Month: January 2019

awww yis

So, other progesterone users seem to use the amounts actually indicated by the Powers protocol. I should do this also. Which does mean I should start cycling again, deciding on a starting point. I want to invite women close to me also on gel dosable E2 and P4 to cycle with me. Get in touch if you know how to and we’ll actually seriously do it, period tracker app and all.

Discovering that, as I had somewhat suspected, now that trans alignment and dysphoria is mostly under control given I am quite a way into transition, I’m getting to the point where I can deal with whatever my emotional damages are. I don’t know to what extent they are impacted by the loss of my grandfather. I don’t know to what extent they are impacted by the breakups which made me afraid. I don’t know to what extent the self-alienation of dysphoria intersected with body desirability perception to make it vaster and stronger over the years. I don’t know to what extent there were any hurdles in my attachment (in particular perhaps, my being so early in language and social development might have meant I considered myself personally responsible earlier than is healthy).

Either way, it’s clear over time I have a pathological fear of rejection, that I expect it, that this fear is very easily triggered, and that it drives me to constantly crave relational validation as well as to scrupulously ensure I do all I must to maintain good standing. It emerges, by and large, almost but not exclusively in my romances (whether formal ones or those odd cases where we decide afterwards it really was a romance).

I think this is good. I can do exposure training on the fear, try to remember to be mindful within it – which is almost but not quite so hard as not zoning out when touched – and I can try to use my newfound peace and introspection to define the edges of this phenomenon better.

I’d do well I think to look to my friends with BPD in how they cope with what they experience. I don’t think this is the same – just as I am not autistic – but I can still make use of some of their wisdom.

In other news, I’ll prepare templates for SRS recommendation letters. This feels exactly as when I asked academic collaborators for recommendation letters and they asked me to write a template for them. I made slightly different versions for each so that they would not look identical when I needed to submit both. There is some beautiful cosmic humor in this.

revolutions

I had a lovely date and a night of multichannel communications, bolstered by wisdom and humility. So many new impressions and shifts and thoughts. Her scent follows me subtly. I am late for the Scientific Council and that will be fine. It felt like coming face to face with reality. It felt like gentle fun. I maintain faith of connecting more and in more areas still. If we hurt each other it will be fine. I don’t need to preplan what might happen.

I kept fading out into… somewhere and she sensed it each time and told me to stay in the moment. It’s seriously hard work, I hadn’t realized how I keep escaping mentally during sex. Always to some extent.

I wanted my parts touched but even with the greatest care, and with the sensations feeling good, I feel like I’m keeping watch against something when it happens. So hard to stay even when I want to.

I cherish communication that is mutually desired. I hope for time shared simply being present together. I anticipate the future. This day is beautiful.

fort

These are more intense days yet again. Much is not gender-related except I did it gendered, but I want to express it.

Very time-pressured during this week. One day all spent filming, with two people I have crushed on. I had a lot of fun. I was stressed I would not do it well but it worked. Seeing the movies – in some angles and lighting, it almost appears as though I pass visually. My voice does not, but I actually look pretty good. Sometimes. Photographed by a girl who knows her stuff, in good makeup.

Then the homework. I will provide more material to help make my legal case to the insurance. Then I will perhaps have the choice of Schaaf/Morath or Chettawut. May still be leaning towards the other. It feels like I am longing for surgery now.

I went to a castle (well, resort that was a monastery with horses, swans and weird art) east of Babylon, almost to the Polish border. Place and landscape were beautiful as so many things at once. The meeting took most of two days and I needed to stay focused, could not work much on my manuscripts. I stayed very visible, and kept worrying I was too pushy. I was nervous giving my talk, and as previously, froze some and tried to hide it when I talked about the part where I outline my planned research in trans people. That said, I think they recognize me. I think my strategy from before work. I am sure I do not pass as cis to these people, but they accept me. In particular, the young women smile at me. In line for the toilet stall, someone complimented my boots.

Oh, and I definitely, totally wear a miniskirt and a corset to a meeting for research leaders. No-one has told me not to. Not all is wrong with the world. Over post-dinner drinks, spoke with she who previously misgendered me. I talked about my alignment and surgery and identity, she of her minority religion. We got on well now. I think she knows me now.

Getting tired and drained already, physically, socially, intellectually. Have some hopes of meeting up with someone this weekend, and to do so in a state of such drain (not too severe but somewhat), as I somehow long to go from exhaustion to meaningful communication while extra vulnerable, this being a feature rather than a bug. I am an emotion junkie but what else is new?

Apparently I volunteered to help coordinate efforts to harmonize study protocols and patient data. That will come back to bite me but if I do deliver all of this then maybe I do have a chance at tenure. Mid-day we left to circle Babylon to another castle (this more typical) on the diametrically opposite side. I put white noise in my headphones and semi-slept in the car.

I do need to learn the language. At least clinicians, if not basic scientists, spontaneously shift to Akkadian if all present are natives. I don’t want the vulnerability and feeling of being a liability of being the person who forces that shift.

Still, evening and dinner went fine. I ate much more today than my diet plans for, this is the issue with planned conference schedules. Some good conversations. Maybe one person getting weirdly familiar, or just a mistaken feeling of mine.

After sleeping in the car and feeling relaxed and vulnerable, I find myself thinking even more fondly-but-idly of a certain collaborator. He is old and married and I don’t like men, do I? But he smells always weirdly, oddly sexy, and I know he is smart and kind and pragmatic, and sticks out for me, and cares about me. I feel safe around him. I feel like a high school girl crushing idly on her teacher. I emphatically do not want that to go anywhere whatsoever, but it does fascinate me how I seem to respond.

Tomorrow, end of second meeting. I might get to socialize thereafter. If not, I will probably try to work until I am too tired to get anywhere, then watch sci-fi. Tonight I will have more sleep than yesternight. All in all, I am vulnerable, emotional, real, and entirely satisfied and at peace with where I am and with my own volatility. At least that is part of my truth.

wayfinder

I saw my new therapist. This was fascinating – the first time I work with an actual trans healthcare provider, and seeing others there as client. Many in my circle even work with her as well, so there is structure in the connectivity network of Expat Trans Babylon. Unsurprising. Also, she asked me if I was MtF or closeted FtM and even though I cannot believe anyone can be uncertain of this, it was still very flattering.

We’ll try a few things. I feel quite confident she can get me the documentation no matter what for Chettawut, and that’s most important. She recommended Thailand over Munich actually, which is another reason to maybe go there anyway. But we’ll also try to see what we can do with regards to the MDK application, we’ll prepare it and see if it is covered. If so, then I have more options. So all in all, I hedge my bets, trying to explore all avenues. I think that is the best strategy I can take.

I have homework, this excites me.

tempus spatium

So, from what I am told, post-SRS it is hard and/or painful to climb stairs for a number of weeks. My home is a century-old apartment building currently being slowly renovated. I live three flights up. Elevators will be installed at some point, but I cannot see them ending up placed anywhere except a half-stair down from my door, so even when in place, getting home would involve walking through a building zone and some steep steps.

In addition, there are steps in the shower, which is old and clunky and cramped. I’ll eventually have that replaced, but it makes no sense to do that until the water mains are also replaced, something which is planned for… sometime.

Taken together, these things may suggest there is a period of at least 1-2 months early in SRS recovery when living at home will be… difficult. My backup I guess is the guest house my institute hosts, where I stayed some times in the past; there I know there are no-stairs handicap-equipped ground floor rooms, based on the fact all these buildings were East Babylon hospital grounds at some point in the past. I can take lodging there if I book in advance far enough, I just have to budget for that also.

In some sense this is good though. Realizing that even if the elevator installations happens fast, it still won’t let me stay at home in early recovery, that means I have no reason to let waiting for refurbishment keep me from proceeding with my SRS prep.

Also saw instructions provided post-op from my native country. They detailed how to lie down and get out of bed without spreading legs. This scared me viscerally as I juxtapozed it with Chettawut instructions not to spread at all during first three months, as stitches may be hurt. This is immensely scary, as it implies there are habitual movements of just navigating space that can hinder recovery, not just hurt but even cause damage, sabotage.

So what I have to do from now on is to practice that until habitualization, learning to lie and sit and stand without spreading legs wide at any point. If I train it already now as a necessity, I will feel more secure that I shall be able to maintain it when I have to.

Is this obsessive? I don’t think so. I’m planning something very large-scale, it makes every bit of sense to take it seriously on all levels.

In other words, I suppose I am sure I’ll have SRS as soon as I can make it work.

puella magica

My two favourite Disney trans princess narratives to date:

  • Moana/Vaiana: Shaman princess acknowledging what she is and that she has to risk all social and anchoring assumptions because of it, eventually all is reconciled and her truth accepted: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cPAbx5kgCJo
  • Frozen: Witch princess (queen – late transitioner after long denial period) having taken the steps and come out at high social cost, still certain that this is her reality and only authentic choice, building and reconciling her life; this is the starting point, rest of the story is all about her family eventually coming around to accept her: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=moSFlvxnbgk

micro

I love going grocery shopping.

I would never do so without cleaning up first.

I’m realizing that at some point, I am now implicitly assuming that when people just pass me in the subway or on the street without looking too close or hearing my voice, they will perceive me as a woman and not realize I am trans. It is likely not the truth, per se, but I am fascinated to realize that this is what I spontaneously expect.

lootkit

I must create a kit which is the minimum I need for waking up fine in a strange place, and for sleeping.

  • Replacement tucking panties
  • Sleeping mask/ear plugs
  • Night ear studs
  • Deodorant/perfume sampler
  • Emergency estradiol patch // androcur pill // B12 and a few other supplements
  • Travel shaving gel/razor
  • Makeup minimum – foundation, primer, cover, powder, eyeliner, mascara, eye pencil, lipstick, maybe fixation spray
  • Toothbrush/toothpaste

With those in place, I could in principle sleep anyway and restore to non-dysphoric state upon waking.

balances

I had some sort of realization. So, for those of you keeping track, I’d say I currently have something like four crushes, friend connections that I’d want to go towards some sort of romance or otherwise semi-persistant links but which as yet have not. One that was there has faded out, another is fading in, taking its place. Two I have had sex with and confessed my love to, of those both are sort of stabilizing into person-appropriate friendships in their respective ways, as I see and accept flaws and incompatibilities once the surge begins to dissipate. One hovers in the background like a fixed star, remote. One is pleasantly uncertain like a cloud and I am fascinated about how many fears blossom delightfully in me on that front. To this we add three committed relationships, all long or very long distance, one having been there with interruptions for almost two decades, with some form of calm ongoing evolution – a source of great safety for me; one since 1-2 years which is finding its own intensity much like that of some rare gas flame, and one which feels like sunlight glinting on the facets of an uncut and rough gold nugget unpredictably moving, which is super hard to assign a time frame to. In fact, since 2006 all my relationships have been long-distance, I have not been seeing anyone living in the same city. This is something I do want to change now that I have a home, I want to know what it is like to casually date someone without the logistics around it. This probably informed the fervor which which I was so eager to girlfriend some of those crushes.

Normalizing things with people. During parties yesternight, realizing that I’m chasing after someone who explicitly lets me chase her, but who is in no shape or form chasing me back. It’s not the first time. I have spoken to others about this who all tell me the same thing, that I should not keep on falling for people who are emotionally unavailable. It’s a fact that I do, and I sort of know why.

One part is I parse it as some sort of outsidership, some indication of having seen through things, some indication of a Special Perspective. This is probably wrong of me, a person being cool and remote does not mean they are woke or that I should expect them to be brilliant and farsighted. It just indicates experiences and coping mechanisms.

Part of me also has her own commitment fears, so that coolness seems like a guarantee that I won’t have to carry the other all the time. I do want to carry my loved ones when they need it (and it’s not an option for me not to, really, I would despise myself if I did not), but I want the need to not be constant but rather only partial, I am drawn to those who steer their own lives mostly (and in some cases, those who do not but who are in other relationships giving them that support). But emotional unavailability is not that either. A person who is in crisis and neither expects nor asks for help is not necessarily someone with their stuff together. Since I will still worry on their behalf, I will still hover near them offering help (which will not be accepted). People not asking for help does not reduce my emotional labour burden. People working to help themselves as much as they can, including by seeking support from me and from others, does. And this type of unavailable person often does not seem to understand this dimension, does not understand why I can’t just stand by and watch them suffer and not care, because by default they assume no-one will help them. Whereas my default is, in any genuine friendship, family bond or romance, the other being sad or upset always should result in at least checking in, to see whether they have it under control or not. This was how I grew up, so I have culture clashes with those who’ve learned differently from their lives.

This is BDSM-y also. I’ve noted I have a fetishy wish to collect strays. On some level which is much more emotional-relational than sexual, but which also has sexual charge, I see myself as that together, unshakeable witch who dwells in her circle, her hut on chicken legs, and who comes across broken, brilliant, untrusting geniuses. I leave the door open, they can come and go and I have no control over them. Except also somehow, they are supposed to slowly, spontaneously open up, learn to trust, come to stay with me, come back again and again to submit to me, so I can heal and advise and mentor them, and also tease and taunt and hurt them a little as I do, all with love, and they will come to trust me and themselves and the world and to grow into their full potential and to surpass me eventually. This sort of stray tamer, stray trainer, is to a large extent who I am as a domme. Obviously the fact I have a mentoring fetish means I need to be very very careful when I actually mentor people (those I advise, or those I lead professionally), so I make strict boundaries not to get involved with those. But in relational contexts, this always draws me. I long somehow for subs to come to me for more, and frame it as me helping them grow through everything I do. Even as I recognize that some domming is problematic for me as it makes me stay dissociated, I think enough of it is there, remains truly there as part of me. But it’s still problematic, because often this complicated fantasy does not match reality, it doesn’t describe the trajectory of those I touch. And especially, emotionally unavailable strays aren’t always just waiting for me to help teach them to trust and be happy. That is a silly romantic pipe dream. I won’t say it is toxic because in the form I have it, I think it is not, but it also isn’t usually very realistic and I must learn not to let it cloud my perception.

Most importantly, though, there is the whole high hopes, low expectations dimension. I really needed to learn that when I did, and it is very valuable, but in my years of coping I took it too far. I know why, because fundamentally I don’t understand myself as lovable. Deep down I am convinced I am hurtful, clumsy, boring, boorish, repetitive, simple, banal. I have impostor syndromes on all levels. I consider everything interesting about me to be faked, less genuine or deep than in others. Like I pretend but from a very shallow basis. And while I’ve come to genuinely be able to see myself as at least a little beautiful (thanks, HRT!), I also am still viscerally used to think that no-one possibly can enjoy seeing or touching me. So I expect that once the limited supply of curio I have with each person is drained, they will lose interest and politely move on.

I expect to be able to ask for and sometimes receive intimacy, but to always have to ask, because no-one will ever take initiatives towards me. Why should they? I am not attractive to them. When they accept, whether it is from kindness or a curious interest in the moment, I expect polite withdrawal at any point. I expect no persistence. I expect nothing to last. I expect for all who interact me to become bored and politely move on. While I have important and precious counterexamples, I also have many examples of people getting close and then that dimension fading out. None of my play partner interactions remained such for more than a brief few times. Every time this happens, I am reinforced in my belief that only fleeting interest can be held in me, that I cannot be foundationally wanted or loved. That I simply am too unskilled, too banal, too ugly, too shallow for anyone to stay around. That belief remains strong despite my partnerships and interactions, because it still was very long since I experienced anyone having sustained passion for me resulting in their approach, not just them letting me interact with them when I ask.

I cried over this on the dancefloor yesternight, and enjoyed that much. I recalled that phrasing, not wanting to be an option but a priority for someone. Except rarely and in the past and remotely in some of my partnerships, I don’t feel familiar with being a priority. I certainly don’t expect it in the slightest. I haven’t ever, I think. And that hurt so much in my early tweens, when I was still idealistically romantic, so when I found a high hopes, low expectations approach, that was the perfect defense from feeling constant pain and sorrow and self-depreciation. Letting love be solely to love others, to never expect love except as grace and blessing that comes solely by the contingent choice of others. A good way to keep from a great fear of rejection and abandonment. And it also certainly plays a role in me seeking out unavailable people. I believe it is all I can hope for to be an option but not a priority, and then somehow that feels safer.

I’ve hurt others too of course. From this baseline, I would feel it was wrong of me to require myself to feel physically drawn to someone if I was to approach them, discriminatory. I should give everyone a chance because no-one chooses their body or person, and it is somehow mean to not give a chance. So there were people I perhaps lead on, or slept with and then were happy when it never happened again, hoped that I could just let the bond cool, let them down gently. This is cruel and must have harmed just as I have been harmed. I must start to restrict myself to just those I really do want also in body, for all our sakes. That is also scary because of course I believe myself to be so unappealing that if I am picky, I will just be alone.

Being alone feels easier now. Not that I will be, for I am anyway multiply loved. This is wisdom, painful growth, painful for myself and others both. Thorny lives. Thorns thrive.

But I should restrict in another way, and this is what I thought of at the parties. If the only one making an effort is me, if all initiatives are taken by me and eventually accepted by the other each time, then what am I? An option, not a priority. I’m fine with being an option sometimes. I don’t want restrictions, or my life to be woven around anyone else – I need my freedom and my truest wife is Science, it is she who rules me (and I can say pretentious shit like that because I’ve actually earned it by this point). I have crucial loves that can never be edged out.

But I need for a proportionally larger part of my week-to-week, month-to-month emotional and sexual and romantic and friendly interactions to be with people who actually want me enough to make an effort. Because I deeply, dearly need to heal that part of me that thinks she isn’t worth anyone’s efforts. It’s not that anything is wrong with the casual connectivities, or the proposals that someone might take me up on once from curiosity. But I must balance that with receiving attention in a manner such that I actually feel _wanted_. Because there is such a great hurt inside me where I believe I cannot be, believe I am unworthy of being wanted.

This is scary in itself. Because if I ration myself – don’t seek out intimacy (broadly described) where you are the driving force to a greater extent than you receive intimacy from the other acting and making an effort, all in all, averaged over all bonds and relationships – then I fully expect to be lonely, to not experience much. Precisely because of that hurt cemented in teenage and tweenage years (and probably dysphoria-compounded) where I fully believe none will want me unless I am the one doing the legwork.

But now I have a self at least. I have achievements. I am fracking proud of myself in so many ways, because I know that I stand out in so many ways. Despite using stress to force myself, I know I am exceptional, that I shine like a star. I know I am beautiful, and that while I am no genius, I have a combination of agency, executive capacity and fluid intelligence that lets me do almost anything I decide to, so long as I pay the price. I know I can pay the price and smile through the tears as I do it, if I have to.

So maybe I can deal with that fear, and start expecting something from others also. And then maybe where I find that I am the only one making the effort in a romance, I can let that reach whatever level of loving friendship can work, and not chase after someone who won’t reciprocate. Strength lets me but the reason I need it is that I have this deep, deep wound that I must heal, and the only way I can heal it is by experiencing intense enough interest, love, lust, desire from others, evidenced by them also making commensurate efforts.

I don’t know where that healing process will go, but I feel somewhat confident on embarking on it. And being here in Babylon as a place of grandeur and adventure, I will be in my temple-grove, and I will go out to touch everything, and dance, and play, and forge bonds, and I will smile and cry always as I will. I am alive.

(EDIT: Also, must clarify: I do know the experience of being priority, not option. Those relationships which became lasting partnerships, and a number of lasting friendships, they did and do give me this, very much. It’s rather that I need to experience it more, in yet other contexts, from yet other people, to be able to heal as I crave.)