Let’s get physical…

Again, as we could say, “long time, no see, girl”… Almost four months since the last entry.

And during this time, I got my surgery.

The month before the surgery the hormonal therapy had to be stopped. The reason for this is that testosterone blockers and oestrogens increase the risk for thrombosis, and may cause blood clotting problems during surgeries. So, hormones out. And everybody says: “Don’t worry, you won’t notice”.

Bullshit.

Okay, effects are not so dramatic. But they occur. And I was probably too afraid to having the testosterone again ruling over my body, so I was too vigilant.

And I had this huge project at work. So I felt stress.

That month I was scared. I was nervous, I was irritable, I was angry, I was sad. Because I didn’t want to have to pass through all of that. I felt it was again this huge boot trampling over me again and again. And all the comments from people, telling me how brave I was or how good was I going to feel after didn’t help much. It wasn’t their genitals what was at stake, right?

The hormones didn’t help a bit. I don’t know how much of my mood was caused by having increased levels of testosterone running through my blood, but I definitely felt my breasts to shrink, my facial hair to grow and my skin to become oily again. It was not something nice to feel, especially after a year and a half waiting for the oestrogens to work.

So, the day came. That last night I spent at home before checking in I masturbated. July, 30th, 2013, this is the last time I have had sexual pleasure so far. The day after that I went to my office to give them the forms for the medical leave, I drove to the station to pick up my parents and then I drove to the hospital.

And the next day, at 1pm, they took me to surgery. As I entered the surgery room, I had this thought, “God, what am I doing? I hope seen my girlfriend again”. The surgeon was there, and reassured me that everything was going to be fine. Not that my genitals were my major concern at that point. And everything went dark.

I woke up. My feet were cold, and the nurses in the reanimation room were talking. I had to call quite a bit until they paid some attention to me. My throat was sore, and my lower lip hurt. And my crotch felt as if I had some thick codpiece protecting it.

I was taken back to my room, and they tell me I was joking. I didn’t gave much of a damn before surgery, and I didn’t gave much of a damn after. All the days before I had become detached of myself. I was kind of looking from outside. And when the surgery was done, I remained like that. This was something that had happened to me, just like things happen to people.

It was during the next night that it fell down to me. I had made that happen. I had signed that consent form, I had paid for that surgery, I had driven myself to the hospital, I had placed myself on that stretcher and put myself in the hands of those surgeons. I had done all of those things. I had been able to make those things happen. I had been able to detach my consciousness from my emotions and just make a puppet out of myself, and push that puppet in that direction, without a hint of fear or doubt, just because I had decided that this was something I wanted to do.

That thought made me feel uncomfortable. It wasn’t willpower. It was more like not fighting. Like lowering all my defences and walking directly into the fire. I’ve got to do this, right? Well, let’s do it. It was acceptance, and it was the ultimate level of trust placed in other people’s hands.

Still, I didn’t know if everything had gone well. I was told so, but still I didn’t have any actual proof, other than the surgeons’ word. But I felt quite well, aside from the fact that I was told not to move.

The third day since surgery came, and they removed the bandages. Then I realised that I wasn’t wearing any codpiece or protection at all. That feeling of numbness came from my own flesh, that was swollen and insensitive. I could touch it and my skin wouldn’t feel a thing. And yet, there it was. I could see it in the mirror. It was swollen, but nothing more. It looked quite healthy, given that it was made only three days before. I had a vagina.

And I could move. They allowed me to get up from bed and wash myself. So I started moving.

Four days later they took out all the bandages that were still compressing my vagina from the inside, and I was taught how to do my dilations. So there I was, back home, with my dilators, and about to spend almost a month with lots of time to think but unable to sit and do things to distract my mind.

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This is about me…

Warning: This is a rant. It is not going to be a pleasant post. It’s not going to be about how well it’s going my transition, and how happy I am. So if you don’t feel like reading my complaints, please don’t read on.

Transition sucks. Especially at this point. And I’m not happy.

Yes, I know I’m making lots of progress. I’m really close to be able to change my documents, and I’m really close to have my SRS. But I’m not happy, and I’m not hopeful.

I’m sad.

And I’m sad because I feel my body has stopped changing. My breasts grew a bit, but they don’t hurt now, they don’t feel swollen anymore. My ass is certainly a bit rounder, but my hips won’t grow, they won’t become wider. And my hair seems to be stuck. Some new hair grew, but not enough to cover my temples.

I’m not saying I am horrible. I look good. I look much better that I did at the beginning, or even before. I feel better with my body than I’ve ever felt before. What I’m saying is, when I get home and I remove all the padding I wear, in the bra and rear, I look at myself in the mirror and what I see is a man’s body.

I see a man because I don’t have hips. I see a man because I see broad shoulders. I see a man because my breasts could be taken for pectoral muscles. I see a man because I see a penis.

I’m afraid. I started my transition at this point because this was the only moment in my life I could dare to do it. I had the right environment, I had savings, I had a job in which I could dare to do it. I was, at last, living on my own. And I could take this decision.

Also I started because it felt right. I didn’t have the chance not to grow as a man. I didn’t have the chance to stop my puberty. And what I saw around, the transexual women I saw, in the media, were not role models for me. I didn’t want to become like them. I just wanted to be a woman. Because of this, because of my own fears, because of my self-rejection as a lesbian transexual woman, I didn’t step up then.

When I started this, it was my last chance to do it. It was my last chance to try to be something close to happy in my life.

And now I see that my body is a man’s body, still. I still will be patient, and let hormones do their work. But my hopes aren’t no longer high. I know that I’m going to have lots of surgery to have a body in which I can feel comfortable. I will have to put implants in my tits and in my buttocks. I’m already scheduled for my SRS. Hormones only work fine during puberty, and mine is a long time past.

It’s okay, I will save more money, and I will look for the best surgeons I can afford. I’m not defeated. I’ll have a body I’m comfortable in. A body that looks as it is, without paddings or tricks. I don’t care about the money, and I don’t care about the pain.

I know my transition is the path I should walk. I don’t regret anything. But right now my transition leads to a barren tree which can yield no fruit. I feel hopeless. And I feel alone, because I can’t talk about this to anybody without having to listen to lots of comments about how I should learn to accept myself, about beauty models, and about women having different bodies, and all that things.

I feel tired, and I feel alone. I feel tired because transition is not easy. It’s a lot of effort. And yes, it has paid so far, but I’d love it to be over, so I can just rest, and enjoy. And I feel alone because I can’t speak about it without the comments of my not trying hard enough to accept myself. I’m trying. But it’s so hard when the only thing you really long for in this life is being someone I can like.

Yes, the only thing I really wish for is being a woman, who looks like a woman, who feels like a woman.

And I still have a man’s body. And I feel I’m stuck in my male body, and that the only chance to change it is long gone. And I’m trying to accept myself, and people ask me why am I not happy yet. And they tell me that I ask for too much and that I should accept what I got. Well, if I could do that in the first place, I wouldn’t have started transitioning.

I just want to have this body all the time, not just when I put on all the padding to go out. Because here inside, at home, when I’m alone, I’m still stuck with my male body.

Some updates…

Long time, no see…

I’ve been busy these months, thinking, feeling and planning. Things are moving pretty well. I’m probably getting soon the permit for changing my legal name, and then I will get the authorisation for my surgery. So I have booked already an appointment for this.

I hope everything goes well.

I’m a bit scared about the surgery. I’ve got some quite reassuring comments from friends and doctors. They tell me that everything is going to be all right. Still I’m a bit scared of having to stay one month without my hormones, and of what comes next.

It’s like I can’t figure out how it is going to be. Sometimes I feel that, in a transition, you are doing leaps of faith. You just jump to the void, and hope not to fall, whenever you come out to someone, or when you tell at your workplace, or when you first go out as a woman. And this is like jumping in a big black hole, and hoping not to fall.

Still, I have done this so many times that I feel emotionally disconnected. I can do this, and I will do this because I’m tired of being like I am now. And because if I don’t do this I feel more or less things will remain the same. And because I want to feel my own vagina.

I hope everything goes well.

Normality, it is…

Today I thought I was going to write a post. I realise I’m spacing my posts more and more. I guess it has to do with my own personal development these days.

These days I’m feeling a lot less anxious. I still feel some anxiety, some uncertainty about my future, but it is much more manageable than it was before. I’ve been writing a lot in my personal diary, and somebody pointed me to Richard Wiseman’s 59 seconds. In my youth I was given a lot of self-help books, and some were not probably the most appropriate ones, so I grew reluctant to these. But I must say that this book has a scientific approach and is based in proper investigation. And it is also nice to find out that some of the advice the book offers were things I had begun to do instinctively to feel better and help myself solve my problems, or things that I’ve been already doing right for years.

I keep thinking, pushing myself into acting right. First I learnt the lesson that the world keeps going on, (and this is a very reassuring thought to have in mind at all times, I tell you), and now I’m assimilating, incorporating it into my own mind, as if it were some crucial pillar in my life. I’m allowed to make mistakes, and I’m not supposed to do everything right.

I still have lots of feelings I’d rather now not express. I feel it is better now like this. Maybe in the future I can talk openly about this, but right now I’m more or less comfortable keeping these feelings to myself, and trying to act according to them in the measure I’m allowed to. It’s no longer like I feel pressured because I just can’t express my feelings aloud, it is more like I choose not to do it, and I’m okay with it, because I feel it is best this way.

And yet, I’m speaking more than ever. And more important, I’m listening. I’ve come to learn that this one is a very important thing, and it is not that difficult. And it gives you a lot of knowledge about where you are, about what the people around think. It is important because it is what keeps you close to your loved ones.

And I still feel a lot of insecurities. Today is the day I complete two months full time. I feel okay, I’ve had no problems, I feel great. As I’ve said sometimes, it’s like living without that big stone on my back. I feel I look good, I feel comfortable with myself. It’s been eight months since I began taking hormones, and I’m still impatient because my tits are not yet big enough, and because I’ve got still a muscular torso and wide shoulders, and because my hips are not round. Probably they’ll never be, and I’ll have to accept that. But my tits keep hurting, and I feel them growing, and probably the rest of my body keeps doing the same, very slowly. So I’ve got to be patient.

I’m looking forward to having my surgery done. I’m a bit scared about that, but it’s okay. It’s a really important thing for me, because then I’ll see my body more complete, I’ll have one less reminder of having being born with a wrong body, and most important of all, I’ll feel more sexy, more excited about my own body.

Still, this is just a process, and it is a hard one to live through. It helps somehow thinking that it’s like I’m just 12 years old now, and that most of my body features have still to develop, with time. I’m still a bit scared about having waited too long before starting my transition, and being locked out of the chance of liking my own body.

So, all in all, everything goes fine. Everything is normal. I feel that I’m growing, that I’m becoming a better person. I’m not repressing myself any more, but I’m also trying not to push too much the people around. And I have lots of unfulfilled desires, and a lot of things I’d like to have in my life. But I’m working on it, and things can only become better.

So, I guess this is normality…

Tired…

Today I feel a bit tired.

These past week I’ve been trying to keep breaking my bad habits. And I’ve got it right, mostly.

But then it comes a day like today. I’m tired, I feel incapable of reaching my goals. I doubt.

I keep saying to myself that my future life is going to be great. I force me to believe that I will eventually grow a sense of accomplishment, of fulfilment of my own desires. And this is likely to happen, because I will act only to advance in this direction. I do not represent an obstacle anymore.

I’m just tired. It’s quite a big effort trying to keep focused and realistic, trying not to fear that the future is going to be as ‘not what I want in my life’ as the past has been.

Things help, however. Yesterday I read this post. I have thought myself that idea, but it helps when you see someone else thinks the same. It helps when you can see you’re thinking right. I know that, even if some things I rely upon, if some people I like to be with, are not going to be in my future, well, it’s no big deal. Even if my future is not exactly as I imagine it, it doesn’t mean it has to be bad.

But today it is difficult for me to be optimistic.

I guess I need some rest…

Just as good…

I’ve been feeling lately a bit of anxiety.

I’ve been a bit needy with my friends. I’ve looked for contact, for conversation more intently than before. I’ve felt sometimes like I didn’t belong. And I’ve had quite a lot of fear of losing my friends.

All because I’ve been feeling small, childish, immature, inadequate, unexperienced.

Today a friend made me notice this was not healthy, because it causes an imbalance in the relationships.

It does. Because if I feel so inferior, I’m not a friend, I’m an admirer or something. I can’t offer my friendship in equal terms, I offer it because I feel it is the only way I’ll get somebody to appreciate me.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this today.

It’s been just me the one who has messed all this up. I could possibly come up with some reasons why I did it. But I don’t care about that now. I want to fix it.

Because if I don’t fix it, I’m bound to relive the past. Because I’ve just come out of the closet and started living as myself, showing myself to the world. In all these years I’ve spent feeling ashamed of myself I’ve developed lots of bad habits when I deal with people. Because I’ve never put myself in a position of equality with the rest of the world.

And thus, I’ve tolerated being bullied at work. And I’ve tolerated being belittled and humiliated in two relationships I had. And I’ve pushed myself to my own limits just to buy love.

Even worse, my worse bully was me. I’ve had this feeling of guilt whenever I masturbated looking at whatever I liked, whenever I dressed up like a girl, whenever I’ve seen something I wasn’t supposed to like but I did. There I was, with my whip of guilt, causing myself pain.

And this is not healthy. This is bad for me, and for the people around me.

I am what I am. And I’m fine with that. I deserve love for my own sake, because I’m a good person. As good as anyone can be.

I’m going to teach myself to feel great. To not feel shame for being what I am, for liking what I like or for having had the past I’ve had.

I’m a great person. And I’m not going to accept less than that when I deal with people. I’m not going to beg for love. I’m not going to fear somebody leaving me, or not liking me. I’m not going to look for external validation, because so far I’ve got most of my life right on my own. And I’m going to not look for consolation or pity, because I’m not some poor creature that deserves it.

This is going to be a huge change. Even bigger than the physical transition, because I have these habits very thoroughly learned. And I’m going to have relapses, that’s going to happen because I have to unlearn a lot, and learn another lot. I don’t even know if I’m going to succeed in the long run. But I have got to try.

And I’m going to be okay.

Some milestones…

This sunday it will be six months since I started with the hormone replacement therapy.

Today I’ve been full time for two weeks, with no problems at all.

These last days I’ve received a lot of compliments. People say it feels right for me to be a woman, that I look better. My boss has complimented me about how I handled the process in the office. A lot of people said to me that I’m pretty, and brave. And everything has happened in an atmosphere of complete normality.

I’m having the longest period of happiness I have ever had in my life. For the first time of my life I feel I belong. And I am a little scared, because I don’t want it all to go away. I don’t want to wake up.

Looking back it seems so far away when I was that sad boy who felt he was weird…

I’m getting results 🙂