i see dead people

I wasn't going to write about this, because I was afraid of people labeling me as nuts, but then I realized, people already do.

So, fuck it.  I'm writing about it.

I get visits from my deceased Fuzzy Family.

Every time I've lost a Fuzzy Family member, they come back to tell me they're ok.  It's been happening since I was young.

I have to be honest, I've also had visits from a few people that I've felt a connection to, family or not.

I see dead people, and dead animals.  Sometimes, I even get visits from other people's dead animals.  But that's another story.

Anyway, I have been waiting for The Golden to come, and was fearing the worst; that I'd lost my deceased visitation rights.

Not true.

I talked about it a bit yesterday, but I didn't go into details, and didn't think I would, until I saw Madonna Badger on Piers Morgan last night.

This poor woman lost all her kids in an Xmas fire last year, but she feels her grief is more at peace, because her children come to her in dreams.  She thought she was nuts until she read a book by Eben Alexander called Proof of Heaven.

As much as I don't really believe in heaven or hell, I do believe in an afterlife.  Some cosmic plain that we go to.

Our energy can't just end when we die.  Our spirit must live on.

Well, every animal and human I've felt connection with will visit me as I sleep.

It's not just a dream, and if you've felt this, you'll know what I'm saying.  There's more to it than just fantasy.

When The Golden visited me 2 nights ago, it was really his spirit.  It wasn't just the wanting to see him again and the grief.

He came bounding through the door, knocking me over to the ground with all the love and misbehaving he had when he was here.  He was youthful and energetic again, and his Ghost Face was returned to a rich golden blonde.  He was happy.  He was so full of love and the feelings of love I had to give him, were returned.

I could feel and smell his breath on my face.  I could feel every lashing of that tongue, every wash of wet nose and every tickle of whisker.  I could smell his scent and as I looked into his eyes (yes, he had both of them) I knew he was here.

He was here.

He came back to me to show me that I can stop grieving.  That he'll never leave me.  His spirit has now forged with mine, and he will never leave my heart, nor my soul.

He has a place right there with My Dearly Departed Gypsy.

When Gypsy came to me, it was so quickly after her death, that I couldn't believe it was a visit.  I said to the woman in the visit (whom I didn't recognize until later), "But she shouldn't be here!  She should still be in the hospital!"

This woman calmly told me, "Just enjoy your time with her right now.  This is your opportunity to be with her.  Just be with her."  I did so, sitting with this woman for a very brief moment, until Gypsy partook in her favourite pastime, ripping up the flower beds of the nearest garden.

I recently found the picture of my Great Grandmother, and immediately recognized her as the woman was from the visit.

Not dream, visit.

What I really feel from The Golden returning, is a piece of my heart has been healed.  I am almost in tears from the joy of feeling that he came to me.

It means I am forgiven, or rather that I can forgive myself.

It means I am loved, and I am able to know he's aware of how much I love him as well.

It means I am still allowing these spirits to come back to heal my heart, and I trust I will be able to do so for my next loss.

Thank you so much for coming back old man.

I'm sure you know how much you've healed me.

i recognize and honour my talents, abilities and skills

Ah! The Joys of S.A.D.

For some of us, December is a dire month for our emotions.  It seems the demons trap us during this time.

For some of us, the only exposure to the outside world is to merely peek through the curtains with one eye, in hopes that the world doesn't spot us.

We hide, we suffer, we count the days until it's over.  I see those who join me with this ailment are already experiencing the re-surfacing of their yearly torture.

This year, I'm making a difference for myself.  Maybe, if you suffer with this, you'll want to join me?

We've already had a Hurricane Andréa sighting, but it wasn't an Xmas Meltdown.  Still, while I'm feeling back up from my fall, I'm ready to fight my Pit of Doom off with all my might.

I'm going to do my very best to create a stronger dark season for myself.  Here's how I'm going to do it:

I'm staying off the processed sugar.

I'm drinking enough, or maybe more, water.

But hey, I'm no angel.  I'm having my one cup of coffee per day dammit!

I'm staying on my food plan of only a cup of grains per day, and at most a slice of wheat free toast and a handful of rice crackers.

However, I'm having my bag of popcorn while I watch Dexter with Papi.  That's a given rule.

I'm keeping my blood hearty with a little more protein than usual, but also keeping my blood clean.  I intend on sweating once a day.

Our blood is what feeds our minds.  It needs to pump ferociously to wash out the negativity we so wish to purge.

I'm keeping my veggie intake to MUCHO!  Minus those delicious little carrots and potatoes.  They should really be under the 'carb' list.

I'm keeping my fruit intake down to one serving per day.

This does include those lovely li'l Mandarin oranges.  I normally gorge on them every December, to ward of the envy of everyone else eating all the masses of sugary, carbed treats that seem to inundate our lives during this time.

Of course, being clean 'n sober, I have a one up on the demons as well.  If you're suffering, perhaps this is the month to try out what it's like to live in sobriety?

I have only one mission in mind this dark season; Peace and tranquility.  I don't want to hide and fret about the pain of ghosts past.  I already did that last week.

The most horrid part about falling is it allows the Anorexia Monster to start whispering in my ear as well.  Seriously!  Fuck off with that!!  I'm sick of looking in the mirror only to see hell!

Something I learned from my emotional fall was quite nurturing.  I've never been protected.  I've always felt alone in this world.

I've felt that all battles must be overcome by me, myself and I.  My Gemini battle.

I have my protector to see me through until I can protect myself: Papi, my fearless lion.

I also learned I've closed my heart to a lot of the world, keeping it only concealed by ribs and muscles.

Flesh and bones can only safeguard for so long, until something evil burrows it's way in and poisons my blood once more.

Even though, as I write this I feel the breath of P.T.S.D. stalking me, I know I'm strong enough to allow my heart to be open.  I allow myself to experience the fear, pain and all other negative feelings I've avoided for so many years, along with the joy, love and strength along with it.

I didn't realize that if I'm closing my heart off to the bad, I'm also closing it off to the good.  I don't want to do this anymore.

It seems, that when I've kept my heart closed, the only feelings that got to my soul were the painful ones, because evil is like a weed that has its tendrils wrapped around my veins.

I closed myself off to the good that can fight this intruder.  Good prevails!  Good fights bad always!

My heart is ripped wide open right now.  It's a big gaping wound that has to be healed by love, and I'm the one capable of healing it.

I want to feel my spirituality.  I want to live in the existence of joy.  I want that feeling of magic in life.  I've had it many, many years ago, and it's time to bring it back.

I am ready.  I am now open to life, good and bad.

It's starts now.

i choose to exercise regularly

My Ghost

There's a ghost in my machine.

I'm not sure if anyone else is experiencing this on Facebook, but it's really unnerving and a bit too uncanny to think about it as an accident.

4 summers ago, I was a carefree, budding rockstar on my motorcycle.

I had my first motorcycle and I rode in it in the Dykes on Bikes segment of the 2008 parade.

The delight I felt I can't even express.

I'd wanted a motorcycle all my life, since I first saw my uncle with his Norton.  The first day he had it, he brought it by to show us.  My dad asked if he could try it, and within seconds, my father had driven it right into our fence and knocked it down.

That was the moment I wanted one.  Strange omen.

Every single person I was partnered with was dead against me having one.

Then finally.  Finally!  I met the person who would help me learn to ride and I got my first bike.  Thank you Papi.  You were the first person to allow me that freedom.

When I'd come out to start her up on the morning, her lines looked like a great smile greeting me.  I would greet her back, "Hellllloooooo my pretty!!!!  Ready for a ride?!?!?!?!"

The indulgence I felt!  It was amazing!  I was never a hellion, because riding fast meant that you got from point A to point B too quickly, and the ride would be over.

I would just take my time and enjoy every little wind gust that would reach through my helmet to my hair.

I envisioned myself with long hair, and even though I didn't have any, I could still imagine it singing, 'thwack thwack thwack' on the sides of my half helmet.

I would smile the smile of a Cheshire Cat the whole time I was in motion.  People probably thought I was a bit on the demented side, but I knew life had finally come to a place where I got what I wanted.

That ride in the 2008 Pride Parade was like it was meant for me.  I felt pretty, sexy and strong!

A girl and her bike.

The day of the parade, my love took my picture.  There, in living colour you could see my joy as I proudly posed on my new best friend who was everything to me, other than the sexy soul behind the camera.

My bike and I were one.

I had that picture on Facebook for quite some time.  The satisfaction was just too strong for me to take that pic down.

Flash forward to the past few weeks, four years later.

Someway, somehow, that Facebook pic from 2008 seems to keep appearing on my Facebook wall, without anybody changing it.  It started out when I'd log in on my phone, and now, it's on my computer.  I've had MANY pictures to replace that one since that summer, but someway, somehow, this single picture keeps appearing.

Then she's gone and I see myself with my gun again.

She's a ghost.

The girl in that photo isn't the same.  She can't rock out on stage anymore.  She can't work a full time job anymore.  Christ!  Some days she can't even pick up the chihuahua!

Then there's the spirit of my bike.

I've never even seen the wreckage she became.  I was asked to look a few times and I couldn't.  Even know, just thinking of the crumpled mass of steel she became breaks my heart.

So, why?

Why does this picture keep haunting me?

Maybe it's time to let her go.  Maybe I need to find some love for her.

Maybe this tear that is falling right now is because there's another level of healing to do, no?  My Living Day Anniversary is coming up in 6 days and I need to find more acceptance.

Or, perhaps it's time to honour her.

The girl I was has to be blessed and the woman I am now has to be admired.

My Ghost.

all false images of myself from the past are now dissolved

mommy dearest.

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

Oh, how it's a common occurrence.

"I wish my mom loved me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trooper!  I learned from the best!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So then, why bother calling at all?

Maybe I'll send her cards.

Oh!  Postcards!

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

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

I'll do one of the two.

That is of course when I have time. 

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

the valleys in my life help me appreciate the good times

Tranny Talk and Straight Porn.

After my Living Day Anniversary breakdown, I've calmed down and am back to obsessing about other things.

ah ocd ... never a dull moment of crazed thinking ... it's just good entertainment ...

I've stopped gorging to avoid the fear, and am now back on track with my diet, complete with the zits and dark circles under my eyes and narcoleptic tendencies.

Not to mention I'm wearing my fat pants right now.

You know, I didn't realize I was gorging and being a lunatic about my Living Day Anniversary until after the fact, and that I'm not the only one who freaks about the Discovery.

You see, we visited one of the absolute sweetest couples we know.

It's been a long time coming.  We've tried to make a hangout work forever, but last night was the magical night that it all came together.

And a beautiful night it was.

It was one on one time, and I didn't sob my eyes out when I started talking about this blog and Papi's transformation.

The best part of the night was when they showed us the wild world of bad straight porn that's on our movie list through our cable company.

Of course there's nothing there for lesbians.  When they say, "Girl on Girl", it really means straight women who will cringe at the scent of their counterpart's taco, have long fake nails that would never come near a real lesbian ...

... pap smear anyone?!?! those little fuckers would poke my cervix out of it's happy home! ...

... and will continuously look at the camera, playing it up for the men who are watching.

Because it's all for the men, not us.

Fuckers.

... no pun intended ...

We also spoke about how our insurance company will place the Discovery on the date of our accidents, in an effort to get us to spaz out, and that they then canceled it.

sound familiar?!?!?!  yeah ... at least i proved to papi that i'm not just paranoid, i'm also correct.

We yacked about the people in our community that make someone like me, and others, afraid to speak about our grief, hence the La-Z-Boy and the Pit of Doom.

yes ... it has been that long since we've tried to make the hangout happen.

Through it all, there was a moment when I looked at my love a little differently.

I had another moment where I got to see the male my love desires to be.

Of course, that fleeting moment flew by and denial kicked in again, but through speaking about my fears I concluded that I am indeed really doing well.

There are just a few ends to tidy up.

ghosts ...

However, Papi and I spoke about it like it was no big deal.

Well, it is a big deal, and mi esposo and I are on the hunt to find the perfect moderator to help us communicate better through this.

Sometimes we can work things out on our own.  We really do have honest open communication, and even if it stings the other to say how we're feeling, we open it up and sew it back together.

There are parts about this male transformation that we need someone to guide us through.

There is no handbook on "How To Talk To Your Tranny."

There is also no handbook that says, "What Your Crazy Wife Is Thinking Right Now."

So continues the healing of this wacked out world of transgender life.

Oh!  I've been corrected in my language and learned something new about this gender reassignment again.

Transgender is like a wide umbrella that holds people of all walks in their journey.

Papi is a transsexual.

Good to know.

At least I still get to call him a Tranny, and that's all that really matters.

Jesus lives!!!

Ok.

I'm pretty sure Jesus is stalking me.

Let's back up for a sec.

Remember the sewage flood and The Great Sewage Flood Purge?

It's been a while since I've been to the attic to see what clothing I have.

Well, if I'm being honest, the brain injury didn't even allow me to know about all that existed up there.

I now have a brand new bunch of dresses to choose from!

The real reason I was up there was to find my winter puffy coat.

Found it!

And guess what I found in the pocket?

Seriously.

Of all the people that could receive this little gem, this agnostic verging on atheist is the last one to actually appreciate this gift.

I'm pretty sure that if I believed in 'God', I would be shouting from the mountain tops that he's sending me messages.

No.

It's just Jesus, and here is my gift:

I thought it was probably the Tranny Terrorist making a funny, but my love assured me he didn't do it.

Honestly.

Who's the one who keeps getting the zealots at the door?

Who's the one who incessantly has to explain to the G'ma that I don't believe in her 'God'?

Who's the agnostic verging on atheist who gets royally pissed when people try to push their beliefs on her?

And who's the one who has Jesus in their pocket?

Me.

I don't really get it.

It definitely wasn't G'ma who put this gem in my pocket.  G'ma can't get up the stairs.

g'ma has just left for 3 months!! my blood pressure has resumed normal levels ...

So, there's a mystery in the house, and I'm pretty sure I know who did it.

Yup, it's Jesus, and he's stalking me.

I don't deny that he existed, but I have a hard time believing that he's always hangin' around me.

Though I just have to wonder, who's the devil who keeps taunting me with all this!!??!?!

Hang on!!

Maybe it was the ghost of G'pa.  I occasionally feel him in the house, and apparently he was a real joker.

So there it is!  I just figured it out!!

G'pa has combined forces with Jesus and they're playing games with me.

Papi always says, "I wish you got to meet G'pa."

I have, Papi.

I have, and he's a cheeky bugger.

Bring it on already!

Papi was going on line to a forum or some other social site and asked me, "So, now what am I?  I don't wanna say straight, because you're not straight and it would imply that."

i'm back to losing my identity.

My love said he needs a t-shirt that says, "My wife is a lesbian."

People would just look at it and think it's funny.

They wouldn't think it's serious when they see two 'straight' people walking down the street.

The other day when I had my, "Are you gay?!?!" freakout, it is really what I was getting at.

Now that my love is changing gender, both of our identities will change.

Not internally, but from the outside world's judgement.

Papi just finally ended up saying, "Well, i'm not straight because you aren't either, and I'm bi-curious because I'm attracted to F-Ms, but I'm not gay either."

Finally my love came up with, "I'm Gender Queer."

Sounds good to me, but no matter what we feel on the inside, the world will label us to fit into a perfect little box so that they have a way to identify us.

That's the part I hate.

I was terrified of coming out of the closet, and what people ...

... family ...

... would think of me.

When I finally found the support I needed to help me come out in a safe place filled with love, I took the plunge.

I was proud, because the people around me made me feel that I was loved, no matter whom I loved.

Well, looking back, I see that pained young lady who was stuck in a closet with her 'secrets', and I never wanted to visit there agin.

I suppose it's why I'm so adverse to having people think I'm straight.

A lot of people who stay in their closets will never know the freedom they could have when they are finally able to love whom they want to.

I guess some people just deal with it best they can, and stay put in their misery.

I can't do that.

But now, it's like I'm being forced back into that place.

It's fucking amazing how my love's male transformation has inflicted me with old Ghosts and Demons.  It's crazy that I am now obligated to look at the pain I had at a younger age, and finally deal with it.

You know, that old saying is so damn true.

If you don't work it out when you should, it will come back and bite you in the ass.

My ass is feeling rather raw right now.

Those teeth are having a feast back there.

I really have to look at why I'm so afraid of being seen as straight.

I honestly can't put my finger on it yet, but judging from how Ghosts and Demons have reared their ugly, skanky, pussing heads, I'll be finding out soon.

Everything in life happens for a reason.

Everything.

We can look at all the affliction we've dealt with in our lives and see how it worked out.  It makes us stronger.  It teaches us lessons of life.

it prepares us to deal with harder moments ... they never seem to stop coming ...

Well, just like how my body being in 'near perfect' strength saved my life in my motorcycle accident, my moments in life that were so difficult bred backbone to deal with life's curve ball now.

It always works out.

So let's just bring it on and get it over with, shall we?

Night Terrors

When I was little I had anxiety, but I didn't recognize it.

I was too young to know that it wasn't a 'normal' feeling, and it was my 'norm' for the majority of my life.

My family would joke that I could never be a hippy because I was too stressed out all the time.  My mother would tell me not to worry so much or I'll get an ulcer.

I really had no idea what they were talking about.

That is of course, until I found out what it's like to feel peace.

It is my only mission in life: peace and happiness.

Armed with dietary restrictions, I found my first phase of happiness.  Food allergies played a big part in my chemical imbalance.

Next I went to St. John's Wort, cut out all my caffeine and began an exercise regimen that went very well with getting clean and sober.

Life started falling into place, and the last piece of the puzzle was getting on anti-depressants.

I became less and less anxious, until my motorcycle accident.  That was when P.T.S.D. sank in, and for the first time I recognized that I had anxiety attacks when I was a kid.

I would lie in bed, unable to move a muscle, except for my eyes.

I envisioned wolves, sharks and only the heads of beings circling the floor of my bed, as they pulled my hair taught, so I couldn't move my head.

Trapped.

Frozen.

I would be driven over by snow groomers from the ski hill.

Ghosts would pile mattress upon mattress on to my body, expunging all the air from my lungs.

I couldn't breathe.

I felt my hands and feet swell to the point where they felt full of helium, until they really weren't part of my body.

Numb, petrified and fixed to one place.

I would see family members sitting by my side saying, "Don't worry, it will all be over soon," yet none of them would help me.

They would only watch as I was torn and heavy objects were forced upon me.

Fast forward to my ghosts reappearing in modern day.

The anxiety level that I'm living with right now is almost too much to bear.

I have to say, my new found Medicinal Cannabis is helping me keep calm when I use it.

Only thing is, I'm using it properly, which is only when I need it for physical pain.

If I was to start using it for emotion pain, you'd be seeing me revisit those anonymous rooms for addicts again.

I mean really, it was the emotional pain that I was running from when I started using drugs and alcohol as a very young teenager.

It would make me forget all the secrets I have, and I could laugh with people.  I could speak to strangers.

i would be taken advantage of ... too many times ... against my will ... the feeling of mattresses piling on me so i couldn't breathe ...

None-the-less, here I am.

I'm experiencing the same fear I did when I was a child, only this time, that familiar feeling is a tad bit easier for me to handle.

"Feel the fear and do it anyway." by Susan Jeffers

I've never read this book.  All that I've ever known was the title and I've lived by it for many years.

I am definitely feeling.

I am definitely in fear.

I am definitely wanting these ghosts to leave for good this time.

That sweet innocent girl needs to be as carefree as the photo I still keep in my mind.  Her favourite red and white paneled, floor length skirt, with halter top to match.

Beautiful long blonde hair that attracted the predators, because she looked like a little doll.

She needs to be as innocent as she is in that picture, standing under the strength of a walnut tree, blowing bubbles.  She mindlessly watched them float in the air with peace, free from fear.

She deserves the same freedom, and I think it's time to make it happen.

No more running.

One of the questions from my award yesterday was, "If given the chance, which one would you choose: Your life now, or past?"

My answer was, "I definitely choose my life now.  My past is what I run from."

It was the first thought that came into my mind.  The next thought was a memory of being in self-defense.

When I went through a course to learn how to not be pegged as a victim by offenders, I gained some great tools to keep myself safe.

One was to walk like a boy.  Offenders don't look for that in a victim.  They search for a meek soul that they can overpower.

Yet, one of the most important weapons was to stand tall against your attacker, and make yourself heard as you scream, "I don't know this person!  I need help,"(or some variation of the two) while your adrenalin is pumping so fast, that you kick and scratch, surprising even yourself!

You could probably blurt out something else, and it wouldn't even matter.

The point is, these pussing bags of scum can't handle it when you voice your distress and they usually take off, looking for someone more passive and timid.

I realized yesterday, after writing that I run from my past, that the time has come to scream back in it's face.

My own offender of Ghosts can't hurt me if I choose to face it head on.

However, it doesn't take away the feeling that is human nature.

shaking ... heart pounding ... tears fall today ...

This morning, I woke with endorphins rushing through my blood, as my first thought of the day was of the sweet teenager who hid under the kitchen table whispering to the kids' crisis line.

I needed to speak to someone about the fact that I was attracted to girls.

I was a drug ridden, suicidal young girl who believed that to be a lesbian was (very vocally) viewed as 'disgusting' to my family of religious zealots.

I was called disgusting a few times.

Not because they knew I was gay, but because I kept myself completely obliterated to deal with my 'secret'.

"You're disgusting.  You're no better than your father."

I hid under that kitchen table, confiding in the ear of a stranger.  I cried as I admitted this shameful, covert information.

Then it hit me: Could I trust them? They would have my phone number!

They would trace it back to where I live and tell my hopeless, single mother that was stuck with two kids, just how 'disgusting' I really was.

I hung up the phone as fast as I could, remembering from T.V. shows, that tracing takes a few minutes of talking before they could find you.

Maybe I got off the phone fast enough?!?!

I shrunk under that table, as if it was a refuge from my very own earthquake.

I repressed it even more.

I kept it down by refusing to open my mouth, even to food.  If I could fade away, along with those numbers on the scale, then I wouldn't have to try (and fail) to kill myself again.

just ... disappear.

Every day I would write my weight on the top of my diary page and think to myself, "Just 5 more pounds and I'll pass away."

shrinking, shrinking, falling away with the weight ...

One night, I was willing my heart to stop.

It felt like it did.

I was scared that I actually could die, and finally went back for some help.

Well, this is just one of the memories that I have felt the need to run from.

No more.

It's time to take care of that sweet teenager who never got to bask in the light.  She was a pretty young girl who would walk with her head down, hiding the world like blinders on a horse.

if you just ignore it, it will go away ...

I think I can see now that it never really goes away, so now I need to face it, like Momma Bear. 

fake it till you make it ...

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.

Shaking in my boots ...

It's hard to see what someone else is experiencing if you haven't been there already.

My love wanted me to read more of the myths and transgender information.  Papi asked, "Do you want to look at them some more and see if there's anymore questions you have?"

I'd really had enough when I thought my love was trying to hint that he was gay.

"No, not right now.  Maybe another day, but not right now."

I have enough to chew on at the moment.

My heart is trying to deal with the fact that I need to revisit old demons.

I never would have thought this would come up.  I've already done so much work around it.

None-the-less, my love just can't understand that when there was phony penises before, they didn't bother me.  Now that they're attached to a person who's giving of an air of male-bodied-ness, it is a different story all together.

Papi could never really see why I am triggered by this.  Mi esposo is one of the lucky people in this world who hasn't suffered the trauma of another person's offense.

However, it's not much different than me not understanding being transgender.  I could never really get it.

I am learning though.

We were discussing how I don't really know much about the process.  For example, I didn't know that the whole process takes 5 years to complete.

I really thought that there would be a new person in my bed in a heartbeat.

It's slow enough that I can work out the changes one by one.  They affect me, and I need to deal with them, but so far I've gotten through.

Then my love told me, "The most ignorant thing you've really thought was that transgender people are a third gender."

I just couldn't get past this thinking.

I suppose I really am a black or white person.

Male.

Female.

Third gender.

It's the only way I could process it, but it's not true.

Every person is not a cookie cutter of the next.  There's no way to generalize with every person.

However, I am now seeing why I've had an aversion to being in a relationship with an F-M.

The whole male thing really gets to me.  Being in the closet for so long has taken it's toll on me.

If I wanted companionship, then I'd have to appease my homophobic, religious family.

I had to date males.

It was very difficult and I spent those years obliterating my mind with drugs and alcohol just to deal with the fact that I didn't really want to be with male beings.

When I finally decided to come out of the closet, I thought I was home free and never had to deal with a male being in my bed ever again.

Here I am.

I get it now.

I understand why I am closed minded to the transgender world.

I need to feel safe, and the only person who could help me get through this phase is Papi.

I wouldn't have been able to get there with anyone else.

My love has made me promise that I will work on this to get past it.  Mi esposo wants me well, and in turn wants our relationship to be well also.

Of course, I would do anything for Papi.

That includes working with my ghosts so that I may have a relationship without fear.

It makes me shake.

Detachable Penises.

My friends are people who will tell me to my face if there's something on their mind, and I love them for that.

One person has caught up to my life and feels very defensive for me.  She still loves Papi, but she is thinking the same way I used to when the transgender bomb was dropped.

Every word that came out of her mouth were the exact words I felt in the beginning.  It is strictly one sided thinking that I can now recognize, by looking back at where I was 9 months ago.

She helped me realize how far I've come.  I have changed those thoughts and would like for her to see another side as well.

It actually blew me away when I saw my mirror image and didn't like what was in front of me.  Her defensiveness for me made me defensive of my love.

I remember thinking, all those tumultuous months ago, that I would need to defend Papi at some point down the road.  However, I knew I couldn't do that until I had enough strength to defend myself first.

Looks like I found that place.

In that same day, another friend made me really realize another side of a story.

It was about how protective I was of my love when the Hen Peckers went on to a forum and discussed what mi esposo should do in his life.

Not really any of their business, but none-the-less, I was hopping mad that they could discuss how they think someone should live a life that doesn't belong to them.

She said she just wanted to play devil's advocate.

What she did was open my mind a little more to where some other people may be coming from.

Her perspective was; if they grandfather in Papi to allow a trans-man to work there, then it must open the door to others, not just one person.

If they open the door to trans-men, then they can't close the door on bio-men.

If they open the door to bio-men, this 'safe house' may not feel safe for the women who have suffered from the violent hand of a male predator.

I thought about this in terms of my own survival.

Papi says he's never met someone who is such a man hater as myself.

In my defense, I'm not a 'man hater'.  I'm a 'creep hater', and not all men fall into this category, just as there's women who do.

In the same way an offender can smell a victim, I can smell an offender, and my instincts are usually right.

In this way, I trust my senses, and I follow their feelings.  No different than a dog that can smell someone with ill will and their hackles will stand on end.

Oh, trust me.  Mine do as well.

I have many male friends that are so much sweeter than any woman could ever be.  There are beautiful bio-male people out there.

Which brings me to the third opinion that opened my eyes again yesterday.

My love and I were taking care of a friend who was a little ill yesterday, and we stayed with her until the partner came home.

Papi asked her, "Do you think I should leave my job?" from a place of true curiosity from someone whom we admire for their honesty.

Her opinion was that Papi's boss really thinks it's for the better of the women that my love stay at the house, because they don't see my love as any one gender.  They see Papi.  They see a good person who is there to brighten the day of a world where there is so much darkness.

Then she went a little further.

We discussed how there are some amazingly beautiful men out there who would be a good person to have in such houses, as it would be a great place for them to really learn that not all men are offenders out to break their spirit.

Earlier, she thought of a way for me to heal from my ghosts.  She suggested that I come by and make penises.

yup. you read that right.

Her and her partner make silicone penises for trans people, and for those female bodies who feel it's hot to pack.  She recommended that I get to know them while they're not attached to a person.

If I make one from a place that won't bring me fear, I could possibly see that they're not attached to an offender.

So.

Looks like I'm going to be making some detachable penises.

What a world I live in.

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.