Not Born, Not Bred, But…

Disclaimer – Talk of bodily sexual functions

Throughout all of human history there has only been one effective way of dealing with fear – Face it.  When one moves past trepidation into the concentrated focus of action, fear has less room to spread its’ gnarled branches.

That’s what I’ve been doing, I wrote down a list of the fears that wish to feast eternally upon my soul and one by one I tear them apart like the paper tigers they are.

It has been a very stressful, hectic few months, trying to get ready for a holiday and moving house in the same week, yet here I am now in my new digs, freshly sunned by the Iberian summer, letting myself bask in new successes.  One thing transitioning doesn’t lack is a plethora of opportunities to discover yourself, to challenge yourself, to be yourself.

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Fertility Preservation

The one factor that was holding me back from medical transition is that I want kids someday, so a trip to the fertility clinic for storage was a must. The first step in preparation was what I affectionately called an ‘ejaculation timetable’, a good sample should be between two and five days old, and given some of the difficulties I have around that it was interesting having to force it in anticipation of the appointment. Too much info I know, but transparency demands it.

Anyways, the day came (no pun!) and I went to the hospital in perspiration, declaring myself as Amy the female, here to give a sperm sample.  The staff were professionally diligent as I was led into a room with a single leather chair, a crusty box full of what I assume was adult material and a tiny vial that I was somehow supposed to get my deposit into.  Tip: avoid the chair and crusty box.  I did what needed to be done and imagined as expected that this was conception, or at least the closest I will ever get.  I got my aim right thank goodness; aiming an ejaculating penis into a tiny cup without spillage is like trying to sneeze with your eyes open.  Like most things, it’s a scarier experience in your head and when it’s done it’s not so bad.

It was deflating.  I had to take the cup of semen marked ‘Amy’ through a hall to the nurse, hiding it under my jacket so no-one could see the transsexual with the sperm, handing it over with the reddest face.  A few hours later I had to call back, everything was normal and 15 ‘straws’ have been saved for the next 55 years for when I have the opportunity to have children.

It’s a double edged sword, this is 15 attempts at IVF, the quality is obviously decreased in freezing, however now it doesn’t matter how long I wait, it will be a 29 year olds sperm not subject to the grief I would put my body through until the opportunity to have a child presents itself.  This is as good as it’s going to get, I have to accept it, hope for the best and move on.  I don’t want to think about how a severe power cut could ruin everything.

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Make-up lesson

I’d been encouraged to go to a make-up counter for some professional advice, makeup is expensive and it becomes worthless if you have the wrong gear (give it to someone who could use it!), so it makes sense to get it as right as possible.  I went a step further and booked an appointment at a pro makeup store for an hour long lesson.  Scary stuff, walking in seeing all these overdone yet still beautiful women in their faces.  I was put in front of the lights and sweat the bit out.  Thankfully my consultant was very nice and guided me along like the beginner I am, teaching me about skincare, skin tones, brushes, techniques, concealers, contouring, highlighting and so on.  I was even brave enough to let her draw eyeliner on my water-line, which just seems unhealthy.

I came out beaming with confidence, even with the still present beard shadow.  She gave me a sheet of instructions for what she did and recommendations for products. Ever since, my makeup game has really improved – CC cream for eyes bags, appropriately toned concealer, smokey eyes.  I feel I actually understand what makeup is about now, I can make adjustments, compromises, repairs, and more so I can sometimes observe others and get an idea of what they’ve done, even how they’ve got it wrong.  Importantly, I now understand the limitations to the extent flaws can be hidden and learned to accept imperfection.

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Moving to the city

I feel so lucky to have escaped my hometown if only for a couple of months.  Gone are the home comforts, but they are replaced by independence, self-worth and the opportunity to grow my life.  I’m living with two other girls and it’s amazing; we blether late into the night in the house, and we go out and enjoy the social life I’ve been missing the past year and a half.  I made sure to bring only newer clothes, to remove the temptation of slipping into boy-mode because it’s ‘easier’.  With such limited outfit choices it surely is an adventure trying to look in any way acceptable for leaving the house, but for some reason I’m not as scared about it as I was…….provided I have something to wear.  Clothes usually necessitate makeup for me, so I’m trying to learn the value of being pre-prepared in case something comes up at short notice, though usually I’m too lackadaisical.

I wear my breast forms as a habit now, regardless of company so there can be no illusions.  Consistency is the key, not only for public perception but for my long term emotional well-being.  I can’t describe why some plastic pink moulds make such a difference for me, but I try not to argue with dysphoria.  It could be called a cop-out, but when dysphoria cannot rationally, logically, or intellectually be refuted it is simpler to allow myself to be happy in assuaging its demands.  I understand the difference; depression may seem like it wants you to hate yourself, anorexia may tell you that you’re fat, but dysphoria just wants you to be yourself without fear of repercussion.

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Work

I did a couple of shifts in the local library to earn some extra money for the holiday and to test the waters of employment.  Work is work, no-one commented on the disparity between my name and my clothes, from my face and my voice.  I was there to work and it was more boring than stressful.

Now begins the real job hunt so that I can afford to stay in the city.  Being trans doesn’t phase me, it’s what I might wear to an interview and to work that scares me, my initial image I feel will make a very important impact, and I am just not on top of my image game (time to book a stylist appointment then).  A couple of months HRT wouldn’t hurt either, but unfortunately that’s not within my timeframe.

I have until the end of August to find a way of making enough money to pay the bills.  I can’t move back to my hometown, I just can’t.

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Hormones

My endocrinologist appointment is less than a month away.  I still haven’t done adequate research on HRT by my own standard, I will, but it won’t change my mind.  So far as I know I’ll get a bunch more blood sucked out and told to come back in [hopefully] a month to start treatment.  For some reasons they asked me to bring a urine sample with me rather than take one there, which is pretty strange.  Since getting the appointment letter time has slowed to an unbearable pace.  I tried calling up to benefit of a cancellation but it seems the clinic only runs every fortnight, and the session before mine is “already overbooked.”  Any setback now would be more massive a blow than anything so far.

I try to downplay HRT in my mind as much as possible, but there is no point denying the desperation I feel to get started.  I am so firmly entrenched as being in this perceived female ‘role’ that hormones are the one immediate thing that can make a life’s worth of difference.  I try to convince myself that they won’t do anything, trying not to let hopefulness spill over into an unquenchable need that can never be sated.

The more time goes by; with the benefit of laser, a decent skin care routine, and a sweet hairdresser I can look at myself and already start to see it.  Even as my harshest critic I can sometimes look in the mirror and not see a man even without makeup.  I want to count myself lucky, I may not pass for an attractive male or an attractive female, but I will dub myself a ‘hot human.’

I’m going to try to embrace the testosterone while I have it, there is no denying its power, before the muscle sheds away and physical vulnerability becomes a major concern.

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Coming out to the rest of the family

I am a very lucky, very grateful, very thankful woman.  My friends have been great, my mum is a superstar, but wow was I scared about telling my grandparents.  They’re rural types, not strictly religious but regular church goers, a retired, sensitive Nan, and a gruff quiet grandfather who spends a lot of time in a big shed fixing machinery for fun.

I had the worries anyone would in this situation, and I was pretty surprised by their support.  I called my gran and though she didn’t ask or say much when I told her, she rang up the next day saying she’d been scouring the internet and asking me questions.  My granda was totally fine with it just saying to make sure I was certain before I started getting any surgeries.  Of course, they haven’ seen me yet, so I’m holding out before I can call it a big win.

Also my aunt and her fiancée know and made the switch to female pronouns instantly.  We’re a pretty small family, so apart from distant relatives I barely know that’s that.  Good for me, I wish we all could have it as good but we don’t, and I ought use this energy and support to help those who do not have it.

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Operation ‘Find the Transgenders’

Part of the reason I moved to the city is to interact with other transfolk.  I’m still not really able to avail of support groups due the isolation of my age (29), but I’ve been able to get in contact with a couple of new people through Facebook and have arranged to go for coffee with the organiser of a new 25+ AFAB group to get some insight on how I might start up a group for 25+ AMAB people.  I must find the transgenders, otherwise how will I be queen?

It doesn’t matter how you find you support, but what does matter is that you reach out to seek it.  I think I’d be screwed without the internet to help guide me, but I really need to meet some real life trans people.  I went with a bunch of girls on a crazy night out to the gay bar last week and I didn’t see any other obviously possibly trans people.  Either they are all awesomely blended in or they weren’t there.  Of course, how are you supposed to know what a trans person looks like, how we seem to gender each other is often based on an automatic assumption.

People look at me, some see trans, some see man, some see woman, this is evidenced in my interactions.  Restaurants seem to be good places to get passes, I assume at the courtesy of waiting staff.  Other trans girls have intimated similarly, so maybe that’s a good place for new transfolks to get a boost.

On the night of the gay bar I was introduced to an awesome girl who took me shopping the next day and managed to get me the whole way round a clothes shop without running away, which is very impressive.  She gives me butterflies, a feeling I’ve rarely experienced.  It inspired a dream where I finally stopped treading the same path the blue haired girl showed me, allowing me now to find a new way.  To feel in myself that I could have romantic inclinations again is a real boon, and as much as I feel getting involved with someone right now isn’t the best idea no matter how much I’d love a cuddle, I’m very happy to have hopefully made a new friend!  Hopefully I can contain my emotions and not do anything stupid, a date with me is like finding a dead jellyfish on the beach, it may seem dead but it can still sting you and mess up your day.

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Holiday to Barcelona

So, I drove myself mad getting ready for this holiday, I had to get it right.  All I had was cabin baggage so I needed to fit everything into one backpack for 5 nights, and fit all my cosmetic stuff into one of those airport security bomb material bags.  It had been so long since I’ve been on any kind of holiday, let alone to actual summer sun, let alone going as a female!

I don’t know how I did it, but I aced it and brought everything I needed.  Against all odds, the entire holiday went off without a hitch.  It was amazing.

I’m going to write about it in a separate post since this one is getting a bit bedraggled, and once I can upload the photos I’ll do a nice holiday story time post.

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Voice

Eugh.  I sound bad.  I’ve plateaued with what I’ve learned, the glimpses are rare.  I took a week off practice for going on holiday and it’s put me back a lot.  My voice therapist says it will be around Christmas before I have anything I would consider worthwhile.  Through watching lessons online I’ve developed an American inflection rather than that of my natural dialect.

A possible upside I think I’m noticing is that the rate of a passing voice is partially proportional to aesthetic appearance.  That is, the more obviously femme I am in passing situations, the more I can get away with vocally.  I can’t say that for sure, but it’s certainly conceivable .

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Future

I’ve gone from living at 100mph to sauntering now at a casual run.  The unending lists have somehow been mostly completed in a frantic, determined daze.  The word is:  Persevere.  People, I never believed I could get this far, I’m not particularly motivated, industrious, feminine, confident and so on, but I’ve still been able to make these big steps, and it hasn’t even been a year since the reality of my identity clicked.  I’ve had no choice, except to live in an eternal gender purgatory.  To think I could get this far without much understanding or self-belief shows me how far I can go to get where I need to be.  It motivates me to believe that anyone reading this in a similar situation can get where they need to be.

Let’s keep moving forward together, keep each others backs, leave no-one behind.

Amy Xx

P.S. I forgot to mention I made an email for this blog unexpectedamy@outlook.com, so if anyone has any questions or something they want me to talk about or help with please totally feel free to get in touch, I’d be happy to try to help!

Absolving the Void

Peel back the layers like the painful scabs they are.  All those layers of dead skin built up as defences throughout life that bring us farther from ourselves.  Creating a solid foundation whilst aware of what is already built.  The mixer drips and overflows whether it is preferred or not; one can build upon concrete, or one can build upon frittering dreams made from ashes tinier than sand.

I am the only person who can give me what my life wants.  I’m the only person who can find out, the only one who can do it, and the only one who cares enough [to make it happen].  Just words, conjecture, yet we are individuals, same as everyone in every position, rich or poor, totally equal and deserving in every single right.  It is wonderful to find the value and strength of the human spirit, but what about a human spirit?  To whatever degree one transcends gender, it is looking inwards that counts, not outwards.  Society is this, people are that, opinions fly with an invisible sludgy density.

For myself, since coming out, I’ve come closer to myself in some ways, yet grown further in others.  With such jarring self-realisation it can be difficult to hold onto the connectedness which binds our own values.  There must be balance, without a sense of selfness there is no scale upon which to weigh burden.  See not yourself through the eyes of others, for their worth is not determined by how they imagine you see theirs.  Only a heart will let another heart inside’ its realm.

I had the wonderful opportunity recently to spend a few days in my grandparents’ country house whilst they went on holiday, the sort place where a wi-fi signal makes 56k seem tolerable.  Good.  The overwhelmingness in general of technology and seemingly insightful ‘5 Reasons Why…’ articles resonates too loudly with the online trans experience, it’s just too much information, and how much of it is really helpful when reading about self-help overtakes actually helping oneself?

Such was my greeting view –

A little stream rolls under this picture. So tiny, yet still unstoppable in it’s flow.

In my reflections I had some a couple of important moments of clarity.

The first was to finally let go of my last relationship and first love for real.  I read an article on closure where it just clicked, or more accurately on how sometimes there is no closure, and the light brightened in my heart.  I’ve had to accept that sometimes, with some people, there are no avenues to receipt of empathy, understanding, compassion, conciliation etc, no matter how I could try or yearn.  I still got left being called a liar and a void, and must accept there is nothing I can do to alleviate this.  I think if anything, I was simply naive, just as I was naive about her. I am aware that some trans-folk have or hold onto their revelation whilst in a committed relationship and hold it in for whatever reasons for however long, but that wasn’t me.  It was the ending of the relationship that spurred me to look at my life and to finally see that which has perennially invaded my unconscious.  I was never given the chance to rebuild trust enough to try to explain how I came out so soon after the breakup, I’ve just received a continuation of the insults and abuse I’ve tried to carry for the past year.  I think this would have happened whether I was trans or not, I have spoke my love, prayers and devotions, retaining the positive memories and experiences, but now I can never look back.  We could have helped each other, and we should have been good friends at least. It is a sad ending. It is a new beginning.

Indeed, I was naive for over 28 years that so called gender issues were such a pivotal issue in my life.  Without the emotional upheaval and final unclasping I can only wonder how long it may have been before I started asking myself such serious questions.  And to be true, after those first few weeks of screaming and crying, I started telling people straight away, because I had no choice it hurt so much to have it all hit me at once.  Mais c’etait et c’est la vie.  The pain from all that is gone now so I know it is over, and in forcing myself to write this it allows my acceptance to breathe, to let go of the hurt, and mostly to let go of the hope it can be resolved.  It hurts me a lot to be thought of as a source of pain for others, I truly hope she can come to understand one day, to let go of her hurt, to forgive the grievances she feels.

‘Forgive people in your life, even those who are not sorry for their actions.  Holding onto anger only hurts you, not them.‘ – Source unknown

I’m sorry.  I forgive you.

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The other release was of course related to trans issues, you know, that whole thing where breath is castigated by binders and corsets, for fun…  I’ve seen the struggle in myself and many others who in finding ourselves wish to put a name to that which takes us [from a past] to a future.  I understand how important personally, socially and politically it can be to use the names and terms, but I think I am moving past gendered terms, past binary, past non-binary, for now.  I’m sure I’ll proselytize yet through a few more terms of thinking.

I’m not trying to raise myself above, or come up with a new term; I just feel sometimes that all the questioning is like leaving the tap on, all that precious energy cascading into a black hole where answers are echoes.  I’m concerned with my individuality, not my gender, and though they are concordant, even thinking about thinking about a name for whom or what I am seems counter productive.  This is not a rejection of trans identity, it is more a showing of my growing comfort and acceptance in a self-actualized role.  One’s role is to be oneself.

Please forgive the impertinence, I’m just a babe when it comes to actually dealing with this stuff, but for me it is liberating.  No longer do I have to read trans-critical information, nor trans-affirming information and try to apply it to my own situation.  I hope that I have a more highly prioritised sense of self than sense of gender.  As trans, with continued self-awareness I would like to believe one can release the unfettered nature of oneself without bond – yet when dysphoria calls, does thon us ask to lie our identity on a line, or between the tracks?

When trying to explain all this stuff, I’ve found it essentially comes to sound contradictory in many ways, but to other trans folk, these seeming contradictions evoke understanding and empathy, and no doubt it confuses the fudge out of most people.  This shared connection however helps us understand the realities of our incongruities.

I posit to not lie on a line or between a track, but to ride ‘gender’ like a wave, take control of dysphoria like it’s a surfboard, become an expert dysphoria surfer, expect the waves to crest and crash over you sometimes, expect to fall into endless possibilities for choices of direction.  Think of these things for a time, but remember why you came, to find peace, calm, a true smile upon your face as a blazing sun of energy reflects its’ light and the spray blinds you to all but your focus.

Gender happens.  You don’t find it.

Gender is the word used to differentiate whatever it differentiates itself from.  It is an aspect of an individual, more innate and deep than most.  Gender, I suppose, is also a sufficient distinguishment between individuals in certain ways, though not necessarily through distinguishing features.  Gender is not the word ‘gender’, I find there is a serious language barrier which makes it very difficult to engage the precepts of discussing transgender issues from the basis of our awareness. For ourselves, moving on from the traditional sexed values of the words ‘male’ and ‘female’, ‘man’ and ‘woman’, to using those words to describe what we are.

What I mean is, I find myself by unconscious design to deign myself a woman, though I [supposedly] have a man’s everything.  For me, even having to attach those words creates a restriction, for me.  I’m not trying to write New-Speak, I’m just trying like I always have to eradicate those concepts like I try to eradicate any other pre-conceived assumption on human beings based on physical identifiers.  I guess it’s like wanting to talk to someone on a phone with a before meeting them, knowing a mind before attaching bodily traits, like I would hope for others to know me before imparting physical judgement.

This is my current, narrow, not at all serious interpretation. I do not deny, nor am I deluded from biological probabilities. There is too little psychophysical information for anyone to speak with authority. All I know is, trans people exist.

Ok, so the questions are always there, just like the…sigh….dysphoria.  However, I seem to have found a nice calm for now, things are a lot less overwhelming, less mind heavy.  So much anxiety, confusion, and all those things that lead one downhill from getting so single-minded on gender business.  It happens and it’s ok, though we have to take time to step back, we can begin some of the healing at any time.  Part of that is letting go of the past, another part is embracing the present.

Calm water days prepare for rough seas ahead.

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In embracing the present, I personally have been trying to cool off on hyperactive transition mayhem, so much as I can be willing.  When trying to eat a mountain this big, the days go by and it seems like nothing can make enough of a difference, only crumbs when it may seem like progress is a spectre, but crumbs are still crumbs, even if few singles bites will make any noticeable difference.  However, it is not a Sisyphesian task, all those little bits matter, they really do bring us closer to our goals, but trying to do too much at once I find can totally jam the system and I personally just end up panicking.

So, I’m trying to tone down the demands.  I’m in a place that is comparatively acceptable for now.  My make-up and voice hasn’t improved, though I have been getting to wear some pretty nice clothes.

My voice is what holds everything back.  I’ve accepted the necessary horror and hard work, and it is a vital factor for me long term.  I don’t want to improve my looks because it feels pointless when I sound like this.  I’m not so much worried about the self-expression aspect so much as the grinding mental incongruity so this is how I do it.  I winged an appointment at a hospital voice clinic next month, and I really think it’s up there on the list of horribly embarrassing things for me to do in transition.  Gonna sound sooooo bad, and I just know I’m going to have a break down afterwards. I have to be honest, if I become aware of my voice in a conversation I can feel pretty uncomfortable.  Ears shall come to bleeding one day, when Amy is around.

I’ve started wearing hip pads and breast forms, even though I said to myself I wouldn’t.  It’s not nearly as internally humiliating as I feared, in fact it felt more appropriate than I would have liked, but hey, whatever works.  I’m pretty self-conscious about it, but not enough to not do it.  I mean, if I grow breasts or get chest surgery they’re going to be there, so may as well get used to it.  Palm to face initializing,  Palm to face engaging.  Palm to face complete.  Not fun, but whatever, it’s fine.

Overall, beyond little trinkets the best thing for me has been being outside, sensing who I am in the world, learning what not to wear, gaining confidence.  Each mistake now is one less to make in the future, and wow there are some really embarrassing mistakes to be made!  With good friends, it can be a lot of fun, and it can be alone too, if you are prepared to laugh at yourself.  I dunno, I must be crazy, because still when I walk into town I seem to be one of the very few ones with even the faintest of a smile.  Do smile!  Other people?  ‘Some folks would try and tell you how to butter your toast.’  Some people want what they want for themselves for you, but what do you want for you? I want your smiles, gimme gimme gimme! 😀

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I’m aware this blog is just a big block of writing, so here are a few photos of beautiful Westeros:

And one of me, cause I love ya 😉

Spread the happy times people!

Amy Xx

Broken Walls, New paths.

Words are words.  Sometimes you have to stop talking, repetitively thinking and get down to work.

It has been one month of acceptance and twenty some years since I’ve been ‘female’.  I’ve studied, researched, meditated, denied, reached out, shut down and whittled away the possibilities.  Not a gay man, not a cross-dressing man.  Not a man.  Not insane. I am seemingly rational in each other part of my life, so if I am insane about being dysphoric, then I am insane about everything.

Instead, the walls break down and an overwhelming amount of humanity comes out.  Love abounds, for all the time it does, use it, don’t just merely anticipate the day sullen human nature comes back into the fold.

I was presented with a choice in my sub-conscious, right deep down in the place where lies cannot exist:  I am female.  I have a male body.  Either I spend all day every day now for the rest of my life going actually insane thinking about this, or I do something about it.  I have been accused on occasion of being very black and white, I am.

To me [now] it is simple and I’ll say it again:  Gender doesn’t matter, getting on with life matters.  Regardless of the many difficulties and impossibilities of transgender transition, all that matters is being in a position where you can get on with your life.  The goal is to not be screaming to yourself about your gender, that’s all.

I’m clear in my understanding, so now it is time to be quiet and make it happen.  Thinking only helps so much, it is the least evolved part of the human body (wherever it exists), every other part knows so much more, listen to it.  You consciously and intelligently cannot know which is why you’ll never be able to explain it, and you’ll never have it understood.  That’s fine, very few things are understood, and many more are harmful to the universe.

Be honest or die unfulfilled.  Be yourself or die unfulfilled.

As what is assumed to be a true personal self is allowed to express in total honesty, aside from being smug, it can only mean that it is time to bring the inside outside.  It will take a while, and it will definitely hurt in a lot of ways, and therein lies the initial choice.  You cannot choose to be transgender, but you must choose what you are going to do about it.  Whatever you decide is fine as long as you are fine with it, and anticipate you will remain so!

If you are truly the opposite gender (or whatever in-between or not at all), then insofar as I can see, the only changes that need to be made are aesthetic [and hormonal], because you are already you. Personally, I see my gender as less part of a spectrum, and more of a symmetrical reflection; of course, everyone is different, and these perceptions may shift with time.

Now, to try to help the world accept me as I am.  I may claim to be on an ok path with being transgender, but still I know nothing about the practical side.  Without at least attempting to ‘legitimately’ acquire the perception of ‘true’ gender from others, then it is just more repression. Dysphoria seems to now allow it.  If during my assessment, the psychologist can suggest a less invasive alternative for being, then I will celebrate their magical powers.

# ‘Dysphoria, f__ yeah!  Comin’ along to turn you into a girl yeah!’

Until I action a plan to combat these conundrums, then there is no point repeating endlessly what has become a paradox of being both obvious and obfuscated.  Repression is repetitive, expression is unique.

I will admit that I am terrified all over again.  Fear exists to be overcome. Time to make waves – rise, crash, and rise again higher!

I am Amy, and I will feed you commas until the end of time.

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The way forward is easier with no way back.

This is a ramble a few days into not smoking, so don’t even bother reading, it’s just a personal record in the mist of renewing collagen properties.

Where next?  The nature of one’s reality can change quickly.  For every step forward, the floor falls away behind, there is no stepping back.

However, onto the business of increasingly cliché, self-indulgent, auto-biographical transgender realisations!  For all the muddle in the brain, if the symptoms of gender dysphoria are there then it is time to get to work.  I do not choose to suffer, but I also have no idea what I am doing, so guess what?  It’s time to learn.

Time to learn about things like body measurements, style, make-up, voice, posture and the other minutiae.  The goal is not to stereotype, nor is it to express femininely per se, rather it is to create the perception.

I stayed in the city this weekend, as an unknown entity I was able to experiment a little and I looked like….well, let’s say I looked good from behind.  As much as it made me feel right and elated to try out in public, I am obviously aware that I was fooling nobody as to my bio-sex.  In clothes shops I saw a male section and a female section, but saw nothing for me, curious, though again, I never have.

Therefore, to create the perception, I have to put in the work.  Slinging on a random dress and slapping on some crud isn’t going to cut it, because this isn’t some game, some experiment or fetish, its therapy.  Body dysmorphia, and just looking like a damn clown in general, is no way to be.  I want to get it right, because I am sick of being perceived as something I don’t feel, regardless of how I’m not truly interested in fashion, nor painful and expensive procedures to destroy my body in various ways.

Yet, change is necessary, or the psychological dystopia will doubtlessly play on. One interesting and harsh revelation is making a switch, from being a pretty decent looking guy to a pretty ugly female. But guess what percentage of women are that happy with their bodies? Exactly. The goal isn’t to look good anyway, it’s just to be in a way to be perceived as female at all. Keep the sights realistic.

The boy is gone.  The only secret of myself I thought I would never tell anyone of course turned out to be the biggest possible one.  I have stopped referring to myself in the masculine as often as possible, using a neutral pronoun.  There is no man in my head, so to say I am male is to lie, aside the physically obvious.  To admit the big secret is to be free.  Freedom can be ugly, so be aware.

One mistake I made though was telling my mother without a plan of being able to explain and answer questions as we go along, and it has caused much friction.  It can’t really be explained, so seeing needs to become believing.  Trying to explain the difference between ‘identity’ and ‘expression’ is difficult for a female in a male’s body dressed as a male claiming to be female to someone who only knows you as a male.

All the signs point to a new wall post conflict – If you are female, be female.  If you are male, be male.  That’s what people do innately in general, regardless of whether it is in a masculine or feminine way. If you are something else then be that.  Don’t be who you are not.  Just be.

Emotionally, it’s just a gush of joy and love much of the time,  I won’t be held back, and if folks think I’m some flamboyant weirdo then fine, that’s only because I haven’t got my side of it down.  The voice stuff is going to be coming up real soon, absolutely terrifying, but for me it seems absolutely necessary.  I’m also allowing myself to be a lot more vulnerable, not because it is a female trait, but because I am vulnerable and I’m sick of putting up walls, they prevent love from growing.

To change identity, then to an extent I have to change my role. This however has to be in terms of what is acceptable and affirmable to my identity.  I’m not going to compromise who I am to become someone else, I’m going to become who I am in a way that is acceptable and affirming to me, balanced with creating a perception that allows the affirmation to latch onto dysphoria like a spider on a fly.

Hehehe, like I said, the floor behind falls into darkness and there is no way back, each step confirms this to be a truer path than I was on.

Onwards to liberation!

If you are like me, then you may know what I’m attempting to say, and if you don’t, please accept who I am, I will do the same for you.  I’m not trying to be freaky, not convincing myself of anything, not trying to have fun, not making a statement, not being sexually gesticulative, not trying to tear down society, I’m just trying to break down the walls of a life I created that wasn’t honest to who I really was.

I have to be who I am, so do you, otherwise, who can suggest who to be? I could see how a trans-person could get quite pretentious about the whole issue, just as much as I can understand certain angry outsider viewpoints. However, if people don’t like it then it’s too bad, because I cannot let myself suffer to be untrue. I may be a hypocrite, but I’m not sorry.

Absorb my love, or have it forced upon you 😀

Amy \m/

There will not be blood.

Ok, I know I’m kind of hogging the internet, so a quick [written: long] post then I’m going to go to my handwritten journal for a few days, to attempt a private revelation.

I feel more comfortable and relaxed than I have in a long time.  I told two more male friends, it took a little more explaining, but again the openness and love that can be forgotten exists shows out in full bloom.

My explanation has also grown a little more steadfast.  Aside from carefully explaining that I am not a repressed homosexual, a cross-dresser or a transvestite, what I can get out now is that it is a difference in the relationship between my mind and my body.  Maybe they need to see it to believe it, but I still trust them, even if I do end up with a shrill, untuned, squeaky voice.

You hear the phrase ‘man trapped in a woman’s body’, but it is crude and incomplete.  To be transgender surely entails that even with the brain of a different gender, one is still subject to the hormones, social constraints, and the idea one must be wrong because how can you be in the wrong body?  What I know now from reading is that in spirit form, I would have a hard time convincing myself that I was male, but I’d give a damn good shot at being female.  Though, in spirit form, it’s all the same anyway, just different energies.

I admit that I have been rambling on in mad denial, it may be an open and expressive experience, but I am aware that it is profoundly unhealthy to not be dealing with things as they are.  Again I have to remind myself that my intelligent thought doesn’t matter, it is not something I can justify or prove, it is just something that is.

My friends tell me simply, they love me, but I have to come to terms with it.  If I am going to be anybody, I have to be myself.  We have had some great conversations, admitting to being transgender has allowed each of them to open up even more to me.  These are the bonds that grow stronger, an advantage I cannot ignore.  I am a very lucky person.  An old friend I love deeply held me in his arms for a long time and stroked my hair, I felt uncomfortable even though I enjoyed it, the act was made that I had to allow myself to be vulnerable, otherwise I would be stonewalling.

I am a girl   I can’t really deny that.  My name is Amy, and once I can reassure….(oh! revelation)…I don’t have to reassure the little boy crying at the window, I need to reassure the essence of who I am, the feminine self (or at least, the true self), that has had to spend so long suffering the ways of living as a male.  As much as male life has been fun, it has been marked permanently by having the brain of a female.  Obviously meaning no offence, whatever gender someone is, or not, it’s all good, embrace it!

The cold dread is warming into a creamy glow.  Seems like I’m getting somewhere.  Slight….elation.

See all you wonderful people soon.

Love and Peace signs,

Amy x

My First Video….going badly!

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Like I said, I watch video’s of folks starting transition and I get a cold dread, cold sweats, knowing what I want, and seeing how much work goes in, and how many messed up aspects of it that go against all the testosterone stands for.  As such I has decided to document my own journey.

My accent is awful I know (it’s been inconsistent lately), and my video skills, well they are just sublime.  Not.  Last video I was in was a VHS recoding of a metal gig i did in 2004!

Apologies for all the posts today.  I’m starting a new notebook journal, so I won’t be flooding anymore, apparently that’s annoying, so, sorry!

Cliiiifffyyyyy.  Aaammmmmyyyyyy.  Jaaammmiiiieeee

Be Honest, seek advice.

[EDIT – For obvious reasons, I’ve decided stop smoking cigarettes, so please excuse the irrational outbursts.  I’ll probably learn a lot about which is harder, changing gender, or quitting smoking, haha!]

You know what, if I’m going to be honest, I have to go the whole way.

I spoke with a private gender support counsellor last week, and the appointment is a painful 4 weeks away, for one appointment then she is on holiday for three weeks.  She said if I go to my GP and get referred to the gender identity clinic that I wouldn’t be able to work with her.  Like I said before, it’s the nuclear option….it’s the eventual option, my question is with timing.

But damn, I can’t handle it?  Surely I need to go to my doctor?  What in blue heck is Real Life Experience?!  I have to act in a gender specific way before I can be more gender specific?!  Do I have to be a crazy dude in stubble and a dress and a false squeaky voice before they’ll believe me?  If I decided I was the kind of girl who wore the exact same clothes…..and had a beard and a penis and a deep voice then who can tell me what I am?

I have to think about things like freezing my sperm.  I’m literally the last in my family line and I’m essentially consigning it to the dustbin, where the fudge do I get the money to pay an annual rate for a technology not guaranteed to work!  I guess it calls for a fertility test to begin with.

I really don’t know what is the best choice to make, I’ll have to wait either way, but I don’t want to have to wait six months to even get started on something I’m trying to do now.

Please advise lovely humans 😦

Where do you start with all this?!  What am I doing?!?!?! Why!!!!!!!!!!!!!

First presentations in public

Tonight I discovered one reason why I’m not insane, and possibly more questions pointing to how I could be.

I went out dressed as…I don’t know, you tell me. (These aren’t selfies’ dammit, it’s documentation!…)

First time leaving the house, stubble and all!

I don’t feel insane because it felt totally normal. I wanted to be perceived as more feminine. I first made a stop to a cash machine, an old man was staring, but maybe that’s because I left the car running with Lamb of God’s ‘Ashes of the Wake’ at full volume. I was convincing myself I didn’t give a crap, but I didn’t need to, oh how I laughed!

My female friend who I told was there, and two other male buddies who think whatever they need to. They said I looked good, and the girl knew I was wearing make up, so they probably did too. I kept it casual, male persona, just trying out some stuff, bit of androgyny, blur the lines, mess with peoples’ heads.

What drove me out of the house tonight was sheer compulsion; I actually couldn’t have left the house dressed totally in my mansie’s. When male pronouns are used, I wanted to correct them, another compulsion. I wasn’t doing it for fun, I’m not trying to be shocking or controversial, this…is….just me. Aaaarrggghhh! Maybe people think sometimes that trans-people are playing pretend, that they’re playing dress up, but, it’s not! *Manic laughter* I didn’t feel embarrassed, I didn’t feel ashamed, I felt like myself as ‘normal’.

I wasn’t treated any differently at all, and the ever growing friendship with her is just wonderful, we have a lot of normal stuff to chat about, and she offered to help with make up if I wanted to, too weird right now, talking about it was a bit weird, but only cause I don’t know anything about it. And it’s weird, makeup is weird…but very nice. I can’t pretend anymore that women shouldn’t wear make up because they should just be content to be themselves, make up helps a lot with perception of self-image and expression for me, so it must be similar for cis-girls, otherwise why do it?

Proof!  (Shared with permission.)

I still haven’t been eating properly, and I did go out with glasses with no lenses, so, hahaha, well, maybe I’m still transgender, but I’m just an insane transgender person! That would be better than being just insane

So there, I came out, a bit. A little more each day. I wanted to wear ripped jeans so my red knee socks could be seen, don’t know who for, and damn, one day lipstick, eyeshadow, painted nails.  And curled hair. *Gush* Question, if you have make up on your face and an itchy face, then what the frig do you do? It comes off? I don’t know!

I’m glad I did this tonight, I don’t care how stupid I looked to everyone else, but I saw a little bit of myself as gender-messed in real life, and it is who I have always been afraid to be, so it is me. Somewhat.

The testosterone in my body wants me dead pretty badly, to workout my upper body like old times, but noooooo. Work those legs and abs.

Going through this…..it’s hard to set a pace. I’m trying to do as much research as I can, bought some books, I have this blog to document and try to understand these changes, and really getting a lot from reading other folks’ lovely blogs (Thank you!).

This may seem unstoppable now, but there are many roadblocks on this path I may be on.

If I was presenting as a trans person pretending to be an androgynous male, then who was I after?

Boy?

Hope everyone is having a nice weekend!

Ammmiii..yyy……Jaaammmie.

Eugh, my birth name is Jamie.   I always thought it was a girl’s name so I changed it to Clif after my second name. Turns out I was right?

I hope my transparency doesn’t come to backfire on me, but I honestly don’t care who knows at this point (except family) to some extent that there is something going on with me. I don’t want to be Clif or even Jamie.

But I still can’t sign my name Amy.

Ammii……….Cliiifff………Jaaaa.a….mmm..iieiee..

Unknown.