The Vacation - Part 1

I can't tell you how hard that first day was.

Nothing like being stuck in a car with someone who has just ripped your heart out, and knowing that you have to spend at least 3 hours in the car with them.

True to my suicidal nature, I was not mentally well.

I don't know that I would ever take my own life, but I'll tell you, I will beg the angels to do it for me.

Every car that Papi passed on the left, I would say to the angels, "Do it now while there's a car coming at us.  Head on collision.  Take us out together.  We're both suffering."

We could go together and live in a place where the pain would stop.

I didn't wear my seatbelt, because I thought for sure I could will an oncoming semi-trailer to do us in.

When Papi finally asked me why I'm not wearing it, I was honest, "If I get into another accident, I don't want to suffer through the pain again.  I just want to die in an instant.  I want this all to end."

Let it be known that when Papi relapses, we both suffer.

He has to live with the pain of a spouse who becomes suicidal.

I've lived with way too many alcoholics and drug addicts to know that this disease doesn't allow for love.

It robs all inklings of love.  I can't lose my soul mate to this.  Losing Papi to alcohol would be the final straw of my life, that seems to have so much goodness, but seems to be balanced out with so much pain at the same time.

He begged me, "Please, I don't want you to be unhappy.  I don't want to drink anymore."

"But you will.  You can't help it.  You're an alcoholic."

In frustration, mi esposo replied, "Can you just trust that I won't drink during this trip to the capitol?  You can go back to not trusting me after, but we're going for a mini-vacation.  Let's try to enjoy it and you can hate me when we get home."

He didn't get it.  "I don't hate you.  I couldn't ever.  I don't think you have any idea how much I love you.  But how do you expect me to just 'let this go'?"

I couldn't.  I didn't.

Until we actually hit the city.

We had pulled over so I could drive for part of the highway, while Papi slept off the effects of the alcohol the night before.  It was getting too dangerous for his bleary eyes to keep looking at the road, and besides, it was a really good highway with very few insane drivers.

That was of course, until we hit Santo Domingo.

I was slapping Papi in the leg, pushing him, as I begged him to wake up.  "We're here!  This is it!!"

He told me to pull over, but I decided that I'd had enough stress and wanted to drive myself, so that I know what's around me and I was in control.

I haven't had enough control over the the past few days.

So, no, I would drive.

I scared the shit out him as I found my place in 4 lanes of traffic where there were no lines, nor were there any rules.

I cut off people without a care in the world.

... hit me ... go ahead ... i don't fucking care anymore ...

But somehow, while being scared shitless in this driving chaos, I managed to get us to the malecon.

Then Papi had enough.  "Pull over.  I can't take it anymore.  You're going to give me a heart attack."

So, I did.  Then all of a sudden I noticed that the traffic was calm.  There were no more crazy drivers.

While we drove along side the beautiful Caribbean Sea in awe of it's beauty, we were actually talking for the first time since his drunkfest the night before.

We arrived at the hotel, illegally snuck in Sir Bark-A-Lot, who doesn't make a peep when he's in his carrying bag, and up to the hotel room we went.

This is when the adventure really began.

A trip to Ikea was in order to finally get our bedroom suite started.  The day was not over yet.

This little trip took us to adventure, where our Vacation began, and our communication followed suit.

It was at that point that I apologized to the angels for asking them to wipe me off the planet.

I felt bad that I had asked them to help me die, after all the love they'd given me.

I've had suicidal thoughts since I was a child, but this was the first time I had ever apologized for them.

I do want to live, but I'm so tired and all I want is for my emotional pain to stop.

i love and honour myself

just for today ...

As I sit in this little coffee shop in the downtown core and people watch, I can't help but think about 2 days ago.

First thing in the morning, sometimes even before my 'wake up and run to the washroom' tinkle, I have to take care of the old bird upstairs.

Really, it's so I don't forget.

I walk my zombie self, complete with watery eyes and bad breath, to do the routine before I eagerly get back down the stairs to make my coffee.

The other day, one of the first things G'ma said was, "Do you know what today is?"

I answered, "Wednesday."  That wasn't what she meant.  I thought she forgot the day, which both of us tend to do as we foolishly check for the mail or newspaper on a Sunday.

Anyway, she told me what the day is.  "I was married 70 years ago today."

My heart broke, melted and rejoiced all at the same time.

"Happy anniversary!" I quickly chirped.

She didn't think it was a happy anniversary.  Her husband died a few years ago.

It saddened me that this was how she saw her day only as sadness and grief.  I asked her, "Do you think you could remember the happy memories to celebrate your day?"

We all do it.  You know what I mean?  We look at loss as our focal point.

But what about the good?  What about all the beautiful memories to remember?  Why don't we just bask in the glory of how much love we had, and celebrate it?

We are way too human for that.

Just like when an animal loses a limb, they don't worry about what the general population of fuzzy friends will think.  No, they say to themselves, "Ok.  Now I have 3 legs," then learn how to walk properly and carry on with life.

Not us humans.  We feel loss in a different way.  We're very emotionally intricate.

We also care too much about what others will think of us when we have a disability.

When I was first out of the house after my accident, people would give me looks of disgust, because they thought I was drunk.

I looked pretty drunk.  I couldn't walk alone with my cane.  I needed help.  That or a wheelchair.

But it really affected me that people would judge me so harshly after all I'd been through.

Especially because of the fact that I was clean and sober!!

However, such is our human nature.

Back to chatting about G'ma.

... but it's all about me isn't it?!!?!?!? ...

She put her whole life into her husband.  They did that in her generation.

I've heard about the G'pa.  I never got to meet him, but apparently, I would have really liked him because he was cheeky.  I wish I met him.

Regardless, nice and/or cheeky as he was, G'ma followed him to wherever he went, whatever he wanted to do and his friends became her circle.

I hope to hell that I continue to have an independent life while being coupled with my love.

I know that a lot of my life has been meshed with Papi, which is just beautiful, but I really hope that when I'm old and grey, if mi esposo leaves this planet before me, that I will still be grateful for my memories.

I hope that I will still continue to do things that I enjoy, and do them knowing that my love's spirit is always with me.

Or, I hope that I go first.

Nobody wants to be the one left behind in love.

Ah, but there I go.  Thinking about the future again.

That's human nature as well.

Right now, I'm going to enjoy the fact that I have the greatest love, and that soul mate is a part of my life.

don't dwell on the past or worry about the future for too long.  right now is life.  live it!!

My Living Day Anniversary.

They postponed my discovery until February.

In doing this, they allowed me to enjoy this day for living, instead of pounding out the negativity of the past 3 years.

It is a great day to be alive.

I'm going to enjoy everything about my life today.

This includes cleaning up the house with a little help from my Medicinal Cannabis.

I'm grateful to have a pain med option that will allow me sweep The Golden's tumbleweeds of hair, that seem to have taken over the floor since my most recent flare up.

I'm grateful to be in love with a wonderful spouse, who is my soul mate and best friend.

I'm grateful I actually have a Fuzzy Family to keep me remembering that love is all you need.

I'm grateful to EI actually helping me out today, so that I may finally have income after one very long month without enough money for organic, luscious greens to help my body feel well.

I'm grateful that I can still play my instruments, even though I can't play as long as I used to.

I'm grateful that I have a creative ability, so that I have an outlet to deal with life on life's terms, not mine.

I'm grateful.

I'm just truly grateful.

It's a great day to be alive.

Today, I am a lot further than where I was at 3:00, 3 years ago today, when my life changed.

This is my Living Day Anniversary.

I'm going to use it's joy to it's full capacity.

This includes folding laundry.

Yes, I'm grateful that I can actually fold the laundry that seems to be piling to the ceiling.

I now realize house chores are a privilege.

They are.

They are, because I am able to do most of them now.

Today is my Living Day Anniversary and I'll be experiencing it with every moment I breath.

If you're struggling, I hope that today you will find at least one moment of gratitude, peace, joy or all of the above.

Everything always works out.

Everything.

You just have to keep your eyes open, so that you may witness it.

Sperm.

They really shouldn't allow 2 brain injured people who get confused to lead each other around, or they will simply go in circles like a dog chasing it's tail.

Like yesterday.

I drove downtown to meet My Boifriend, who happens to be gay, but has now found a femme love interest, which I suppose would now make him bi-curious?

Anyway, like the classy lady I am, I pulled up to the curb and had him throw his house, or rather stuffed duffel bag, and even more stuffed computer case into the backseat of our vehicle.  The entertaining part was when he bellowed, "You're making me hold up a bus!" with a panicked bark.

of course my dear, that's the way i roll... i like pissing people off ...

After we laughed about the lack of comfort we just encountered, we decided to find somewhere to have our hang out.

Well, here's where it got fun.

We spoke about where we should go before he had to meet up with the next friend.  I'm sure it will be like that for him the entire weekend.  You know how it is.  Too many people who love him and too little time to spread it around.

We decided on coffee and I started driving to my favourite, ethical coffee joint, JJ Bean.  I then realized I'm a little hungry and perhaps he was too, as it was dinner time.  So we aborted the coffee trek and headed to find something wheat and dairy free for my finicky body.

Sounds pretty normal, right?

Well, with 2 brain injured people trying to make choices, we wound up exactly where we started from.

Yup.

One big 360 degree circle of driving.

Next was the decision of which million dollar parking lot to park in.  In downtown Vancouver, a buck will get you a cool 10 minutes.

Anyway, I had decided on a falafel plate for my sinful meal, but when we parked I changed my mind.

such is the life of a brain injured person ... please don't give me options ...

This was fine with My Boifriend.  He's pretty easy.  Well, when it comes to food that is.  I wouldn't know about anything else, considering he's my platonic boifriend.

Mind you, I did have a dream that Papi and him were making out.  Is that weird or what?

Usually I dream about Papi having sex with me, but somehow my mind said it was ok for them to have a go.

Good thing it was a dream.  Wouldn't know how I'd feel about my monogamous soul mate sleeping with my gay, and/or bi-curious-ish, FTM boifriend.

Oh, there I go off topic.  Again.

Topic: food.

We ...

or rather i ...

... did manage to make a decision on Mexican.  We went to Mucho Burrito, where My Boifriend treated me to an evil meal of wheat and dairy free, sodium exaggerated junk food.  It was deliciously bad for me.

The sad part is, this restaurant is on the outer edge of the Davie Village, so the gays, trannies, dykes, and all the other people who will be going to hell with us, tend not to make it into this restaurant.

too bad for you guys! cross the burrard boundary and give it a go! i recommend it!

We had a little extra time before his next social gathering, so we went for a walk in the cool autumn, verging on winter, air.

it was about at this time that i was truly grateful that i had indeed taken 'too much' crack butter.

We went somewhere that I haven't seen yet.  The Vancouver Convention Center at the Burrard Inlet.

And here's what we found:

A big blue sperm.

I'm pretty sure that if Papi and I used this bugger ...

... we would have gotten pregnant and stayed that way!

Anyway, I guess we didn't do too badly for two brain injured people.

We ate, got to where we were going on time, and then I got to come home to Papi, who said more than one word!  It was almost like normal!

It's an improvement.

heal papi heal ... i miss your silliness ...

On the count of three ... one ... two ...

There's a lot going on.

I can always tell there's a lot going on when I go to write to 'you', my imaginary friend, and I'm stupefied.

It's all pretty good stuff, but the icing is a little bitter.

Working on 2 short film scores, taking care of the wounded tranny, taking care of the 96 year old coot, taking care of the 4 legged Fuzzy Family, 3 days a week at physio to get this bitch of a back to shut the fuck up so I may be employable, and preparing to prepare for the panel of ICBC lawyers whose job it is to convince everyone that I'm a liar.

yeah ... people just t-bone illegal maneuvering cars with their motorcycle, tumble over the hoods of said cars, then fly 15 feet through the air and land on their head all the time! there's nothing wrong with me ... right?

And at the same time, try to figure out what these feelings are.

I have no idea, really.  I mean, it's not every day we watch our loved ones go through sex changes.

There's just a feeling attached to it that I can't put my finger on.

I know we're very primal beings who, when connected to our instincts, can sense a lot more than we choose to admit.

It's just that as we go along, someone, somewhere tells us we're nuts for thinking our instincts are true.

I'm told I'm paranoid all the time.

Even still, I'm usually the one to say, "Told'ja so."

So, being connected to my instincts, I'm feeling something about Papi's most recent change, but I just can't figure out what it is.

Is it just the fact that I know my love has had the last procedure and the feeling of loss is final?

Is it that I'm sensing the shift in Papi's hormones now that they've taken away the last reminder of being born a female?

Is it that I can smell my love has changed?

I like to think I was a dog in a former life.  Maybe it's like in their world, where once a dog gets their 'bits' taken away, the other dogs can smell it and they are shunned from those who still carry their balls and ovaries?

It's a bit of a mind fuck thinking about my love as this new person.

I was so afraid of who this person would be that I'm married to.  I'm not afraid anymore.

I can safely say that.

But this other feeling?

It's almost like a letting go of some sort.

Perhaps my heart is finally speaking to my brain, "See, everything always works out.  Papi is still the sexy person you married."

Yet my brain is so damn stubborn that there is a battle ensuing.

'Stubborn' can be useful.  Like when you're learning to walk again.

In this case, stubborn is a curse.

My heart knows better than my brain.

Yet still, as I watch my wounded soul mate heal by way of rest, fluids and an arm to hold him while he tries to get up out of the La-Z-Boy, I don't know what this feeling is that looms.

I can't tell if it's happy, scared, content or indifferent.

Seriously.

I remember once an ex pissed me off, and I held in the anger.  It brewed and festered until they then did something as small as leaving the cap off the toothpaste and I lost it.

It wasn't about the toothpaste, and I can't even remember what it was that pissed me off, but I do know that if I had have figured out what irked me faster, I wouldn't have looked like a loon ranting about a cap and drying chunks of toothpaste congealing with air.

Maybe I'm just feeling that sigh of relief we feel when someone says, "Ok.  On the count of three I'm going to rip the bandaid off.  Ok!  Ready?"

Once it's no longer adhered to our skin, we get a rush of adrenalin, and the knowing that it's all over.

Well, the bandaid has definitely been ripped off.

Perhaps that's what's going on?

The day has come ...

The videoshoot was awesome.

I was told to stand in one place and, "Don't move." 

there's some orders i like to take ...

I can do that well, as long as my feet are grounded I won't wobble.

The best part of the day was when I was told there was too much boob in the shot.  Never has that happened in my life.

Anyway, they were so amazingly sensitive to my bitch of a back's needs, that I didn't wake up unable to get out of bed.

I woke up to a mewing of desperate cats, a cacophony of small dog barks, coffee in hand and a beautiful day to share with you the amazing phone call I received two days ago.

It's given me new ambition for what I'm doing here.

A friend, who has very quickly risen to Trust List stardom, called Papi and I the other night.

Papi calls him My Boifriend.  He's one of my favourite people right now, that's for sure.

He showed my article to some friends, who happen to have partners who have gone through the transformation with their loves.

The partners of the transitioning folks in these relationships cried when they read my article, saying, "This was exactly how I felt, but I couldn't say it."

They were afraid to speak.

Oh, how I understand.  And oh, how I want so badly to hold them and take away their fears, but I can't.  I can only support them, doing it on their own.

When My Person came over on the eve of a new year, she had no idea how much she would change my life from chronic, catatonic, La-Z-Boy dweller to the roaring lioness I feel I have become.

There have been a few opinions spewed onto my blob/blab, that I'm appreciative of having.

One of my ex's said it perfectly.  I was shocked that people would allow horrid homophobic words to be published.  This wise ex said, "It's important for everyone to know what's out there.  We need to know what we're up against."

And this is how I feel about the name calling that I've been subject to since the article.  I know what I'm up against.

I'd rather have people excreting the hate to my face, than behind my back.

For some reason, I like to hear the flip side.

And at the same time, I also flourish when those around me who love me fight back in my defense.

sticks and stones bitches ... sticks 'n stones ...

It's important for myself, and others who are like minded, that we hear what people are arming themselves with.

my favourite was 'crude' ... is it so wrong that i like it?!

One comment from the article asked, where on earth I heard such silencing words.  Where were these people who label us transphobic and hate us for our honest feelings?

Check the comments out, that's all I have to say.

They're there in black and white.

These were the people who kept me silenced for 6 weeks straight.

Well, for those who need someone else's voice to say it for them, I want to tell you, I'm here roaring louder with every day I get stronger.

You can speak about your grief, We will never see it as fear.

We'll see it as healthy growth, and will watch you remove each fear one by one, as you see your love change into the person that you didn't know was inside that previous confinement.

We are the luckiest people to have the experience of watching our soul mates be released to freedom, which in turn helps us grow into someone we never knew we could be.

I'm out the other side now.

I'm ready to be Your Person.

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

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

Not to mention my coffee is weak.

But hey!

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

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

Today I'm not feeling very forgiving.

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

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

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

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

Really, bitch?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, I had to grieve because she was leaving.

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

So, no.  It is not all about you.

In a relationship, there are 2 people.

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

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

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

They are hurtful.

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

I'm fucking pissed.

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

We matter.

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

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

We find this defensive attitude everywhere.

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

And again, fuck you.

Gender neutral pronouns please!!!!

I had a day without pain killers yesterday.

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

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

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

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

... creeps ...

... would stare and even sometimes take pictures.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I would fall silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I would breathe easy if that happens.

Dream on ...

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.

And the beat goes on ...

Ah, my dear friend anxiety has come in for a visit.

again

When I was a kid, my mom would tell me not to worry so much.  That I'm going to give myself an ulcer.

then i worried from that day forward that i would get an ulcer.

Hell!

Even when I was a pot smoker, I'd be the paranoid one in the corner worrying about whatever.

Really!

Whatever!

that was of course after i got the giggles and munchies out of the way.

I could be in fear that someone was watching me ...

 

... or that my crazy loon religious family would figure out my dark secrets and I'd be homeless or worse; I would have to hear the rantings of brainwashed deranged kin who were spreading the word of 'god' through hatred and fear.

I used to think that my worrying, or rather, anxiety would go away once I got clean and sober.

fail.

All that happened is I was able to recognize what I was fretting about a lot faster.

Right now though, I'm having the willies about work.

among other things of course ... us anxiety ridden fucks can't stop at one issue ...

They had already called me into the office to talk about my days off due to my back injury, and right afterward, I take another week off.

not to mention i missed the pride parade and gender odyssey that i probably won't get my money back from ... guess i'll brood about that now ...
 
I'm pretty scared I'm going to get fired because they have decided I'm too much of a problem.

I really try hard to be there.

I actually like my job and am the kind of person who has to stay busy.

or i'll think too much and get anxiety.

But they can't have a limping, wincing in pain, polyester clad employee helping people with disabilities.

Some of my clients already feel like they have to help me sometimes.

That's just not good.

Yet right now, as I write this, I am not being paid for my sick days.  There is officially no income coming into our home on my behalf.

Oh, when I'm not thinking about work, there are far better things to worry about.

Really!

I mean, this agnostic verging on atheist doesn't believe in this 'god' that some people believe in, but damn, have you looked at the world recently?

If you look at it on the whole, there is so much going on that could very well be moving toward the apocalypse that the zealots talk about.

The 'touched' will hold their signs saying we're going to die on 'X' day, and it never happens.  However, the way the world is sliding, we could be heading for doomsday one breath at a time.

I don't believe we're just going to implode on any certain day.  I think that we're going to head towards it slow enough that we won't even realize it, and when we least expect it, we'll all be living in what the zealots think of as hell.

At this point, I really feel that living here on earth is another form of hell.

Don't get me wrong.

I'm not saying life is all doom and gloom, but damn!  When I see someone in the news who has beaten a woman by smashing her head continuously and raping her for days on end in front of her 2 year old, spits on the victims family as he's escorted past them, and finally smiles at the news camera in a moment of pride, I have to wonder.

Is it coming faster than I thought?

i'm pretty sure i feel that ulcer coming on ... my stomach is hurting again ...

There's so much more in life to worry about than my simple problems, aka: a soul mate who's going through male transformation.

I'm just a lucky person who has found love in this maniacal world, has food, shelter and a fuzzy family.

Yet, still, my blood courses through me and saps me with anxiety.

Why?

But I'll be damned if I go to my doc and ask for the medication that's needed to calm anxiety.

It will make me fat.

And then I'll obsess about that.

I am so not in control.

Some of my Trust List friends have been lovingly coaxing me to go to Gender Odyssey.

Considering the fact that Papi and I are now so broke it's spooky, I had to bow out and rely on having my support through my Trust List instead.

I was feeling so down about the fact that it's just not affordable to go to this event, that I decided to invite my Trust List to lunch on the weekend that this tranny soirée was happening.

I thought, "Well, I can't get support there, but I'll get it in my own way."

No dice.

Every person but one said they couldn't make it.  They were out of town, or had plans etc etc etc.

I felt so alone.  I felt that I was meant to be alone and that I didn't have the cosmos on my side. 

but wait?! what's this?! a light at the end of the tunnel?!?

Then My Person told me to look into a subsidy/scholarship.  She told me to tell them my brief history, that Papi was a newcomer to the transformation and how I need support.

I put in the appropriate application and letter ...

i had to keep my letter under 175 words. yeah. me. chatterbox extraordinaire ...

... and left it up to luck and/or someone who cared.

I spoke to the one person on my Trust List who could make it to the lunch, "It looks like it's only you and me.  I put in an application for a subsidy/scholarship and if I'm not accepted, would you like to join me one on one for lunch?"

This amazing friend one upped me.  "I'll do better.  I'll help subsidize you.  How does $100 sound?"

I couldn't believe it.

I honestly couldn't believe it.

Who is that insanely generous?!?!

Well, it looks like my friend is.

When my love woke up, I excitedly told Papi that there was subsidy from my friend and a possibility of subsidy from the Odyssey itself.

Papi said, "You can't take her money!!!!  That's crazy!!!"

I replied, "Well, she's already put it into my PayPal."

Papi stopped, looking a little shocked and in awe, not really knowing what to say.  To be honest, it looked a bit like how I felt when my friend first offered.  "Wow.  Ok, but don't count on them giving you a subsidy too."

alright negative nelly.

When I checked my email today, lo and behold, I had the subsidy.

ok ... apparently i'm really supposed to go

After closing my mouth, I decided to share the exciting news with 'you', my imaginary friend.

It's things like this that make me realize I'm meant to be in this relationship.  I'm meant to learn how to remain in love with my soul mate despite us going through this male transformation.  I'm meant to open my eyes and heart to this new world I've been so against for so many years.

This time is meant to be.

Perhaps I'll gain some insight.  Perhaps I'll find allies.  I'm positive I'll find others who, like Papi, are bubbling with joy over the chopping and hacking of their body parts.

Papi is still healing from the top surgery and can't do a lot as of yet, however, my love is already looking forward to the hysterectomy.

seriously?

There was my love, at the end of our bed, doing the happy dance.  Hips waving back and forth.  Arms moving with the mocking white man sway, almost emulating a chicken, "I can't wait to get my hysterectomy!  It's coming soon!"

I couldn't believe I was seeing this jig and hearing this elation, after mi esposo had been complaining about the pain for the past month.  "Honey, if you think your top surgery hurt, this next one is going to be wayyyyy worse.  I wouldn't be doing the happy dance if I were you."

"Yeah I know that, but I'm not hurting as much, so I've forgotten how bad it was and I'm just looking forward to getting it all done."

Oh boy.

Goody gumdrops.

The next mother fucking hurdle.

Yup.  I'm really supposed to go to the Gender Odyssey and learn more about my part in all this.

However, right now, I must go and try to look fancy for a performance tonight, after spending two days in bed with a fever.

Envy me?

yeah ... sure.

Oh ... so ...

... hungry.

My body isn't quite back on track on my food cleanse.  I went crazy the last few years after my accident eating every food I'm allergic to ...

except dairy ... I just can't damage myself for that one ...

... and finally, my body told me to cut it out.

So I did.

But the caffeine, sugar and carb withdrawal is brutal.

And I'm bitchy.

Over the top 'I can't handle it' bitchy.

I have to do the 'breathing' thing to make sure I don't verbally abuse the G'ma.

who incessantly talks about how bad the attic stairs are, how she can't turn the tv on and the bird seed needing to be removed ... 

It always starts like this: 

please use your best old lady voice in your head to make sure you get the full effect

G'ma watches me come up or down our dungeon stairs and says, "My they really did a great job with the carpet on your stairs.  Why can't we put that carpet on the stairs going up?"

Every fucking time.

I've tried to explain that my brain injury doesn't work well with narrow stairs and how I fell down them a few times because the carpet didn't hold my unstable footing.  I've tried saying, "If you don't like the look of them, don't look."

Oh, I've tried everything.

Today?

As soon as she got as far as, "My they really did a great job with the carpet on your stairs.  Why can't we ..."

I gave her the hand, then, "I don't want to hear it."

She kept trying with, "But," and I kept the hand up saying, "No.  I don't want to hear about the carpet every day.  It's not going up and if you don't like it don't look."

"But," and the hand came up again.  Then the old bird laughed, "I'll try not to say anymore about the stairs."

It was a nice gesture, but I know that it will only last 10 minutes.

Regardless, my cranky 'I'm so hungry' moment got a little overheated and I was thinking I did really well with Papi yesterday when I was off work and ready to keel over from starvation.

There stood my love with only boxers on and a camera in hand as soon as I came down those 'My they really did a great job with the carpet' stairs.

As I walked past my love I asked, "What's this all about?" in regards to my au naturel esposo.

I need you to take pictures of the 'after' pictures for the clinic.

the papirazzi is ready for their action shots!

Papi stood proudly, exposing The Great Breast Disappearance, and I snapped pictures with every shading of flash I could find via it's adjustments.

Again I was surprised.

My love and I giggled through the process and I didn't have any moments where my hair stood on end with the ouch factor looking at the still pink scars.

I'm coming along.

I think what I'm realizing is that because my love is going through the changes with me, I'm ok, because Papi is still here by my side.

I know I wouldn't do this again, because I wouldn't do this for just anyone.

Only my soul mate.

This is an amazing person who wants the world to know that **enter pronoun here** not slut-phobic and that **enter pronoun here** loves sluts.

Papi likes sluts.

There ya go Papi.

I fixed it for you.

listen ...

The Gramma Drama has just about taken it's final bow.

She's going completely loopy and she's dragging us along with her.

Yesterday, I composed a text to Papi in an hysterical state, where my heart was going to slam straight out of my chest and said, "I almost wrote to you that I've had it and I'm moving out."

My caring love said, "Oh dear, you sound like I did this morning."

This morning when I woke up, I read a very early morning text from Papi that read, "I can't take much more of G'ma either.  I think I may move out!!"

It's hard let me tell you.

If you've ever taken care of an elder, then you know what I'm talking about.  If you haven't, you have no idea what you're in for when your time comes.

be afraid ... be VERY afraid ...

No need to go into detail berating the old fart here for my 'good morning, let's sort out my brain' blogging episode.

Let's just say that between my emotions about Papi's male transformation, working 10 hour shifts, preparing for a massive show in 3 weeks, ...

gasp!!! wtf?!?! 3 weeks?!?!? there goes that chest pain again ...

... trying to keep up with the Fuzzy Family and having the Gramma Drama unfold with every breathing moment I'm at home is taking it's toll.

sometimes, i replay the Supertramp Song in my mind ... exchanging the wife for the g'ma

Hence, I thought I was going to have a heart attack on the bus to pick up our now fixed car.

One good thing is, I don't have time to wallow about my love's male transformation.  It's really a good thing.

I get to think about what a goofy spouse I have.

I'm pretty sure I told you that Papi thinks my blogs are boring if they don't include my love.  Well, when a couple of my Blogger Friends mentioned they'd like to see pics, Papi read the comments and just about jumped for glee.

There went my love, faster than a cheetah to grab the camera, scattering the Fuzzy Family.  We had to give every picture the once over to be sure it was the perfect one to display to the world.

It was like Papi was a star and I was the paparazzi.

or rather the PAPIrazzi.

I couldn't stop giggling at my love.

We were taking pics of mi esposo's progress, and for that moment, I didn't see the scars or the angry nipple.

I saw my soul mate.

The one that I married.

When I think about that, I realize that being here in this moment is really ok.  I don't need to think about those fears that are welling up in me that I'll have a balding, pot bellied, hairy middle aged man as a companion for the rest of our lives together.

It's now coming to light that all the changes mi esposo wants to make are really not going to change the silly, gorgeous, loving, understanding person I married.

I will always see my butch.

As much as Papi gets frustrated when I glaze over as mi esposo starts talking about the caterpillar that isn't growing in fast enough, I do listen.

I may not speak, but I listen.

I listen to these words that are important to Papi.

Then I slip back into what's important to me.

My love.

Tranny Lovers Anonymous

Sometimes, words can be misconstrued.

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

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

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

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

Yes.

This is fucking hard.

But no.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Transgenderism is all over the world.

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

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

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

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

it's a human being fuckwad.

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

A hell of a lot.

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

hey that's me!

I love butches.

I am attracted to masculine women.

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

i found out through denial

... is going through male transformation.

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

This is more painful than I could ever tell you.

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

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

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

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

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

patience patients ...

People pleaser.

That's what some of us become when we've felt that we need to be loved more.  It never really works though.  You just come across as needy.

Then there's the other end of the pendulum:

Selfishness.

At that point, you come across as someone who nobody really wants to be around.  However, you attract the people pleasers and your bidding is done.

Balance is really the key to everything in life.  It really is the most important rule to remember.

So, here I am lying in bed because I've put my back out.  I'm pretty sure it's because I tried so hard to keep up with the demands brought upon me that I stressed myself out to a point where my back had to take all the flack.

I know I can't afford this kind of stress.  I know that my injuries are affected by it, but when you're in the throws of insanity, it's hard to recall anything you're 'supposed' to.

hello brain injury. fuck my memory sucks.

I frantically ran around getting everything done.  I was quite grateful for the extra cardio as my heart would pound out of my chest from going up and down the stairs so many times and scratching another item off the list.

Alas, the caretaker has become the patient.

Poor Papi.  My love was thinking that there would be a wife at home who'd be the caretaker.

Wrong.

Now I'm flat on my back asking for Papi's help.

My love has to change all the dressings alone.  But then again, mi esposo told me it's easier without me.

Papi also told me I'm too much of a stress case to be around.

Wouldn't it be fucked up if my anxiety over this transgender journey actually drove away Papi?  Imagine if I wound up single and divorced after all I went through to try to stick this marriage out amidst a male transformation.

I would crumble.

time to take a look at that...

I just need some downtime from this brain.  I really need to have a simple life with a simple job and a simple relationship.

gimme a break

I'm sure Papi could use a breather from my anxiety too.

The common denominator is me.

How do I do this though?  How do I just stop the anxiety and have a hiatus from this brain, which in turn will give Papi some time out too?

My love doesn't understand how this could affect me, "I didn't do this to you.  It's not about you."

My broken record response, "But you're changing my life by changing you."

When you marry someone, two hearts become one.  So, yes, this is happening to me too.

You know when hell has frozen over and you look back and laugh?

I need that time to come now.

I need to get off this emotional roller coaster.  The slides down that hill aren't as fun as they used to be.  How about we just play on the bumper cars for a little while?

one day at a time.

I'm so tired and broken, but I need my beautiful relationship back.

It's hard when you can't even hug your soul mate, because there's a barrier of stitches, gauze, tape and pain.

At least we can hold hands.  I still feel Papi's love through those strong hands.

You get what you need ...

I see glimpses of the new person in my love.  Tiny little changes that are really coming from the strength within Papi.  A place where the mind's eye is bringing to reality what it sees, because the mind is so powerful, what Papi sees in there is slowly becoming an existence for the world to witness.

My love's vision is becoming an entity, like the caterpillar emerging; the being of beauty with wings to carry their new found freedom up high to a place where they can soar above us mere mortals.

It's a strange phenomenon for me.  I see my love changing, but it's like going from a G4 computer to a G5.  Same programs, just an update and different look.

I realized yesterday, after a quick visit to the coffee shop forum, that I'm writing a blog about love.

Sap alert!!!

Love isn't always easy, but really, it's what life's about.  We need it to get by.

We also need the other end of the pendulum to become killers.  People will slowly commit suicide by way of drugs and alcohol because they have a lack of it in their lives.  Hell, terrorists and religious zealots use the ardor of their god as an excuse for hatred.

Love is all you need.

In the coffee shop yesterday, I read a post of pain.  A feeling that this person will never have the love they search for.  It came out in such a way that seemed as though they'd given up.  I could recognize their anguish.

The need for love I felt as a child carried on through to my teens and into adulthood.  I pretended I didn't need it and stuffed my feeling down becoming the angry addict.  So angry that I was told by friends, "You make it very hard to love you."

Every time I was told this, I felt I'd won.  As if I'd made the choice not to be loved.

I starved myself so my outsides matched my insides.  A boney structure, brittle to the eye in an effort for someone to see my emptiness and show me how to heal.

I made cuts on my arms that would sting, giving me the endorphins I needed, and I placed them with my bones into a tub.  I'd watch the blood slowly seep out of me.  I'd bleed myself in an attempt to force the agony of my lacking heart to be diluted in bath water.

I finally learned the lesson that I had to love myself to fill those gaps of barren pain.  'I' had to be the love I needed in order to pull myself out of that pit of doom that I frequented.

I have furniture down there.  I set up a nice little get away, because I visited so often that I needed it to have a familiar view; home.

Yet, in reality, I'm the hopeless romantic.

I'm the epitome of monogamy. 

Right now, I say to myself, "If this marriage doesn't work out, I will remain single for the rest of my life."  I suppose it's because I feel that I am with my soul mate and I can't imagine ever being with another person.

There are so many betrayers of promises made in a relationship.  There are many non-monogamous people.  There are tons of monogamous people who openly joke about those they'd ask for 'permission to sleep with'.

But not me.

I get tunnel vision.  My focus right now is keeping the love I feel for Papi.  All I want is for this beautiful relationship to continue.

I spent 6 weeks waffling back and forth about whether to stay or go, all the while I was really crying because all I wanted was to stay.  The battle of 'I'll never date an F-M' had to be purged through my tears.

The struggle of fighting for what 'I want' has ceased.  I got the 'never' I said I would 'never' do.

You can't always get what you want.  
But if you try sometimes, you just might find
You get what you need.

-Rolling Stones

Try.

Oh, I'm trying alright. 

You get what you need ...

Exorcism

Taking a road trip to Bellingham was not the smartest of ideas while I'm still recovering from a recent back spasm.  I had to take so many pain killers last night that I woke up to those same swollen eyes that percolated as a result of 6 weeks of crying.

I was supposed to get a photo done for my new passport today.

Uhhhh ...

Ain't gonna happen.

This femme is adamant that there will be a pretty face in that booklet to be studied by embassadors of countries other than my own.

I felt my love slink into our temporary bed at 8:30 a.m., spooning my dopey, drugged body.  Therefore, I know Papi will be sleeping all day and not hijacking my newest plans of a gentle repair day, filled with back care stretches and eating of healthy veggies to clear my system out of the carb overload I indulged in, that was oh-oh-oh daaaaaamn good.

The pain I'm feeling today is forcing me to walk with a cane, but it was worth the fun I benefited from.  I had a full, bustling with cheer day with Papi.  It really doesn't matter what we do together, there will always be deep belly laughs.

Well, now that I'm out of the pit of doom that is.

I'm in a safe place where I can listen to the excitement that Papi is overflowing with.  There is exuberant joy from something as simple as chin hair.

I have to admit, I stare at it all the time now, but doesn't harm my heart.  It is simply a phenomenon of, 'how the hell did I wind up here'?

Papi's tuft doesn't look like beard hair, it looks more like Shaggy from Scooby Doo.  It adds to the character of my love; the goofy soul mate that I adore.

On our day together, I finished my love's sentences, answered questions that Papi hadn't finished asking and commented before mi esposo had completed a mouthful of an observation.  All of this walked me to an opportunity of strength to realize; the male transformation isn't stealing everything from me.

I still get to keep this amazing heart along with those gorgeous eyes.

I suppose I should make a nice shelf for this trophy to sit upon so that I may look at them when I have another rough patch.

Another prize I have earned?  A spontaneous soul that wakes me before my sleep is finished, and replaces my Saturday layout with a spur of the moment change of plans.

A person who, while we're on a mission for cupboards, happens to find the 'right' tattoo artist to do touch ups of a tattoo that was received during our honeymoon.

Papi tried to convince said tattoo artist to permanently imprint a heart with our wedding date embossed for the world to see.  A tattoo that would make people ask, "What's the date for?" giving Papi an opportunity to gloat about our grand day.

Unfortunately, mi esposo didn't get to have this declaration visible to the masses.  The artist was on an apprenticeship and didn't feel comfortable working with neck skin.

However, it truly was the thought that counts.

This is my love.  This is the person I stood hand in hand with, eyes locked on one another, in front of 180 witnesses who blessed the union of our bond.

The conclusion that I might not make it through this marriage is a venom that is gradually evaporating through my pores.

Good riddance demons.

Oh, I know there's a few of you hanging around in there.  My suggestion is that you leave peacefully before I kick your ass.

hijacked again!

I had a dream I betrayed Papi by sleeping with Keith Urban.  What the fuck is that about?

Ew.

Then while I was feeling regret in my dream, wondering how the hell I was going to tell my love that I slept with a bio male, but can't get down 'n jiggy with my transitioning F-M soul mate, I was woken.

I awoke to two gorgeous smokey blue eyes staring at me.  Startling at first, followed by my heart being filled by a vision of beauty.

Then the words, "It's time to get up!  We're going to Bellingham."

Road trip.

Hijacked again.

I only have enough time to say that I'm so fucking grateful that those delightful eyes will not be something that will be changing after the male transformation.

I get to keep those beautiful eyes.

I love Papi.

How to be weak

The sewage flood reorder of disorder has begun.  They're rebuilding our home from the barren house that has been gutted from the kamikaze toilet attack.

If I continue to compare the house wreckage to that of my love's male transformation, it could very well be that the reason it took 2 months to get someone here to begin to rebuild is because I needed to take 2 months to be able to speak first.

They took everything away from us, including our safe floors and walls; I was stripped of myself, left lying in the padded La-Z-Boy cell with only tears and swollen eyes to replace my words of agony.

The insurance people had to 'speak' to different contractors to find the right fit financially to put things back together; I had to find a way to 'speak' to my love in the right way that works for me.

Oh, there have been some rules; a) no reference to 'T' or testosterone.  Please call it hormones, b) shower away the 'man stink', and c) when speaking about those surgeries, please don't use words like 'ripped', 'hacked', 'torn' etc. when referring to that perfect body you're taking from me, please!

My poor love.  Married to a deranged dictator!

But, I suppose the only way for me to be able to speak is to have a safe place to do so.  Lord knows right now it's not a quiet place with all the hammering and immature male banter going on below me.

Thank god they've given us a floor to walk on, so I can now pee without the paranoia of possibly being watched from below!

Anyway, I digress with the distraction of development.

We must compromise.  We both must do our part in this tango, or one of us is sure to hit the ground.

I was able to speak to 2 more people on my dreaded public Facebook site.  2 more eggs to add to the basket of trust.

I'm feeling braver and so far I haven't encountered what I fear the most in people's capabilities to crush my spirit further.

At this point, I don't know that I'll hear one of the 'fearful phrases' I've been dreading; "If you're so unhappy, why don't you just leave."  I'm managing to have the rationale to be able to choose who I allow in to my Trust Page wisely, not sacrificing myself to potential predators who would say such a thing.

But the other fear?  The pendulum could still swing.  The 'rah-rah-rah everyone should transition, it's the new black!' people and their political pompoms, armed with intellect of phrases they've collected in their photographic memory, could still damage me with words that would echo my upbringing, "You've got nothing to cry about!" or, "You're selfish."

I suppose I've proven that we do indeed grow wiser with age, as the people I've hand picked have allowed me the freedom to be weak.

I've been strong through too many experiences in the past 4 years.  I can't be strong anymore.  In this case, I can't hide behind a persona.  This one is more robust than my frame and mind that have been psychologically and physically impaired by the motorcycle accident.

My armour of protective friends, who enclose me like walls of a palace, have granted me with a powerful buffer for the plausible piranhas that could tear me to the bone.  I feel them standing strong, facing forward saying, "C'mon!  I dare you to try!"

I am 2 friends closer to wellness, heartiness and personal power.

It's finally my time to ask for help and not to do this on my own.  What I've found, just like the past 2 days of gargling salt water (oh my poor throat!!), is that it's not so bad and it actually makes me feel better.  It's not so horrible to fall to the floor and have loving hearts help pick me up.  It's really ok to be delicate and allow tears to fall in front of the right people.

Dammit, I've got some fucking awesome people in my life.

When I think about all the difficulties I've encountered in this science experiment of life, each collision has taught me one more lesson.

After all the assignments in life that tore my muscles to create sinewy strength, is this finally my lesson in weakness?

If so, thank you my soul mate, for giving me a platform to learn, as you're the only one I'd ever allow to teach me this lovingly, and truly, it is something to be grateful for.

What I'd like to know is, do I get a prize at the end of the maze?

C'mon!

I'd even take a cookie.

Vicious Circle.

I've been told I'm too hard on myself by many people in my life.  I have obviously never really truly learned what that means, because here I am striving to understand it again.

When I jumped on to the 'coffee shop', a forum here for bloggers, a person I don't know at all told me it wouldn't do me any good being hard on myself for not being 100% on board with Papi's male transformation.

In another question asked to the forum, "What's the worst thing that has happened to you?" I replied with, "for me it's a toss-up between a motorcycle accident that left me with brain injury, an ex becoming a heroin addict, another ex kicking me out and making me homeless by having a packing party while i was at work and right now my love going through a sex change."

Then, funnily enough, another asked, "Andrea, how is it that two of the four things that you mention as being the worst that has happened to you, are actually things that happened/are happening to someone else?"

I think he was just poking around for my emotions, so I admitted, "i suppose because i'm a narcissistic person :) i don't know if you've ever experienced someone you love die before your eyes from addiction, but man it hurts.  it sticks with you forever.

and as for my spouse?  i said "i do" to my wife.  not my husband.  so now i have to buck up and accept my love for who they are and i'll tell ya, it's not easy. 

so yeah ... i guess my fault in both of those experiences is that i love too deeply.  worst thing that has happened to me is loving?"

Later on he softened the conversation and admitted he knows the pain of losing someone to addiction, then said, "And no, Andrea, loving too deeply is never the worst thing that can happen to someone. Not loving yourself deeply enough is."

There it is again.  Someone telling me I don't love myself.  Common thread in my life.

Later on yesterday, I thought about my feelings of Papi leaving the not so safe cocoon, and exposing the monarch inside, changing forever what we see in our wedding photos.  I believe I have come up with a way to deal with that case of contention I struggle with.

In about 30 years, or even 20 depending on how poorly I take care of myself, I am on no accounts going to look like the 'youngster' that I see in those photos.

I won't be frozen in time, so mi esposo doesn't have to be either.

I now have 3 ways for the teenager, who has gads of self-loathing to heal from, to rationalize this scary process.

Interestingly enough, yes, 2 of them are ego-centered.

'My' embarrassment of Papi going bare breasted will cease, and 'my' face will also change in those photos.  I suppose we could also look at the the 3rd as narcissistic, considering it would be a loss for 'me' if that uterus was not taken away, leaving my love to develop the cancer that has threatened in the past, leaving me a widow.

Yes folks, it's all about me.

But I'm pretty sure that if you have been following this journey, you've figured that out anyway.

I was told by my mother that it's 'all about me' since I was a child.  She made it clear that it was a horrible personality trait.  She really looked for every crevice she could find to smash my confidence like someone breaking a horse.

This, I believe, is why I'm so hard on myself.

I really do hate it when it's all about me.  Through my tears, I've expressed that I deeply wish I could just be happy for Papi, that I could be of support for one of the greatest times of my love's life.  Yet, I lie in fetal position, grieving from the pain of losing my wife.

I am self-centered.

Typically, most musicians/artists/etc. are, but when you really look at the definition of a narcissist, it's about self-love that is beyond the scope of confidence.  I'm not so sure that narcissism is my personality when I really look at how much healing I have around learning to love myself.

Even the self-loathing is all about me.

This could circle forever.

Oi vey.