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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Getting used to it…

These last weeks I’ve been out a lot.

A couple of months ago I read someone asking on Twitter how it felt to be in the first year of transition, and someone replied that it was like being a spy in nazi Germany.

It’s kind of true.

When you go out, especially when you’ve only been on hormones for a short time (or when you haven’t started yet), you feel like you don’t pass, like other people can spot you. Still, you go out, but you don’t want to be too adventurous, and you prefer going with friends, just in case.

Then, one day you notice that you pass. You notice that people don’t stare at you in an uncomfortable way. And you start feeling more comfortable being out. Things that you wouldn’t have done before, like going in a lift, become possible. You enter the underground with more confidence.

I’m currently in this phase. I now have almost no problem going out, because I feel safer than before. I still have got a bit of that I am a spy sensation, but it is quite less intense.

And when this happens, you begin to forget about being a transexual person, and just start being.

And it’s awesome.

Fluctuations…

Last monday I had to visit my endocrinologist.

It was just a routine visit. I’m supposed to be checking my hormone levels, and my overall health status because this thing I’m doing to my body is a bit heavy. In the end, everything was okay.

The doctor told me that, since my testosterone was quite low now, we would reduce the dosage of antiandrogens. These pills are meant to compete with testosterone for the testosterone receivers, and since they had already taken over my brain, now it was safe to take a bit less of them. It is the brain who tells the testicles to produce testosterone, but it needs testosterone to do so. So, it’s not going to do it.

But I was a bit freaked out.

I mean, right now my worst fear is that I can’t receive any more treatment and I lose all the things I’ve achieved in the last months. For the very first time in my life I begin to feel happy, and I don’t want to lose all of this.

So, I’ve been nervous all the week. I don’t know how to explain it. Stressed. Nervous. Irritable. More active, I guess. And I thought it was because of the new prescription. I’ve even thought that I have a little more hair in my upper lip.

However, yesterday I was at work, and I noticed that, unfocused and all, I still was way more focused, way more productive than I was before the hormones. I also talked to friends, to my partner, and their answer was more or less “welcome to hormonal changes!”.

Today I took the day off, because yesterday it was my partner’s birthday. I wanted to be with her in the morning. We went late to bed, and even though I was still nervous, she could calm me down a bit. And today I feel even better. I’m feeling more relaxed, and I’ve got this sensation that things will only go better in the future.

My hormones can say whatever they want, but I think I’m going to try not to pay too much attention. And so, I’m going to go for being happy.

Walls…

I can’t be touched.

Whenever I’ve been with someone, I’ve built a wall around me.

I’ve never let anyone touch me. There was this guy who was my outside shell in between. I was protected inside. He, he was the outside façade that made me appear attractive. Because I thought others would find me disgusting. I always thought that I had to keep the pose and try to act as I was expected to.

So I’ve never been relaxed. I’ve developed this habit of being another person whenever I’m with someone. And for me, it’s just mechanic. I don’t have much experience, but all the experience I have has been in trying to please others, while trying to act my role.

I don’t know if I will ever be able to fix this. I don’t know how to fix this. Maybe I won’t be able to until I have my surgery done.

In the end I guess it’s just a matter of looking behind the façade…

Just like you…

Sometimes I have this weird feeling.

Sometimes I have this feeling of being completely different to everyone else.

I have this need to talk, to connect with people. But my stories are so different… I just want to be the same as you are, but I’m not.

When I try to explain, some people think that this is something huge. For me, it wasn’t. It was the only exit. The only thing I did was being myself. I just was scared to do it.

I feel that, no matter what I do, I’ll be alone. A lot of people will say that what I did was brave. But it wasn’t. I am fighting to earn my right to be myself. You just had that granted. I just want to be like you, I just want to have what you have. No less, no more. And definitely no, it doesn’t taste better when you have to earn it.

I feel alien. I feel like a 35-year-old child. I’m so excited about my first time doing things I’ve already done in my life, when I do them as a woman. And at the same time I feel it is sad that this is the first time I’m able to do those things as myself.

I just want to be loved. I just want to be hugged. Because I have the feeling that all the love that was destined to me got stuck in my outer appearance. I know it’s not true, I know that it was meant for me. But I can’t help but feel that it wasn’t.

I am somehow still a virgin. I can’t enjoy sex with these genitals. And when I get surgery, I might lose all sensitivity. I might never experience sex as normal people do.

And my body is weird. Right now, I’m no man, I’m no woman. I’m something in between. The taste of progress is quite a bitter-sweet taste. I love the changes that already happen, but I fear just getting stuck at this point.

I don’t want to be weird. I don’t want to be strange. I just want to be like other people are.

I don’t want to ever be different again.

And yet, I’ll forever be.

Lefty…

Yesterday I found myself trying to explain my transition to an old friend. She says she can’t support me in my decision, because she feels that I should try to accept my biologic gender. Moreover, she says that what I’m doing, taking hormones to feminise myself, is wrong because is unnatural.

So I put it this way.

Of course taking hormones is unnatural. All modern medicine is. Anybody can take hormones to, say, avoid getting pregnant. So, why are we transexuals sometimes frowned upon when we decide to take the only treatment that can help us live happy lives?

Because we are seen as if we had other choices. We are sometimes seen as if we just had some self-acceptance issue, something which can be fixed by seeing a therapist.

So I put it this way to her, and I really hope she understands…

I’m a left handed person. For ages, left handed people like me have been prosecuted and punished for the single fact of being left handed. We have been forced to write with our right hands. And, of course, with a lot of willpower, left handed people can learn how to write with their right hands. But that’s it. They can write with their right hands, but with more effort than right handed people. And they will always be left handed. You can’t change that, because it is hard-wired into your brain long before you’re born.

I’m also a homosexual girl. Even now there are places where gay people are prosecuted and punished for being homosexuals. And you can make a homosexual girl like me try to follow a heterosexual life, by inducing fear, self-disgust and guilt upon her. But that won’t change the fact that this girl is homosexual, and it will make her unhappy, fearful, uncomfortable with herself, and guilt-ridden. And this is because homosexuality, sexual orientation is hard-wired into your brain, long before you’re born.

And finally, I’m also a transexual person. Guess what, gender identity is also hard-wired into your brain long before you’re even born.

So don’t tell me how should I accept my genitals, when I’ve come to realise that the only way to go is to accept myself.

Perceived…

So, today I went to the hospital for a blood extraction. They have to check my blood from time to time, to see if everything is okay with the hormones, so today I dressed up and I went to the hospital.

It’s funny, because I was there in the waiting room, a lot of old people there, and I had to ask who was the last. So I was there, in the middle of a room full of people, and I had to talk aloud. So I did. And after that people went on referring to me as “this girl here”. Or even as “darling”.

So I thought, hmm, good. I’m going unnoticed.

They took the blood sample, and I returned home. And then this happened.

I was opening my door, as the neighbour passed by. She stood a moment and looked a bit puzzled about me. So I thought, “busted!” and told her. We talked a bit in the hallway of my appartment, and they’re okay with us, and fully support us, so whew!, one less thing to worry about.

But now the greatest part…

She told me that she had thought I wasn’t me in women’s clothes. She had thought I was my sister, and that I looked quite a lot like me.

This is so awesome, so amazing, so entirely and utterly great… So now it’s not that I look like a man, or a boy, trying to pass as a girl anymore. I am perceived as a girl, and for the people who knew me, as a girl who resembles my old self.

Plus, people refer to me as a *young* girl, maybe in my twenties. I’m thirty-five, and the usual guess is about 25, sometimes younger.

I’m still shocked. And happy. And giving little jumps.

I’m just looking forward so much to finish some final things I have to do before I go 24/7…