Sometimes It’s the Simple Things

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This has been a pretty good weekend, well, except for the soreness from my long ride yesterday…

I played it more boyish today because I was being lazy. Just a Tee and jeans.

(A thinks it’s funny and teases me that it takes me longer to get ready for anything than it does her and I have to remind her there was a time when I took even longer and that was back when I was working over time to look like a guy… though a guy with good fashion sense… but still…)

The other thing I did which has really made me feel a lot better with myself is I did my nails. Hard to believe that such a simple thing as having nice nails can make such a difference to your self image. Maybe I’m just being a bit vain… I have long thought I had nice nails for a guy and many women have told me that they wish they had nails like mine… now i can take a bit of secret pride in them and spend more time making them look nice. The only thing I don’t like is being forced to use only clear nail polish, oh, and not being able to have a french manicure.. I so want a french manicure, but I doubt I could get away with out one heck of a good excuse, like a lost bet or something..

As for a pedicure? Not so sure, but I am thinking about it. Doing my own toes is a pain just because I’m not that limber any more! Though I might start doing stretches just so I can… is that sad?

I am going to spend some time the next time I’m out shopping to look for tops that are closer to unisex, I am sick of having to maintain two separate wardrobes, though obviously I will to a certain degree just so I have work clothes if nothing else. Still, the more I can lean to the feminine side of the rack, the better.

Now if I could just find a nice wig to complete the look, maybe I wouldn’t want to cry when I look in the mirror…

A Path Already Walked

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I realize now that I need to go back to the beginning of this blog and read everything I have written. To once again walk down those paths that have led me to this point.

Until just the other day, this was something I hadn’t thought that I needed to do. Something that in some ways I was scared to so. That I am still scared to do. There are things written that i don’t want to face again. To think about. To remember.

But I have to. 

This is one of the keys to understanding myself, to remembering the things I have learned.

There is a great deal of pain in those pages, written in the middle of the night when I was lost in the storm.

In those first hectic days, I thought my only issue was with cross dressing… Boy, I couldn’t have been further off the mark.

As time passed and more an more memories came to the surface, I quickly realized that I had bigger things to deal with and I am still dealing with them all these months later.

I am finding that I will have to take this process very slowly, just going back to those memories is causing me some problems and I am quickly feeling overwhelmed.

I have to remember to take this one small step at a time, and when I need to, to step back and take a breather. I don’t have to do everything in a single day. 

In Need of a 2×4

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Some days I just need a good smack to the back of head and someone telling me, “Hey dummy, you missed the obvious!”

Thank you Ren’Ai for doing that for me.

As been pointed out, the whole point of doing this blog was to give me space to write down all the stuff that runs through my head on any given day. Somethimes from hour to hour. It doesn’t matter if I am thinking of ups or downs, good things, bad things or just pointless things, this is the space for it. This is also a place that I can come back to later and reread what I have written, to remember the things I might have forgotten. To show myself that even in the bad times there are also good times. That if I take the time to sift through all these words, I have most likely written an answer for myself.

I just have to find it.

Thinking things out, working through problems and issues, is one of my strong points, it is also one of my weaknesses. It doesn’t take much to go beyond heathy self examination and into destructive cycles of over thinking.

Everything that I have gone through up to this point has been overwhelming, there is so much I now know that I simply don’t know. There are emotions and thoughts I simply don’t have the ability to deal with, and yet I have, time and again, tried to do exactly that. If my past were any indication, I should know that I am not a mental heath professional and I do a really lousy job of treating myself. Yet that is what I try to do time and again.

I think I’m like the mule that has to be hit over the head with a 2×4 just to get my attention. Then maybe I can learn something.

 

P.S. Ren’Ai, I know you love anime and when I saw this picture I thought you would like it.

(((HUGS)))

Kira

A Darker Writing

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Before I get a start on this post, I know that it is going to be a dark writing.

I have been moving within a false cloud of outward happiness since last night and I think my energy for this has about run out. 

One thing I know is that I will not cry. I am not going to let those tears fall, not now, not tonight. I will hold them in, as I have done so many times.

I know that in many ways I am not the person I was and yet in so many ways I still am. I have my bad times, when the dark emotions rule my thoughts. When I cannot see the light in the distance. When the dawn seems too far away. 

It is true that most of my early years are a blank, that I cannot recall more than a few vivid memories from the time before I was six, then things again turn blurry until the age of ten. I think that maybe those years that are closed to me may be a blessing. Considering what I know from those years things weren’t very good. 

The times from the age of ten are not perfect, but I can remember a great deal more and do so much more clearly and I can say that while I am sure that there are those who had things worse than I, my life was nothing to be envied.

It was during those years that I became very familiar with death, and often thought of dying.

It was during this time that I became familiar with pain.

Physical pain.

Emotional pain.

Psychological pain.

I withdrew within myself, seeking solitude and shunning contact with anyone as much as I could. I would spend hours upon hours alone, out riding my bike or walking for miles and miles. All the while I thought and thought and thought and could find no answers.

I didn’t understand myself, couldn’t understand the way I thought and saw the world. Why I felt the things I did. I was beyond just wanting to be a girl, though that was part of it, it was was wondering why I had ever been born, why I was still alive even after screaming to the heavens to let lightning strike me down.

Through high school I wanted nothing more than to die, to be buried and gone. Even now , looking back across the gulf of time, I can still recall some of those moments with perfect clarity. This was far beyond teen confusion and doubt, this wasn’t about being socially awkward. This was a deep seated hatred of myself. Who I was, what I was, the very fact that I existed in the world at all. 

I inflicted a great deal of physical abuse on myself.

I abused drugs and alcohol. Though to this day the man I once called my best friend at the time calls me a liar when I tell him some of the things I did back then.

I went into the military simply because I didn’t know what else to do with myself and not surprisingly, that ended when I tired to overdose. Then again, almost from day one I was an emotional and mental disaster. I quickly returned to the self destructive behavior, drinking too much, self harm, and drugs. 

The fact that I suffered a total break down wasn’t surprising, that it took as long to unfold was.

Since then I have found that I have been in a mental battle with myself, a war of self hatred and loathing. I don’t know that I hoped to find in all of this, what end I expected beyond death.

Again, the fact that I suffered a second break down isn’t a surprise, that it didn’t end with me in the hospital or the morgue is.

If I had not had A there to question me, to at least find a way to open up some form of communication, I don’t know that might have happened.

That in opening that communication she inadvertently opened pandora’s box has led us to where I am today.

Still wondering, still questioning, still seeking.

And as someone agreed with, I think too much, try too hard to understand things. Ask too many questions that simply don’t have answers.

In many ways I am terrified of being myself because I don’t know who that is.

 

(And yes, I think this post alone is proof that I think too damn much.) 

No Turning Back Now

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Well, things took another step forward today. I was contacted by the owner of the therapy group that I hope to get into. She was very understanding and agreed that I should at least do a consult. She even mentioned a support group that she thinks I might be able to join and she is going to check for me. I have some things that need to be checked before I can schedule an  appointment, so I’m waiting to hear back… hope I have some news soon.

Again, I have to say that the further things move along, the more nervous I get. This is something i never thought I would actually do…. at this point I have the shakes so bad I have to keep getting up because I can’t hold the mouse or type well enough to make complete sentences.

I have to say, speaking to another person about this was nerve racking. Although I have written about this all through this blog, it is such a different experience to speak the words out loud. To tell someone I have never met this secret. Don’t get me wrong, the person I spoke to was very kind and understanding and didn’t seem bothered in the least. She also recommended that I see one of the female therapists without being asked. I thought that was very nice. The thought of trying to talk to a man about this wasn’t something I could ever consider.

The funny thing is, despite everything, I feel rather relieved. As I said, things seem to be moving forward. Such a nice change from the up and down way of things as I’ve tried to work though this pretty much alone. I guess that in the end trying to deal with all my other issues on top of this has just been more than I can handle. That I have managed to deal with my episodes of depression, even when they got to a dangerous point, is a miracle. Though maybe, just maybe, had I been seeing someone for that alone I might have avoided the truth about myself. I don’t know if I could have admitted any of this to myself, let alone anyone else, (even a therapist), is a question I will never be able to answer. The fact is that my repressing this likely caused or at least aggravated my depression, even knowing that, I don’t know if I could have told, especially if I was seeing a male therapist. 

No matter what, there is really no turning back now… though to be honest, I think I passed that point the moment I let myself admit the truth of who I am…

Talking About Myself

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Has anyone else tried to look back at who they were before they came out? I have just to get a sense of where I was compared to where I am now, and you know what? I can’t do it.

I have a boatload of memories of course, but as I get closer to the night I broke down, they get pretty fuzzy until they become an indecipherable blur. That isn’t what I’m really talking about though. I mean emotionally. 

I tried to step back and look at what I was feeling in those last days and weeks, even months and I find that there is a blank there. I simply cannot connect with those emotions. It’s like who I am now is so far removed from that other person that we simply cannot connect at all.

I don’t understand what he was feeling, why he was feeling that way, or what his thought process was. Again, I have some of the memories but it’s like years of my life have all but vanished into a smear where everything is jumbled and disconnected.

<Sigh> I know I’m not making much sense here, it is such a strange feeling that it hard to describe. It’s like watching a movie for the hundredth time, you know the lines, you remember the scenes, and your pretty sure you remember the actors, but there is no real connection at all. No emotion, everything seems strangely flat and well. poorly written. Whats worse is that you know your the writer, the director, and the actor and still your left wondering what’s happening and what were you thinking when you wrote this mess?

Really, did that help explain things at all? I hope so…

I know that in the weeks following my life and mind were a jumbled mess that was racing along at a thousand miles an hour and i can at least go back and read those old posts and gain some understanding of what I was doing, and why, but from before? It’s like trying to understand an alien life form.

And I’m talking about myself here…

I Hate Scrambled Eggs

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I took a step forward today.

I finally contacted the therapy group here in town to inquire about their services; I’m waiting to hear back from them to see if they provide the service I need.

I won’t kid you, I’m scared to death. I have never talked to a complete stranger about what’s going on with my gender issues and the very idea of it fils me with dread. I know that these feelings are silly, that I am seeking to talk to a professional. That doesn’t stop something deep inside from insisting that I am making a terrible mistake.

Maybe it is the fact that I have had to hide for so long, keeping the truth of who I know myself to be safe from view. Maybe it was knowing that letting anyone see the true me would lead to nothing but pain.

Whatever the reason, I find that I am getting almost physically ill at the very thought. 

One thing I wasn’t expecting was in filling out the contact form I had to put down my name. I started to put down “Kira” without thinking about it. I had to backtrack and use my male name. I was afraid that they would think I was trying to prank them if I didn’t. What surprised me was how ambivalent I was about writing that name. It is a name I have to use every day, and often do so without too much thought, but that has changed.

This is what I was going to write about today, before I took the plunge and started the process I hope will lead to me talking to a therapist, that fact that when I woke up this morning it hit me that I can’t clearly remember the last time I thought of myself in terms of “his” name. I know it was some time last week, but I can’t recall the reason it happened or what day it was. I have been thinking only in terms of my real name. Thinking in terms of who I am now, not who I was. I am thinking in terms of the real me, not the facade I have been wearing.

In some ways this scares me a bit, the loss of that comfort zone I worked so hard to build and maintain, but that isn’t who I really am and I cannot continue with the lies any more. It is sort of disturbing and confusing because in my public life I have maintain that other persona. 

I know that now I am going to have to watch myself but for different reason from before. 

It makes me feel almost like I’m now living in a parallel universe where every thing is switched. Where before I had to watch and make sure I kept my female side hidden, now I have to watch and make sure I maintain a visible male side. 

It may seem like the same thing, but it isn’t. The focus is different. The thought process is different. The concerns are different.

I don’t know, this is really hard to explain in a way that makes any sense, even to me.

Honestly, my brains feel like scrambled eggs…. and I hate scrambled eggs…

Why?

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From the very beginning of this crazy ride I’m on, I have struggled to understand myself, who I am, who I hope to be. I have done this within a self constrained framework. What some are wondering is why? Why don’t I just let things happen as they may. Why do I insist on moving forward at such a pace, keeping myself hidden behind my male facade, why don’t I allow myself to be completely free?

There are a number of reasons for this, and yes, they are are my reasons, imposed on myself. It is one of the things that is the hardest, this deliberate pacing of how I move forward. It is one of the things that frustrates me the most, one of the things that more than once has made me grind my teeth and want to scream at the walls. 

But.

I wouldn’t do anything differently, no matter what I might think or say.

 

All my life family has meant something special to me. It might be the fact that I never had what could be called a normal family life growing up, it might be that I vowed that I would never do to my own children what was done to me, it might be that I simply have this ideal of how parents should sacrifice anything for those they help bring into the world.

Should I as a parent still be allowed to be happy? Yes, as long as that happiness does not bring harm to my children. And I do have times of happiness. I have three great kids, who while they sometimes make me question my sanity, I would never give up.

Besides the kids of course, there is my wife. She has be incredible through all of this. Honestly, I don’t know how she put up with me even before I came out. 

In all of my decisions, in everything I do, I take her into consideration. How much can she handle in regards to my needing to express myself? How much does my thoughts and feelings impact her?

For me, those around me are more important than I am. None of them asked to be drawn into this, nor did I really, but that they are here, dealing with this too, is because of me.

I would do anything for them,

Including again becoming “Him” if that is what was required of me.

 

And what of me?

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Who am I that anyone should care?

I am someone who was born wearing the wrong skin. I am someone who dreams of being what she can never be, not on the way I would wish.

I don’t have very many memories of my youngest years, they become clearer starting at age six, but it wasn’t until I was ten that I realized why I was different from the other boys.

When I first came out, indeed when I started this blog, my strongest memory was of dressing in my mothers clothes when I was ten. Because of that I at first thought I was a cross dresser. I have come to understand that I am much more than that. 

Over time I have drawn up more and more memories. I have remembered more and more dreams, thoughts and emotions.

From that very first time putting on women’s clothing, I knew that no matter what my body might look like, I was a girl.

That didn’t make sense of course and caused me a great deal of confusion and more than a little fear.

I was already in an abusive situation and to be sure, this was going to only make things worse. That confusion and fear led me to repress my feelings, my thoughts, my emotions, everything. I went into a full shut down and just tried to be the boy everyone thought I was, that my body told me I should be.

That didn’t stop the dreams. It didn’t stop the fantasies. It didn’t stop the thoughts that forced they’re way through.

It didn’t take away the knowledge that I was female.

Over time the stress of keeping this secret built to the point where I either came close to attempting suicide or making an actual attempt.  I was miserable. I hated myself, the world and everything in it.

The night I finally broke it was a close thing, I had to either come out as who I really was or I would have killed myself. I have no doubt about that. 

 

There would be no more attempts at death, no more attempts at life.

It had finally become a matter of life or death and I chose life.

 

Everything that happened since is in this blog.

Forgiveness

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I have reached what is proving to be the most difficult time I have had up to this point. 

On one hand I find that I am struggling to understand what I should do now. I feel like I’m stuck in neutral, going nowhere. On the other I’m trying to understand where I should be going when and if I manage to get moving again.

At this point, I really don’t have that feeling of constant conflict that I had in the beginning. Really it has become a matter of working through my emotions, though there have been plenty of times of confusion and the occasional times when I have found my self falling back into “boy mode” and getting angry with myself.

Over all I think I am confused of the matter of what “Transition” means for me. I know that for so many it means seeking to change physically and in that case, they have obvious points of reference by which they can judge where they are at. It becomes much more difficult when the changes I’m seeking are mental. 

I have already experienced a hugh shift in the way I think about myself. The name I refer to myself, the pronouns I use in my internal dialog, and yes, the way I am trying to see myself in the mirror, (though that is very difficult). 

What I don’t understand is what other changes I should be aiming for. This is uncharted territory for me and though I have been doing a lot of looking online, no one has really talked about how their thinking changed and I haven’t found an online resource that addresses this. Maybe I’m just missing something.

 

Having said all that, one thing has changed, something that I know has been somewhere in the back of my mind for awhile…

Forgiveness.

In this I mean being able to finally forgive myself. To forgive myself from both sides of this whole thing.

To forgive the “boy” that I was. To forgive him for the choices he made when there weren’t any choices that he could make. He was there in the forefront for most of my life, taking the brunt of what the world dished out. He did the best he could and for that I am thankful.

I had to forgive him for keeping me in a box, locked and hidden from sight. Why it was done doesn’t matter anymore, I understand that he was doing what he thought was best when he didn’t know what else to do.

I also had to forgive her, that girl inside, who I am now in so many ways. I know that she could no longer remain in that box, that she couldn’t sit quietly any longer.

Now is her time.

I know that in coming out she has turned my life inside out, caused pain and confusion. That wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t her intention. It was just the way things had to happen.

In this understanding I know this. She has forgiven him, just as he has forgiven her.

 

I don’t want this to become too confusing. I have been and indeed am, both of these. They are me and I am them. In this I have to make peace with “him” who is my past just as I have had to make peace with “her” who is my present and my future.  

I cannot think of moving forward as long as I have regrets from my past, what happened, happened and I cannot change that, nor really should I want to. It is that past which brought me to where I am now.

I also cannot move forward as long as I look at where I am at this moment and blame “her” for what my life has become. She has always been there and I cannot deny her existence any more than I can deny the need to breath.

I don’t want to deny anything anymore, not to myself I don’t. It isn’t fair to myself to try and act like half of myself doesn’t exist. In fact, i couldn’t do so even if I wished.

And so I must forgive myself. 

And I do.

I want nothing more than to be at peace with myself. That is what forgiveness will give me.

Where will I go from here? As I said in the beginning, I don’t know. 

I just hope this is a step in the right direction.

 

 

Acceptance?

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Knowledge, understanding, acceptance, forgiveness.

Are these the steps to finally coming to peace with yourself? Coming to peace with your thoughts, memories, emotions?

I find myself wondering what it means to accept myself. 

This is something i am told that I need to do.

“You have to accept the truth about yourself.”

What “truth” is that? 

How do I know when I have achieved it?

In figuring out what questions I think I need to answer to figure this out I have come up with the following information that I cannot dispute;

I have physical, phycological, and emotional scars. I know where some came from, others I do not, but they are there.

I have lived with depression and suicidal thoughts from at least the age of ten.

I have have either cross dressed or thought/dreamed/fantasied about doing so since the age of ten or eleven.

I have thought of being a girl/woman since about the same age.

I have on more than a few occasions wished/dreamed/begged to wake up and be a real girl/woman.

I have been a girl/woman as my dream self.

I have wanted desperately to be included in the groups of women I have found myself around, I have wanted to be part of the conversation, part of the unspoken sisterhood that they enjoy.

I know that if I could take a pill, make a wish, be part of an experiment, that would allow me to change genders, I would do so without hesitation even if it might kill me or I could never change back.

When I finally broke and admitted my feelings I felt as if a ten ton weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

These are all things I have long known about myself. I cannot deny them any more than I could deny having blue eyes.

Where are the questions? 

Well it is in how I react to some things. 

I don’t feel any change in myself while wearing women’s clothing. I enjoy wearing them, I enjoy the way I look in them after all it allows me to have a physical connection to the way I see myself inside, but really, when you cut everything else away, I feel the same as I do while wearing mens clothing. I am still me, that’s all, nothing more. There is no “charge” or excitement. 

Wearing make up does nothing more than improve my looks a bit, because honestly, I don’t see myself as very attractive and no amount of make up is going to change that.

Even when dressing stealth I feel that the things I am wearing are really nothing at all, I have the right to be wearing them, they are the things I have no reason to not be wearing.

I know that when I look in the mirror I see a face that doesn’t really belong to me. Yes, it is the face that I have worn all my life, but it’s more like a bad joke, like I someone came along while I was sleeping and glued this face over my real one. 

Having male “parts” isn’t something I find distressful, I would rather be a physical female, but I can live with what I have. I guess that I have had this body long enough that I’m simply use to it.

The hardest part of this is not seeing any change in myself. Because to this point everything has been internal… changes in the way I think about things, the way i feel about things, and even those couldn’t be called major. There haven’t been any large scale shifts in the way I seem to see myself in my minds eye, when I just let myself drift, I don’t notice any real difference in the way things work.

There are no physical reference to mark any change. There isn’t any effects of hormones or surgeries that I can point to and say, “There! There is proof I have made these changes!”

Just how am I suppose to be different from before?

How can I tell if there has really been a transition? How can I tell what is the “new” me and what of the “old” me is gone?

It is not having any markers to show my progress, or lack there of, that I am having such a problem with. How am I suppose to know that all of this isn’t just in my head? Maybe I’m just plain out crazy…

 

Heh… I guess as long as I think things might just in my head, then I haven’t accepted myself….