then I will have found a new BFF.

I will also gather more people for the Trust List.

I really have a great Trust List going now.  It's actually to the point where I was confident enough this week to tell people on Facebook just what it is I've been going through for 7 months.

I posted a note inviting people to come here and ride the roller coaster.

It is mostly to reach out to people who are in the same place as I.

7 months ago, I was completely alone searching for someone, anyone who had been there.  I received closed doors and it caused me to shut down emotionally.

and perhaps burn a few bridges ...

I'm truly hoping that there is someone out there who is in need of support, and I want to be the one to give it to them.

unlike the 'support' line i called who didn't call me back for a month

However, something else happened.  Not so close friends started reading, and now it's like I've come out of the closet all over again.

hello ... i'm andréa ... and i'm a tranny lover

Here is where I realized that breaking the silence has done more for me than the aching soul I was reaching out to:

Now I don't have this green ogre of a secret to hide.

Now I can speak freely and actually tell people what the hell has been going on with me for 7 months.

and why i've been such a maniac

Now I have support in the most unlikely places.

Now I can breathe.

now i can weed out those who are beyond trans-political people who will hate me for feeling this pain, the religious zealots who already freak out about me being a lesbian, and transphobic who will delete me off facebook

The only reason I was able to do this was because of my Trust List.

I have the feeling my Trust List just grew faster than the heart of The Grinch.

The Silence of the Lambs

She said, "It's not that we didn't notice you disappeared, it's just that we wanted to give you your space.  I wouldn't want to taint you with the pain I felt when I had to go through it, because maybe your experience was different."

maybe i'm a rah-rah-tranny and you're afraid i would judge you adversely?

My response started my tears, "But I needed to know you were there.  I needed to hear that I'm not horrible for the feelings I have."

Like a big sister who had walked my path before, I heard, "We're taught NOT to speak about it.  We're taught that the person transitioning needs support.  We're taught that we need to be the strong one, because we're not supposed to be hurt by this."

My fire grew deeper, "I will not be silenced."

No, I will not stay dormant while my love changes into the person I didn't marry.  I will be there when another person feels there is nobody to talk to.

I will scream from the mountains, "This fucking hurts like hell!"

You Rah-Rah-Trannies will have another thing coming if you think that you're the only ones that get to be heard.

My time has come.

All of those that feel that I should be the supportive wife, the person who just 'takes' it with a smile, the quiet mouse who must grieve in silence, lest I hurt the transgendered person's feelings will not win.

I'm hurting.

I'm terrified.

I'm grieving.

I'm losing my sweet butch I married.

No, this I can promise you; I will not be silenced.

I received another email last night from a sweet soul who saw me on that day that lasted an eternity.  She wrote, "I've never seen you looking so fragile and so sad before.  I just want to know if you're ok."

I wrote back in honesty that I was not ok.  I'm hurting, and that day was an awful day to live.

Another one that may be added to the Trust List.  They just keep coming.

Maybe it's because I need the support now that the countdown has arrived.  Maybe my energy is pulling those toward me because this will be a difficult time.  Maybe I need them.

Maybe I pushed everyone away for those 6 weeks.  Maybe they were my first steps to laying down and commencing the wanting of death.

Maybe now I'm learning to ask for help.

maybe?

All I know is, I thought the hardest part was over.  I thought that acceptance would be the biggest hurdle.

Oh no, it is not.

I'm counting the days until the symbol of my love's femininity has been torn from me.

Papi is starting to get Helium Voice.  The voice that all F-Ms get when the hormones start to transform them into more of a male being.

I've told mi esposo how much I hate that voice.  It's coming and my love is excited.

I'm doing my best just to ignore it.

It's hard however, when Papi is jumping up and down like a child on X-Mas morning, "Can you hear it?!  It's coming!  You have to admit it's coming!!"

No my love, I don't have to admit it.

I have to deal with it.

Chapter Three: Ella

I've had to save a life from heroin overdose before, and seeing this man doing the funky chicken looked very similar to the one that almost died in my arms.

What was more terrifying though, was the fact that there was a four legged life with him whose leash was being yanked every time he jerked with the drugs' power of involuntary seizures.

"Oh my god sweety, we have to pull over to see if they're both ok!"

Papi reversed as all the street dwellers wondered what we were doing in their area.

I jumped out disregarding any imminent danger that could possibly be in this space.

save the dog, save the guy 

I was mostly worried about the dog.  I know what to do with the guy, but this poor little friend was so scared.

Papi was in the sidelines, securing our car from theft and taking stock as to who was around us.

My love works with all these people and knows that they are opportunists.  The scariest of all are the meth-heads.  They will kill you in a moment of paranoia.

It was clear that this man was on heroin, but those around us could be on anything.

I kept speaking to the man, trying to get his attention, asking him anything to keep his mind from falling into a coma and slipping away permanently.

The only thing that got his attention was one statement I said in anger, "Dude, you're hurting your dog!!"

He snapped out of his fit and you could see the moment of clarity in his eyes, "How?"

"You keep yanking on her leash and it's choking her."  I knew her name was Ella.  One of the street dwellers told me.

I kept holding Ella's leash and keeping the restraint so that she wasn't being tugged anymore.  At this point, Papi had secured the car and taken stock of who was around.  Now my love had the dog's leash taken away from this man, so Ella was safe.

I noticed a few things about our overdosing man; first off, he had a hospital bracelet on.  He'd obviously been in within the past 24 hours, as the plastic was clean and undisturbed.  His name was on this bracelet, allowing me to speak his name and get his attention better.

What else I noticed?

Braces.

He had braces on his teeth!  This man is a new member of the streets.  People don't have braces down here.  You don't get braces unless you have a fortunate life and you are trying to better yourself.

"Donavan, I'd like to take you and Ella home so that you'll both be safe.  Can we get you home?  These people will take your dog and take your wallet.  Do you have your wallet?"

His seizuring continued between words and moments of seeing us in front of him.

It took us quite some time, but we did get Ella into the car, and that prompted Donavan to get there too.

He was flipping around in our back seat, and between the wiggling, I would manage to get small amounts of directions as to where to bring them home.

My main concern was the dog.  I was ready to steal Ella, and tell this jerk that when he got his shit together, I'd return her.

When we got to his home, his very waif-like girlfriend answered the door and Donavan and Ella both went in.

ok ... the dog is alright, the guy is in and now we can continue on our venture.

Papi and I got back in the car a little bit speechless.  It was a quiet ride to the Sexy Sauna Party.

Chapter four begins with the hardest part of my day.  The last part of the day to get through.

This truly is a day worth remembering.

Promises, promises

The silence was too immense.

I hurt Papi.

My love decided to speak about the frustration of this evolution moving too slow.  "It's going to take months and months before any of this gets started!"

This came because My Person had posted on Papi's Facebook page, that in her opinion, it looks like the process is moving fast.  My love felt this wasn't so and told me.

My Person knows.  My Person spoke for me in recognition of how I feel, as she's my echo.

To me?

It's moving like a freight train.  This process is racing.  My wife is running away from me as fast as possible, leaving in the dust another person.  I welcome every single delay in the advancement of my love's male transformation.

All I could do was sit and stare at the ceiling.  I just didn't want to cry about 'it' and the fact that my love wants to leave.  My presence in the room was hushed din.

I sensed sorrow and abandonment in my love's energy.

I couldn't stop the stillness my lips had forced upon me.  I couldn't share how I really felt, because there was too much to think about at the same time.  The taste of these emotions sat stale on my tongue, awaiting their moment to spit their expression.

Silence.

At one point, I felt I could try to speak to my love, and when I looked over it seemed as though my uncried tears had made an appearance on Papi's face.

Goddammit I can't escape them no matter what I do!

"Are you ok?" I asked knowingly.

"Yeah."

An obvious lie.

So now, my silence has put us both under the same dark throng.  My uncommunicative response has maimed us both.

We could only talk and laugh about the monkeys on TV that were getting drunk by stealing tourists' drinks while they lie unsuspecting in the sun.

Being that my love and I are both clean and sober, I'm going to assume that Papi was thinking, as I was, that a drink would certainly numb the nerves that we both fell prey to in this moment.

When Papi left for the graveyard shift, the truth came out.  "I'm a little hurt that you won't talk to me."

I was pretty sure the 'little' was an understatement.

With all my strength, I tried to explain that it wasn't that I didn't want to talk 'to' my love, it was that I didn't want to speak about 'it', lest I cry again.

Please don't make me cry again!

Realizing I'd hurt Papi made me cry anyway, as I helplessly watched mi esposo precioso close the door, leaving me with non-english speaking animals.

You want silence?  You got it.  All I got was a room full of privileged 4 legged critters and not so much as a text from my love.

Until a little later.

Thankfully, I'm good at getting things out in texts when I really need to, and this was one of those times.  It's another place that I can hide in a bubble of confidence, because I'm not face to face with the conflict.

There was no typing and erasing with speechlessness as there was the day before.  I confessed all my feelings.  I exposed my truth about how I only get my wife for a short while in this marriage and then for the rest of our lives together I get the other gendered person.

The person that isn't in my wedding photos.

I told my love that the 'forever' it takes to get this male transformation underway is too short of a time for me.

Then my desperate bargaining to ease the pain I inflicted upon my love came out.

I promised that I would do my best to deal with 'it' without silence from now on, even if it makes me cry.

I stick to my promises.

I have so much work to do.

Just because I'm not sitting in the La-Z-Boy padded cell in that comatose state like I did for 6 weeks doesn't mean I'm out of the woods yet.

It took a long time for me to get to sleep last night ...