dating, Uncategorized

Amy’s Enchanted Transition: MTF 5 months on HRT and 1st date!

So I have this little journal where I write down distinguishing HRT changes as I notice them.  This month I’ve had the least to write about, yet I’ve experienced the most profound changes.  They can’t be explained without pouring over microscopic evidence, but now more than ever, when I look at most of my body I can really see it.

Changes Diary

Day 126 – Testicles seem about 60% of original size;  My hips have grown so much that I have to pull trousers around my hips to get them on;  Weight is much more difficult to lose, but my waist still seems slimmer;  My breasts are shinier and squishier.

Day 132 – Wearing a bra is no longer optional, especially if I intend to run down stairs, because ouch.

Day 145 – My head hair is growing very quickly, while most body hair (except facial, public and nipple) is growing in slower and more sparesly; the breast pain has expanded past my areola.  My boobs are much more painfully tender now when touched.

Day 148 – The hair on my arms and legs really is less coarse.


The other changes I’ve noticed have been more experential.  For example, this is by far the coldest winter of my life because my skin is thinner, even though in actual terms the temperature has been fairly average.

My face has changed an awful lot.  Interestingly though I don’t feel it in my mind’s eye; without a mirror I figure myself looking as entirely masculine, and sometimes I have to look in the mirror quite a few times to connect with how my face looks now.  That said, what my face looks like changes considerably at different times of the day, the femininity of which depending on my rest, diet, water intake, and lighting.  These things really make a difference now.  It can be in as little as a few minutes that I perceive my face from looking reasonably female-like to perceiving a very obviously male face.

When I take my clothes off, I now at least see the trans woman that I am.  My features are much softer; my torso, though chunky and mannish, displays undoubtedly feminine curves.  My breasts, though still basically invisible, squish together almost convincingly in certain stances.  Not enough to display cleavage without special effort yet, should I ever wish to do that.

What has changed most is my mindset.  Aside the first week after getting the T-blocker injection which causes intense soul bleeding, I’m still feeling better and better.  Dysphoria is still on the wane, being replaced with giddy high-pitched energy and a still growing desire to dance.  Part of it is clearing up the initial hormonal malaise and taking steps to improve my quality of life, part of it is being able to look at myself in the mirror and having more of a reason to smile.

I feel myself growing as a person.  At points I have felt like a new life has been trying to burst forth from me, a cornucopia of new emotions, hopes, possibilities, where the negative effects of testosterone are becoming so foreign to my mind state that the estrogen effects are creating a whole new world for me.  Instead of imagining that it is changing me as a person, I see it instead as watching a grey world turn colour.  It fuels the imagination, it embraces curiosity, it encourages hope and instigates change.

The one big downer in all of this is my voice.  I haven’t practised in a long time, but I’ve been able to maintain the voice I use, and hold it more consistently for longer periods of time.  It is easier to notice when my pitch is dropping, or my vocalization is slipping deeper into my mouth and throat.  I’m struggling to get that buzz in the lips, but no matter what I do it’s still just not there…it wants to edge towards the precipice but doesn’t know how.  A trans girl with a perfect voice assured me recently that my voice ‘isn’t masculine’ and I believe her, it’s just not feminine either.  I ought be thankful, some girls are unable to reach the point that I’m at so how can I complain.  Still, I’m putting increasingly more time and effort into practice again; it’s draining, but it’s very worth it.

As such, I seem to end up presenting in a way that gets me gendered in public very rarely.  People seem to go out of their way to not say ‘Sir’ or ‘Miss,’ ‘he’ or ‘she.’  My clothing options can vary in terms of assumed gender identifiers, and is usually very casual, most often without make up.  I try to wear a trans badge when I go out, just so I don’t have to feel threatened at being described in male terms.

queerbadges

Even so, I don’t really care what others’ think.  Call it confidence, or casual arrogance. On those days I seem to be provocative enough to warrant stares, I stare back and smile, and when they walk past I laugh, because the whole thing is absurdly funny.  I mean, breaking free of extreme gender constraints seems so menial, yet it is seen as a deviant revolution.  Staring is no biggie anyways, because people will stare at you for all sorts of reasons, for being attractive, for being large, for being impaired, for having a strange hairstyle, for wearing a hat.

Who cares?  I honestly got more abuse in years past for being seen as a man with long hair.  Then, as now, I walk in public with a smile on my face, embracing the worst, sliding past unavoidable scowls.  Everyone looks strange, especially the folks who see themselves as ‘normal.’  Besides, not knowing that I was trans for 28 years can easily lead me to believe that any apparent cis person could be trans and either not know it, or is repressing it.

So why be scared.  I’m starting to enjoy fear again because I understand its’ nefarious agenda.  I hear friends speak of dysphoria as demons and dragons when really it is just worms and shadow-puppets.  Fear in many situations is the force that tries to stop you from doing something you really want to do, or that would benefit you.  Fear is its’ own worst enemy, because it reminds you of those things you really want, it knows you can do all that you dream of, which is why it masquerades as these terrifying monsters, because fear has no power when you simply say ‘no’ to it.

Confidence I think is a massive factor, and the phrase ‘fake it till you make it’ really resonates. Confidence doesn’t mean flamboyance or attracting attention, it means walking down the street with your eyes up; being able to smile and chat with shop assistants. It is doing simple things in simple situations and making them….well, simple for you. Confidence shows that you know what you are doing is right, and you can do it, proudly.


Over the knife

Such is life on HRT.  Five months passing so slowly that now seem in the blink of an eye, finally appreciating the understanding and knowledge shared by other women much further ahead, the envy of my own self a year ago.

My second opinion for GRS by fortune got moved forward by 3 months to May, which heralds the beginnings of proceeding to surgery.  Sure, it may be still years away yet, but once that ball starts rolling, much deadlier realities come into play.

I’ve spent the past few months laying groundwork for the surgeries I need, think I need, and want.  This plan has changed a lot on postulizing about individual GRS surgeons, breast augmentation surgeons, tracheal shave surgeons, FFS surgeons, vocal surgeons.  It changed even more when I open my purse and remembered I don’t have £50,000+ just lying around to be picky.

I’m coming round to the idea that NHS funded GRS can be a viable option.  It is a tough tough tough choice when I think I could get better results elsewhere, yet might settle because it’s either NHS or nothing.  This is a lifelong decision, not just to have the operation, but how to get it.

For now, that is all I am focused on.  Breast surgery doesn’t feel like a good idea until at least a year after GRS (to see if the removal of testicles produces enhanced HRT results), FFS isn’t a major concern worth saving for right now, trachael shave will come with time, and vocal surgery is just a bad idea to begin with and I’m giving myself at least another year of vocal training before I have to admit it may be a necessity.

Aside that, it’s getting difficult to say much more about the experience of being trans.  I was never in the closet, I don’t get grief on the streets, I’m not discriminated against professionally or medically, I don’t have issues with my family and friends, I have less issues with my body and dysphoria.  I’m incredibly lucky and privileged, all I can say is that I still didn’t think I could do it, yet my transition is becoming more and more of a success.

You see those before and after shots of transition and think, how did they manage to do that?  I could never do that!  Yet, that’s most likely what they thought, and they did it.  That’s what I thought and I did it [; I’m finally feeling it.  After 5 months of HRT, I actually feel it, I am so undoubtedly female that there is little left to consciously doubt].  If that’s what you think, you can do it.

The pictures below are separated by 18 months – the last photos I took of myself before I realised I was trans, and photos from a few days ago, drunk, at 6am.:

transitioncollage1

Pretty wow, huh?!  There was not a day when the person on the left thought I could be anything like the person on the right.  And yet there it is.  It was down to no special, magical effort on my part, it came down to understanding who I was and doing what I could raking through fields of broken glass until I unearthed my potential.  It’s not as difficult to do as it looks.  Lots of small changes.

Granted I haven’t stepped fully into the public domain with regard to employment and the potential difficulties there.

When it comes down to the world of dating and relationships, I have been at sea for so long it seems like I’ll never even have a peek of genuine interest again, let alone an actual date…

…except for this past week, when I went on a date.


Date Night

Yes, an actual date.  The only date I’ve had outside of a relationship in my entire life, except for maybe that time when I was 14 and was totally oblivious it was a date and the fly on my jeans was down the entire time anyway.

I met an intelligent, charming, attractive girl on a dating website.  After wafting through the perverts and the time wasters I came across someone I just had to find out more about.  We chatted via email, she suggested coffee and that suggestion turned into drinks.

Getting ready for a date as a woman is fun, terrifying and time consuming.  I needed an outfit, eyebrow waxing, hair fixing, make up…ok I didn’t need to do any of these things, but I wanted to look like I was making the effort as much as I actually was making the effort.

A good friend helped me pick out a dress, straightened my hair, even did my make up, all whilst calming me down and reassuring me.  I even wore heels for the second time ever.

We met at a bar, had a cocktail and were chatting immediately.  I have a great tool for having conversations with people, it’s called asking questions.  I was my typical weird self but she wasn’t fazed by this, and I was enthralled with how openly she shared her life with me.

After a while we hit a quieter bar, drinking until the wee hours with nary a moment of silence or wasted conversation.  At closing time we got some take out food and went to her house.  We sat up drinking tea until 6am when we decided it was sleepy time and I got a taxi home.

This for me is a great success.  I don’t want to kiss on a first date, and I was honest with her about my sexuality issues.  However, I’m not sure the issue is my sexuality, it’s more, how would I have sex now?

The first thing I have to do is back it way up.  I still struggle with attraction to begin with.  Since our date we have been in regular contact and I feel that excited little buzz in my belly, and I think she is interested in me too.  Holding hands is an intense experience for me, let alone the idea of a kiss.  I figure the answer is, if I’m with someone, we are comfortable, sexually attracted to each other and decide to be sexual, then we appreciate and help each other understand our explicit boundaries and I try to learn what I still like, and what is new that I might be prepared to try and enjoy.

That stuff is all potential for another time and not relevant at the moment.  Right now, I’m most excited to be getting to know this woman more and to share time together.  This coming week we have another date at the museum then we’re going for lunch.  I’ve never understood rushing dating; if something is meant to be then you have all the time in the world to explore it.

I find it very interesting to be dating someone the same gender as me. Gender roles for straight cis folk feel like a parachute drop into a cage of historical safety, where more often than not, the male is ‘the man’, and the female is ‘the woman’, each term coming with its own set of assumed responsibilities and perks. I always hated that. Whereas in this queer scenario, we are both individuals, we bring who we are to the table, rather than what we are – it is more nerve-wracking and initially jarring, but ultimately I hope it can foment greater openness, understanding, and shared responsibility.

My life is no more difficult than it ever was.  My gratitude for this sense of regularity is abundant and growing.  Please let my story show you that you can live truly and freely no matter what your position or age. I’m hardly a trans veteran, but in less than two years I’ve learned so much and forged a vastly more authentic life.  If there is a way you think I can help you, or a topic you’d like me to get into more gory depth about, please get in touch at unexpectedamy@outlook.com

Life is lived best when you live it as your truest self, and love yourself for who you are.

Namaste,

Amy Xx

 

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gender, transgender

My First Video….going badly!


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

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gender, identity, transgender

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!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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gender, transgender

The first repressive ramblings of a human in disguise

Disclaimer – Please understand my topic covers a blunt and ignorant perspective on my own experiences with blurred gender lines.  It is not meant to offend or provoke in any way, it is simply my own exploration, an attempt to seek and receive empathy and understanding.

It has been many days of impulse, fighting against the repression and denial of over 20 years, that I have a gender identity problem.  The pain of the repression has gotten to the point that it has become more dangerous to hold it in than let it out.  I look in the mirror and say to myself ‘I’m transgender.  I’m transgender.’, whilst I smile a mans’ smile, nodding and agreeing.  Sure you are.

And how would I know?  I don’t know any transgender people, I don’t even know any gay guys.  Oh, so maybe I’m gay right?  Nope, never had to repress that, so why the hell have I had to repress for so long that I might be a…….something else other than a male.

It’s great, I’m 28, but for those kinds of feelings coupled with gender atypical Western society, many others have undoubtedly had to go through the same thing, whether they wanted it or needed it or not.  However, I can sparsely begin to imagine the courage of those who do, through the stigma and the turmoil.  I don’t know enough about it, so I’m just trying to understand with words, maybe it can help someone empathize and feel better.

Background?  Short term, a recent break up with my first love, a two and a half year relationship with it’s own separate reasons for ending.  So maybe life situations have made me insane?  No, I felt it coming close before the relationship, and long before that.  If I thought I was insane, I would have had to check into the local mental health unit.

Still waaaaaaaaayyyy too seemingly rational, and it fuels the denial, because what is rational about thinking you are transgendered? The scary answer in realisation is that it doesn’t matter.

Being overly concerned with the concept of gender for a long time, I came to a conclusion that in a fair and just world, people could express themselves in whatever way they wanted without shame, without needing to resort to measures to screw around with an otherwise hopefully healthy body.  I was wrong, it still matters.  But why?!  My philosophical and political convictions are falling apart, so what are they and who am I?

The result over the last week has been to allow myself to really explore this whole deal so much as I can in private.  I haven’t been integrated with what it is to be female (to whatever extent), and again I still question that gender can be defined, so I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.  I have to admit, my first attempt at body hair removal was exhilarating, nice smooth legs 😀 [How my mind tries to reject it…] As is the subsequent razor burn, exfoliation and moisturising routine, ahem.

This reinforces what I think I am rather than diminishing it.  I don’t know about clothes and make up, I don’t know about cars or football either.  None of that stuff matters, so long as I can express myself for who I am, whatever I may be?  Nope, still it’s not enough!  Aaarrgghhh!

I’m sure it’s a real picnic, opening yourself to so much prejudice.  I mean, what a load of fun, I’m sure trans-whatever people all over the world just love having to go through what I imagine is a lot of crap when it would seem much simpler to not have had the condition at all.  Regardless it is there, you wanna know what the other option is…if you are really there and going through the same thing?  In my mind, it’s another twenty years of repression, and then what?  If it’s not going to go away then…we must make our choices.

I guess for me the time was late, having other issues in life to work through and not seeing this as a priority (Honestly, I have thought of it as some sort of compulsive perversion, but I’ve been this way since a young boy, and it doesn’t feel like a perversion), trying to push it away to just get on with life, but I can’t.

The pressure built so much over the past week that I had to let it out, I had to tell someone.  Dun dun dunnnn!

Ohhhh the terrors, a five day panic attack and basically no food, trying not to go nuclear and just walk out of the house like a dude in a dress.  I never thought I would tell anyone, but then before I never thought I’d have to.  I saw my best friend, anxiously tried to avoid it, and be who I was seemingly to be, until it became too obvious to ignore.  I went as conservative as possible, I told him that I have been having strong gender identity issues, and that I have done most of my life, and that’s what it is.

Of course he was shocked, not in a bad way though, it’s just unbelievable, staring now at my veiny, hairish man hands it is unbelievable to me! And if someone told me that?  Hell if I would know what to say.  We had a tolerant chat about it, in a nervous jostly boy way, as I spoke about how I’m not so much a boy.  It’s still surreal, still a lot of anxiety, but being able to tell someone?  That lets off some steam, big time.

Not being one to wait around, I already have a counsellor for the break up issue, booked one with an independent counsellor with experience for the short term, and an appointment with a specifically gender based counsellor in a month.  I was going to go to the doctor, but it was intimated on the phone that this was perhaps a nuclear option, that even with the wait for a referral to an identity clinic, it may be too fast for me.  That’s how long repression can damage a person, about practically everything.

I should listen to my gut, although I can’t hear it right now.  Also, it’s probably just the anxiety, but everything south of my heart seems to be a dead zone, specifically my crotch.  Yeah, that guy.

Speaking to the gender counsellor on the phone was strange, I laughed manically at points as she was able to back up my perceptions and be spot on about the kinds of experiences I was having, and could possibly have.

Tonight I told my best friends’ sister, who is also a good friend.  She was shocked but didn’t over react.  We only talked about it briefly but then we talked about other things and for the first time in a while I felt distracted.  These are the only two people I know I’m going to tell for now, I’ve been wisely advised to keep it slow, as others won’t be quite so understanding.

My best friend is starting to freak out a bit now though, scared of losing his buddy boy of the last ten years, of not seeing through me to have noticed it.  I had to tell him it’s ok, I have not seen it truly until recently, and I still don’t know what it means or where it might lead.  I accept that I am bringing turmoil into their lives, and while they commit to whatever I can achieve, it will probably get very strange.

So long as I stay committed.  The pressure is high and steam is starting to vent.  I don’t care about looks…..yet I care about my looks!  I’m a decent looking guy, but now that I’m convinced it’s not what I truly am, it begins to repel me.  This makes me incredibly sad, actually creating insecurity out of nothing, and wishing decimation of a healthy body.  Yes there is denial, but can it not be a legitimate reason to be angry?

Here is where I must face my own perceived intolerance.  I have been angry at trans people for not accepting who they are, angry at them changing themselves in any way to express who they are.  Why do you have to change to be who you are?!  This makes my head spin trying to answer it.  I am who I am, gender role shouldn’t be important, but yet it is!

Maybe I’m insane, maybe it’s even the Bisphenol A and other feminizing hormones flooding the world, maybe it’s just who I really am, and what I really want is not only a fair, just, tolerant society to accept how I express myself and what pronouns I may come to prefer, but for myself and the world to realise that I’m a damn girl.

Aaaarrggghhh, I get the same cold dread saying that as I get from reading stories or watching videos of unflattering men becoming wonderful women.

As slow as I need to go, it’s still not fast enough.  I have the benefit or being totally heavy metal, and I just want to make my long hair look nice.  Eugh, I don’t know what the words are, I want to do things that make me look more appealing, I don’t understand it, so I can understand why I think I’m nuts or why anyone else would!

It’s quite likely to be a simple deviation within the convention of gender being in line with two strict biological patterns.  Not enough is understood, the words between the lines are not understood, and the gaps between the words are long.

So, rather than screwing about and turning my brain into eternal future mush, I’m going to meet this head on.  I learned after counselling for depression many years ago, that if something is bothering you that much, you have to talk about it, even if it doesn’t necessarily change anything.

It doesn’t feel real that I’ve actually told people, but it is reassuring in a way that they will be able to talk about it to each other and we can help each other, because they will need my support too.  Even if all that repression means it doesn’t feel real, this is something that now exists outside my head.  As petrified as I am, this is real now.

Who knows, maybe it won’t change anything, maybe I want to be the same guy, with a dick and beard, and just to be called a girl.

Oh you poor human in denial.

Go do it again before you sleep, look in the mirror and say it to yourself, ‘I’m transgender.  I’m transgender.’

….this is going to take a while.

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