hrt, male to female, transgender

MTF HRT 2 month+ update

TRIGGER WARNING AND DISCLAIMER– Depression, Suicide, Sexual Function.

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My transition has been unremarkable thus far.  Hormones work in a similarly unremarkable way.  However, over time one realises that things have changed, and it’s not a case of missing the alterations, it’s just that they are each so miniscule and consistent that it takes up too much energy to record or even stay aware of each little thing.

It’s not a bad thing, focusing on thinking too much about gender can create a tangled mess of dysphoria.  Rather, feel it:  Breathe in – feel the turmoil inside, all the words, possibilities, permutations.  Breathe out – Let as much of it as you can go.  Focus on the important things, not all the little things, they’ll take care of themselves as products of appreciation borne from a simple, guided, determined intention.

I cannot dismiss HRT as an interminably important force in transition, but as expected, I’ve found it is more difficult to wait for them with shining desperate eyes than to deal with the reality of the tectonic pace of change.  Unless one is prepared to stare into the mirror all day every day with a magnifying glass scouting for changes, hormonal transition actually makes up for very little of the day.

Mentally however, the flux of completely replacing one set of sex hormones for another can be a massive tumult.  My experiences seem indicative of puberty: my moods are very fragile and subject to change; I’m incredibly insecure sometimes; I like sitting in my room listening to loud music in the dark writing about how I hate everything; lamenting how no-one understands me; being obviously upset but when asked how I am, replying ‘I’m fine.’  However settled I may feel at times, there’s no telling when the next uncontrollable emotional episode is on its way.  Sometimes I can wake up and know that it’s going to be a hormonal day, but even then the malaise can be sneaky, trying to turn physical symptoms into mental wars.

According to my therapist, many transfolk on the Testosterone blocking injection of Leuprorelin (Prostap SR) suffer from listlessness and therefore an increased incidence in depression.  I understand this well, having fallen into a deeply anxious self-imposed hate cycle without any reason to feel that way, isolating myself at home, my transition fading, my hopes dwindling.

It all came to a head on Hallowe’en.  It was to be my one year celebration since my first proper public outing as trans, and it was a disaster.

I had regained enough resource in my spirit to attempt presenting truly again, making my plans and readying them for action.  On the day of Hallowe’en I was to meet my Mum and Nan in town, giving my Nan a first chance to see how little I think I’ve changed.  Instead of getting up early to get appropriately dressed and put on my make up, I opted for a sleep in, put on the dude jeans and t-shirt basics and left the house.

I’d never felt so bad, this wasn’t me.  I couldn’t cope with being seen simply as some cis-male.  My mood plummeted to new depths and the afternoon was deeply troubling.

Later, I was to go out clubbing with a whole bunch of friends.  Instead of embracing this opportunity, I sat in my room, in the dark, bawling, and my friends were freaked out.  At one point I left the house to stand by the road wondering how fast a bus or a van would have to be going for me to step in front of it.  Later I was found by a friend sitting in an alley sobbing.

I assured everyone I was fine and they went out to party.  Then I made this video:

TRIGGER WARNING – Depression, Suicide

Soon after this, I was made aware that there would be a house party in a few hours and that I was invited.  Something clicked; I told myself that there was still a chance to make tonight work.  So, I pulled out of my slump, I ate, I washed and I got ready the way I should expect myself to get ready.  I didn’t want to be a stereotype, I didn’t want to be a statistic – I know my experience is very average but I wanted to inspire and be inspired so I decided I would make this happen.

I made this video soon after the first, to show that there is always a way back from the brink, there is always a silver lining.  Sometimes, the best yielded seeds are sewn in the aftermath of a disaster:

It wasn’t the best party ever, it didn’t need to be, it was an opportunity and I took it.  I decided afterwards that I could embrace my identity again and I’ve been feeling stronger everyday since.  We can all make this happen, what opportunity will you grasp that you thought you would let slide by?


As far as physical changes…it is so hard to describe sensing that maybe something might maybe maybe possibly almost maybe be changing, trying to decide if it’s real or a trick of the eye.  However, I know things are changing.

I know how interested I was about the effects of HRT before I even thought they were a possibility, so I share my personal log of changes.  There is no real pattern of regularity as to the frequency and qualitative properties of noticed differences, but each one raises a special smile only for me.  Or mostly manic laughter, it’s so strange!:

Day 42 – Leg hair seems to be growing in more slowly and sparsely.

Day 44 – I felt a little lump under my left nipple.

Day 45 – The lump feels hard under my areola.

Day 49 – Lump now visible at top of areola. Still no feeling on the right side.

Day 55 – Veins seem less prominent on my hands at rest.  I haven’t had a release in a while, nor a single erection I haven’t coaxed as a weekly necessity.  Ejaculation doesn’t necessarily equate to orgasm, and I’m pretty sure I have no idea what I’m doing when it comes to that department anymore.

Day 56 – Left nipple much harder, the lump has moved past my areola.  It has been nearly two weeks and no feeling in the right.  It feels odd, but in the grand scheme this is no time at all.

Day 61 – I look decidedly less male.  The crying thing isn’t an issue so much anymore but the depression is harsh.  Right nipple where the left was about three weeks ago.  I seem to be getting more back fat than hip fat.

I actually noticed a few days ago that my handwriting has changed a little.  There are more diagrams, more colours, whilst even some of my lettering has changed, the sharp stabbing lines of a ‘w’ now more often a curved ‘uu.’  This isn’t contrived, I just sometimes feel like maybe brightening up the drab walls of black text.  Which I know I should work on with this blog too.


I haven’t been out in the world too much this month, it has been very difficult.  I am cheating a bit because I’m closer to 3 months but just including notes up to the two month mark.

The hormones really did a number on me, that was a tough tough month, but I’ve been feeling better.  Can’t let those bad times define you.  The night out on Hallowe’en helped.  Writing to myself afterwards, I decided to write as if I was having a conversation with my own sense of hope, if it still existed (it always does because hope never dies).  When you listen to your heart through a depression it can be a powerful moment.  It takes a long time to push back through, trying to have a sense of holding on long enough until the next chance to beat it comes along.

Next blog we’ll have lots of positive fun, ok?!

Thank you for reading 🙂

Amy Xx

 

 

 

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hrt, transgender

The Bell Tolls

It’s ok to make mistakes.  It better be, otherwise I’m screwed.

After the most gruelling month of waiting, I finally had my appointment with the endocrinologist on Wednesday past.  Turns out I didn’t need to bring pee in a cup; they just have that as a formality in the letter.  It was a notoriously quick chat with the doctor.  How long have you had gender dysphoria?  Do you understand the risks?  A brief explanation of what may happen over the next few months.  There and then he wrote a treatment form for blockers and estrogen.  What, so I just go cash this in?  Yip.  They took some blood and I have to go back in three months.

So, on Thursday I rang my GP and faxed across the prescription to be made, and made an appointment with the nurse on Wednesday coming to stick a needle in my bum.  The next day, I picked up the script, went to the pharmacy, and they gave me HRT medication.

I was prescribed ‘Prostap SR’, a leuprorelin drug, which is an injectable testosterone blocker that must be administered by a nurse.  The only time a male should ever use this drug is for prostate cancer, because that’s the only time the benefits of taking it outweigh the risks.  The leaflets are an anthology of side effects and risk factors letting you know that even if you don’t have a major ailment, chances are you might, and well before the at least 2 year limit before potential surgery.

They gave me Progynova, which is estradiol, 2mg once a day, a 12 week supply.  It is used for easing the symptoms of menopause, which is again not something a male body should be taking.  I was going to start today but I bailed.  I’ll do a proper starting hormones post soon, this isn’t my usual blog.  I have a friend who was prescribed on the same day and I’m hoping we can do some compare and contrast posts to give readers a range.

I was expecting to have another appointment in at the very least two weeks before getting the prescription, but there you go, Two days.  I’m…not ready.  What I mean is, in terms of dysphoria I would have started munching without pause, but in terms of general life.


Trigger warning – suicide

I signed a year contract on the house, so I’ll definitely be in the city for another year.  I am doing everything wrong though.  I am an utter slave to nicotine, when I try to quit smoking, I try to quit life.  I have become pretty insular and depressed and I’m struggling to deal with it.  As a result I haven’t been looking for work.  It has all come together to drag me down big time and I’m not sure how to get out of this mess at the moment.

I mentioned in my last post a new friend who gave me butterflies.  I got to meet her only a few times and she killed herself about a month ago.  It’s devastating.  I was talking to her a lot in her last days; I didn’t even know her well enough to know how bad things were for her, I just knew on instinct that she was an amazing human being.  She was only 25 and had a kid; I’ve met some of her friends since who have told me about her.  It’s so sad, we should be helping each other right now.

Out of the initial group of people I trusted to tell I was trans, I’ve told only a few about hormones, as well as a couple of friends I’ve made this year.  To be honest, I don’t even feel like telling anyone when I start.  It’s difficult to do because I want to be as transparent as possible, but it doesn’t seem like it will benefit anyone.  I figure my best bet for now is to talk about trans stuff in the company of other trans people, whether in real life or online.

I’ve spent the past few days claiming to be tying up loose ends.  It’s like I want to say goodbye to a part of myself without thinking of what I’m now able to greet into my life.  I want to be as prepared as possible, but how do you do that?  Sure, take pictures and measurements, then make your lifelong commitment.


It’s hard to know what to do here.  I feel so bad that I worry hormones will put me at even more risk.  I’m worried smoking will make my brain explode.  I’ve heard the opinions that starting the HRT could actually calm me down and bring me more to my centre.  I don’t know what to do, I feel I am doomed either way.  It’s less to do about transition, and more about the best way to maintain my mental health.  Take the plunge.  I don’t want to stop if I start, it’s all in or nothing.

Overthinking.  Putting too much pressure on myself.

This morning I had a nice dream, where I was my assertive, confident, loving self, where all this bounced off me and I was able to engage meaningfully with others.  I woke up to the reality of my circumstantially enhanced chemical malaise.  I was going to take my first hit of blue poison but I just don’t feel like I have what I need.  When then, will I be ready?

There has been a lot of soul searching, I’ve lost a lot of myself, gazing at the ruins of the mental fortresses, wondering where to start rebuilding, with no tools, no blueprints, and not enough help.  In the middle of all this I must make the biggest life-changing commitment of my life up to this point.

In a losing battle, what are one’s words on that last suicidal charge?

This is not a good way to start HRT, I know this, but I feel doomed either way, my mental strength is hidden from sight, it must be found somehow, no matter what. I’m taking a risk, so I wonder how this story will go.

Hang on tight.

Amy Xx

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How to Crash and Burn

Warnings – Depression, frank discussion of suicide.

Mind-states are such fickle, vulnerable things at times, a heart worn so visibly now and becoming threadbare.  Depression can break through great walls, razing years of intricate works in moments like the old Mongols.  Now back inside the dreaded depresso world of constant self-oppression I realise that the worst part about depression is not how awful it feels, but how it takes away the willingness to do anything about it.  The mind is saying ‘There’s a big problem in here, and you better be ready before coming in again.’  The healthy mind has no time or inclination for this crap.

I don’t know what happened, about three weeks ago I just fell into shards, the perceived injustices and betrayals to my heart festered and became a scar on my soul.  Like a broken poet, I just go over and over the same horror in my head.  ‘Why didn’t she love me?’,  ‘Who will ever love me now?’, ‘How come these people do horrible things, yet still receive romantic love and compassion whilst I’m left alone to deal with this?’, ‘I don’t know how I can ever get over this’ Blah blah blah!

When the symptoms start, everything becomes a nightmare.  I was supposed to be moving to the city with a friend but he’s got a few extra years now in a good place, so I’m stuck.  ‘I can’t move alone, I can’t afford it/I’ll never get a job/I’ll get killed’ Blah!

Such is the way a flawed thought process runs. I love outward then lose inward, when I should love inward then love outward, yet with brown-tinted glasses I stupidly see a presumed paradise for others from my presumed hell.  And it’s nothing to do with being trans, that’s just another facet, amplifying my problems with serious real life complications and pushing me over the edge.  Life threatening?

On a day last week, my growing suicidal idealation turned from silly thoughts into considerations about actual means.  I tried to talk to people whilst simultaneously pushing them away and being scarily vague, as is common.  But here’s the thing, when I got to the point of thinking it was a good idea and I should just go do it, I got in touch with a friend I could trust and said ‘Look, I’m going to kill myself.’ ‘I’m coming round’, he said.  If things ever get to that point call someone immediatelyPhone a friend, ring your national suicide hotline, do something! Never stop trying.

He came over and we chatted for many hours.  He told me again of a friend he had, she killed herself, she said nothing.  I don’t know her circumstances but I know the feeling, not from this incident, but from a long long time ago.  He is so cut up because he could have done for her what he did for me and saved both our lives.

I’m lucky, it’s not that true people come out of the woodwork, they are there, and they help when help is needed to be given.  I have really worried all the people closest to me, to see tears in their eyes breaks my heart as they see me meltdown into complete blackness unable to truly appreciate the love that I always complain about not feeling.  The mind says ‘Learn to appreciate the love that others give, especially when it is difficult to, and then you can come back in.’

Yet with all this I cut friends off because I literally can’t cope at all with the drama.  Being trans just overcrowds an already totally packed brain space. For two weeks I distanced myself from the girl who has supported me so well like a sister recently and it was horrible for both of us.  I saw her at the weekend and although we didn’t speak for a while she came and hugged me, and just talked to me like normal and that meant a lot.

But I have depression.  I calculate it as being two weeks symptomatic.  It has struck hard, the voice in my mind that is an automatic defence system of general contentment has retreated, waiting for orders for a counter attack!  For all the fighting talk though, it’s just words.  Ha, I don’t need oestrogen to be able to cry every day.  And so eyes roll.

I would say in order of intensity it feels like depression, gender dysphoria, loneliness.  Loneliness is the worst one, nothing to do with having anyone, but the feeling that eats you. The most brutal form of self-punishment, and the most unavoidable. The mind is literally saying ‘If you do not love yourself, then you will be less likely to find a partner who will.’ It’s all biology.

I found out today I’m going to be losing my job pretty soon, much earlier than I expected, making the work transition moot.  How it all seems to fall away, what a meltdown I had, trying to stay hydrated so I could keep crying and screaming because I believe I have nothing and I will never have anything or anyone again.  It wasn’t about it being embarrassing, I’m scaring people.  I’ve always been hung up on the ideas of a secure employment and relationship because it’s not something I’ve truly come across, I’ve pretty much lost both, and in transitioning these are the two things probably most affected, aside getting head smashed on bathroom lino/chopped up and placed under floorboards etc.

So things just became a lot harder.  I’m older now, so I have more tools to deal with this, it just took me by surprise.  Instead of thinking everything is over, it’s possible I could think of it as a clearing, everything is open to me now.  To be honest, I could probably do with a few months off to actually get on top of all the heavy stuff that has been going on.  It’s a bit of a spanner in the transitions works apparently, yet as Jim Carrey’s Dad said ‘You can fail just as easily at what you don’t want to do.’

I don’t think I’ll get a job or a relationship regardless of whether I’m trans or not.  I could say it has all fallen apart, but maybe my perfect partner is only there for the real me.  Maybe I can only find my true calling in transition, like I could find simplicity and pain in pretending to be a man.

Just because everything sucks doesn’t mean every thing sucks.  It’s an unhealthy state of mind and I know it.  With circumstantial depression such as this, that part which is awesome is merely dormant, and apparently depression is dormant when everything seems fine.

The only way awesome will let you in is to be awesome, not to a standard, but your own truly expressed, individual, unique awesomeness.  Hold it tight for you, content is a personal responsibility.

I can’t give up, I have to fight back.  I have to beat these repetitive self-sabotaging thoughts.  Dysphoria doesn’t want me dead at least, it just wants me to be a female so my brain can make sense of my biology in a clearer fashion…I hope.

I’m so grateful for the genuine human love I have received recently.  It’s scary sometimes trying to gauge what others think, we can never know, does everyone secretly hate us or everyone?  Is it a front?  What would they do for you?  You can’t know, and it’s not our business to know, that’s what trust is for, that when we ask we can believe the truth even if conflicts with our disillusionment.  I may be shaken, but I see that obviously people care.  I ought not to want, for it is the ire of content.

Depression is a zombie that just keeps coming back, so I’m gonna need a bigger spade.

Let’s all try to find one needlessly self-defeating thought today to smash to make room for one genuine self-affirming belief.  You are so worth it.

Amy Xx

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gender, transgender

A never ending night before an unseeable dawn.

Trigger warnings – Transphobia, suicide.

The positive human spirit is like a garden, endless upkeep and still the weeds will come back every single time.  There is no positivity without pain, no growth without setback. Life is a transient experience, we live through the turmoil because those beautiful flowers are worth it.

For all the supposed inspiration, I’m going to focus on some of the more horrible aspects I’ve been experiencing and trying to distinguish between ‘trans problems’ and ‘life problems’.

For some reason I was compelled to make a comment on the youtube.  Big mistake, this is the domain of invincible, invisible trolls after all.  Three phrases creep up, which are no doubt tenets of the trans experience, ‘You’re a freak’, ‘You have a mental illness’, ‘You’re a man’.  I find it all very interesting.  As a white male in a Western country I was seemingly the pinnacle of humanity, immune from credible ridicule for living an honourable life.  Now, as out and out trans, I find myself at the very bottom of the human pile, a supposedly easy target for the ‘normal’ people on us ‘lessers’.  There is no normal, only average, only mediocre.

There is no talking to many of these people.  For some reason, repeating ‘but you’re a man’ is supposed to have some sort of effect.  I compare it to telling an adopted child ‘but they’re not your real parents’, is this supposed to demean?  Is it supposed to be new information?  For that adopted child, it is best for it to not matter, these are the people who raised and nurtured, so they are the parents.  For me as trans, sure I have a male body, probably even male chromosomes, but I have gender dysphoria.  To repeat to myself ‘I’m a man, I’m a man’ is to create and compound the dysphoria so why would I do it!?  Ah, it’s a delusion you see.  The position is reversed for the trans individual; the delusion is the body we inherited.

We trans folk are mentally ill you see, we couldn’t drive a car in Russia.  It’s scary to think, my mental state has not changed overmuch since the alarm went off.  If I am mentally ill, then it leaves little chance for anyone else, because I function wonderfully in society, whilst I see the normative perish for lack of thirst.

A well adjusted transgender individual could function very well in the incorrect gender for their whole lives, many no doubt do without ever telling anyone.  The problem is, dysphoria exists, it taps at the mind every second, but it does not impair specifically – like all things, it’s not the situation, it’s how you deal with it.  So the choice is, live with the tap-tap-tap of the lie you may be living, or do what you need to do to be free! (Read: in new chains) Transition is a logical, rational decision against a choice-less biological condition.

I would posit that if you think I’m a man, then I’m more of a man for having the guts to transition.  Even more so, it takes a lot of ‘female’ strength to retain a female identity after spending so much time conditioned as a male! Heck, I haven’t started hormones, so I have enough testronic anger and physical strength that if I met some of these bigots on the street they would be picking out teeth through their nostrils.  Nothing so dangerous as a woman scorned, especially in a man’s body.  I wouldn’t do that though, and I diminish myself for saying it, it’s just how strong this body calls out, and a factor I personally despise in myself, just like phallocentric sexual urges.

I know plenty of cisgender males with penises who aren’t men, because they shame themselves, they are slime.  I’ve said to myself in the past – What makes me a man?  That I am honourable, loyal, open, loving, helpful etc.  These are the exact same things that make a woman.  Not body type, not social conditioning. When I do start hormones, I will lose that strength and I will be incredibly vulnerable, and this is when real men will step up for me. This is when I will start using a women’s bathroom in public (note it is not called the vagina bathroom, or the XX bathroom), because there are enough pretenders in man-suits who would murder me just as quickly, and I just wanna pee.

Put simply, I don’t ‘think’ I am a woman, it is an unconscious compulsion that creates a specific demand which burdens little of my mental alacrity, it is just very, very, very annoying.  What man thinks he is a woman?  It is a trick question, no man thinks he is a woman, only a woman does, it is a logical fallacy.  If I thought I was a woman, then I would have a mental illness and I’d sign myself into a mental institution.

Trans folk can look kind of strange, sure, but please present us with an alternative.  To remove what makes us dysphoric through pills or reparative therapy would be to remove our personality, our individuality.  Trans is trans.  I get transphobia, the assumed sexualisation, perversion, fetishistic deluded state – it is the mistake of thinking that transition is a mental/social/cultural issue, whereas it is truly a biological/medical issue.

I will not disagree with those who for honourable reasons disagree with me invading a ‘female-only’ space, or for damaging my otherwise healthy body.  There will always be psycho trans who will ruin it, but the vast majority of weirdoes and psychopaths in the world are not trans, even proportionally. Being raised as male, I can share those concerns and worries now that I know myself to be female minded, but we have to work together here, to respect each other’s privacy.


Leelah Alcorn

This blog is now and forever dedicated to Leelah, and to all trans youth who have suffered and lost their lives.  I am forever in awe of trans youth.  Though I didn’t know much about it when I was young, I’m not sure I would have had the guts to come out.  I got enough grief in school for having long hair to nearly go on a suicidal rampage, but to come out as she did, and others do, in her situation?  That’s amazing, that’s brave.  It is the bravest of us who get chastised and marginalised, that’s counting those with other myriad complicating life issues.  You are the people worth caring about, and you have my love.  I wish I could renew your strength from afar for all you deserve.

To Leelah, look how many people she is helping now.  Her own experience may have ended in tragedy, but she has become a life donor, she has spread awareness and given hope to others, I think she may save a lot of beautiful lives.  I love you SO much Leelah, Rest In Power.

Used without permission, only empathy.

Used without permission, only empathy.

Suicide and suicide idealation are very dangerous things.  Even with the strength and experience I demand to possess, sometimes it seems… … … sometimes it seems like that option makes more sense.  Rather than be a ‘freak’, rather than never being genetic, rather than never being accepted, rather going through the whole overblown nightmare.  But it’s bull, it is a challenge life sets for us and no matter what we can persevere.  You can always try again, you can always start again from nothing.  Suicide is not the resolution of a problem, it is the end of the opportunity to resolve the problem.


Trans problems vs. Life problems.

Are there trans problems?  I will say again, I am very new trans, so my words hold little water against those with more complete real life experience.  The medical transition, that is a trans problem.  The social transition is partly a trans problem in the transitional period, afterwards I will argue (with zero authority) that these problems become life problems.  Getting murdered for being trans is a life problem, because we are not responsible for the actions of others’.

I lost four friends today because I couldn’t deal with the karmic injustice and relationship comparisons.  I’m still very upset that for all my love that has been cheated and trampled upon leaving me alone, that those who cheat and call their partner a ‘cancer on the world’ get rewarded with love, sex, companionship and closeness.  This is a life problem.

Two of those friends were close females and now I have no girl buddies to help me transition.  This is a life problem.  I scare myself to think I may never be in another relationship again, going further I will say that being trans may significantly reduce my chances of a relationship.  I still think this is a life problem.  I want to reduce the experience of being transsexual into the tiniest possible space, because that’s how small it should be.  Sure, being trans sucks, but you know what, it’s a life problem.

Trans problems are a small circle within the big circle that is life problems.  Trans problems are simply a unique flavour of life problems.  For all anyone knows, the perfect partner awaits those who are true.  What use is half a heart?


Personal progress

I met an old friend on NYE, the one I thought would have guessed about me even 10+ years ago.  She was not surprised.  Thank goodness someone knew.  The party was well represented by L, G, B and I was the cherry T on top.  It’s good to get out there, fewer people care than I would have thought, again they were more interested in my husky hat.  Walking past a bar an old man called me over, on seeing who I was he simply said ‘F*** Off’.  I laughed right in his face, because even if I were the most beautiful natural girl I still wouldn’t have wasted more than those few seconds indulging a feckless hack.

I read my journals to write a 2014 year in review and read all the increasingly obvious signs of dysphoria. Talk about an elephant in the room! How easily humans can be blinded by that which is eminently obvious.

Second laser appointment went well, for all the squirming pain.  I’m upgrading the pain from ‘rubber band with a drawing pin’ to ‘rubber band with a drawing pin covered in electricity and fire’.  My previously furry hands are basically hair free, as are the sides of my cheeks and a little bit under the chin.  The shadowlands however can be burned and burned but still they will not dissipate, it will take a long time, though at least the growth speed and darkness have somewhat abated.  I’m noticing all the tiny fine white hairs that will need to be needled out for even greater cost and agony.  Because it’s all for vanity, right? It is much more painful to not have it done, that’s all.

At work, I’ve set a transition date with the manager, which will free me to live completely full time in all aspect of my life. 8th of April 2015 will be the day I am female to all I will know and meet until it is legally verified, forever.  For this I booked a week off, and will write a letter with help from management to hand to out-of-office staff on the day I go off to allow them time to take in the information and talk to the office staff who already know.

Here’s how big a deal gender transition is.  On the day before I go off, I will work my butt off and I will go home at 5pm.  On the day I come back full Amy, I will work my butt off and I will go home at 5pm.  I’m too busy to answer a lot of questions.  I simply ask for the respect and courtesy to change my pronoun. I’m not asking them to indulge in a delusion, I’m asking them to help me with my dysphoria.

I am very lucky, my name is Jamie which I will keep for professional situations, we have single stall toilets of which the disabled doubles as the female, and we wear a unisex uniform.  The only changes that will be on show is a little make up, using a different bathroom and I suppose a different voice.  The staff still to find out are generally 50+, and I also deal with a lot of Christian groups, so they may be perturbed, but guess what, either do your job/use the service, or don’t.  I’m still doing my job.

Voice is still the thing that will ruin me.  I have been practising, sure there are exercises and chats about tone, resonance, frequency and so on, but still I’m not seeing the connection between that and what the result is supposed to be. It will be the last piece of this current puzzle.

I got my eyebrows done properly yesterday and they look great even with boyface, and on Saturday I’m finally going to get my hair cut and styled.  This is a massive step for me, because it will give me a more obvious feminine demeanour that just cannot be hidden, not that I would want to hide.  I’m more nervous about this than the laser for some reason.

I got to use my Christmas savings to buy enough clothes to get by without ever having to dress like an out and out male ever again.  Funny thing is, I dress like a lesbian, or at the very least a tragic transsexual, but I don’t mind.

Big regards go out to Rockstar Games.  Not only have they allowed me to move my GTA Online profile from Xbox to PS4, but I was able to change my name, and change my gender.  That’s right, my name is MetalAmy, I have a rocket launcher and you don’t. And I dress like Rob Halford. >_<

I see the issue now between transition-ing and transition itself, that is, without a decent voice, there’s no point wearing good make up; without correct presentation, clothes are irrelevant.  At one point it will all come together.  I’m very out and out because I don’t intend to stay in this town, and I don’t deny it.  I’m happy to be seen as trans for now, even though I see myself as female.  I think I want it to be obvious at this point, so people can see the causation of what I’m striving to achieve, that I know who I am.

I wonder what I can do to spread awareness? I can do it here to the world, and locally in the real-o-sphere.  Knowledge is great, but just to give folks the chance to see me in action and realise there’s nothing particularly weird going on apart from my own personal experience, as well as how I look and sound.  Plus I love the look on people’s faces’ when I tell them my name is Amy in a deep masculine voice.  I also find shop keepers specifically look away, or over compensate with masculine terms like ‘man’, ‘mate’, and ‘sir’.

You don’t need to look good to feel good. Biologically we are all fleshy blob sacks, and attraction is only determined by reproductive demand. We are getting past this evolutionary crutch as reproduction takes care of itself enough that so what if homosexuals and transsexuals aren’t committed to ‘natural’ task. Maybe that’s why we can be seen as freaks, from the false belief that we have no place or even right to be, because it is assumed we do not wish to procreate, and are therefore not part of the human experience.

Folks just don’t understand, of course they don’t, I didn’t until about six months ago and I’ve been dysphoric all my life.  So let’s be strong little transgender lovelies and spread the homemade honest goodness that we in general come to represent!

In the longest and darkest of nights, day still comes.

Leelah!  Leelah!  Leelah!

With kind love and headscratches for all,

Amy Xx

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