Tag: emotion

radiance

So, somewhat affected, impacted, altered mood. Still no coffee, I will have it. Still multistressed, multi-affected, alive, much to do. Going to travel tomorrow, going to travel so so much and so much happens and so many meaningful touche in my life and I want to scream because I juggle so much of it.

But this is a blessing. I just need to wield it, channel it. This is magic. When I walked from the U-bahn to the electrologist, seeing beautiful street art and brutalism on the way, then I recognized that the right hand path magic application of the ankh in some regards may be the use of all three moons joined together in combination, whereas the left hand path magic of the moons has them applied distinctly and separately. This is only one true description, incompatible ones exist I am sure. I need focus now and I need symbols for that focus. I need the gratification of progress under fear, must not reward too much with creature comforts.

The recommendation made by Chettawut is perianal hair removal only. Electrolysis seems safest and permanent. The electrologist came recommended. I’m looking at an hour every other week for about six months, with two days after each during which things get cumbersome due to even water washing, let alone soap, not being recommended. It may cost up to 1K in total, which is about for times my projected remaining laser expenses. I presented, practicing my crappy Local Language of Babylon, it worked fine enough I suppose. I undressed and was photographed. Tiny tendency to tumescence under the awkwardness, despite by near-total testosterone suppression. Irritating but getting beyond awkward. I feel power within me of really ceasing to give fucks except deliberately. This is willpower exercise. I grow stronger still.

Then we tried it, without any anaesthesia. I’ll probably apply EMLA cream next time. It hurts, not from the needle sting, but from the separate heat and electricity applications. Nothing intolerable but if it goes on for a full hour the buildup likely will be significant, so I’ll go for the cream anyway. Some of the operations felt similar to blood draws or dental anaesthesic application in pain intensity, perhaps because they were gradual. I can deal with it but I will happily chemically cheat here. This now was just for ten minutes or so, a trial run.

Booked for next Friday. Of course I’ll go ahead. Everything about this is counter to comfort, every single aspect, but that’s precisely the point. Agency. Witchcraft. I move. I was moved, feeling tears every now and then going away from there, now on the train out to my office. This girl is beyond giving any fucks. And I needed precisely that insight when I woke this morning and everything felt challenging and hard.

The cumbersomeness fascinates me. In particular the hygiene aspects, the limitations, the likely healing challenges with that area, the scheduling challenges applying anaesthesia beforehand and afterwards. I’ll get to make use of my office ensuite bidet. For the second day after healing, when the aloe vera wears off, she recommends using an actual menstrual pad. It will be the first time I wear one, the first time I’d feel legitimate doing so even under an off-label use, and that feels stupidly, ridiculously validating just to think of. I will buy some later today (before, have done so only so as to have them available for guests as a courtesy thing). It’s good my use of own parts for sex is so limited and optional now, because that too will be a limitation. And for six months.

All of this is exactly what I need – complications, challenges, awkwardness, limitation, communicating using a third language at best with a care provider, all linked to the most awkward parts of my body. By ceasing to give any fucks here, I step one step closer to what it seems very much that I want. I step into myself, spread my vulnerabilities and exist. I prepare. I hold back tears on the S-bahn without knowing what emotion they correspond to. Relief, I think. Empathy with some part of myself that has been hurting for very long.

I am the witch.

stone butch purples

NSFW: sex sex sex sex sex sex

I’ve been meaning to write this for a while and not finding the time. The last month I’ve gotten more sexual again, I think stressors went down enough to let me. I feel desire for desire on some level, and am casually enjoying playfully aiming for it. I think I was even a little disappointed when a date did not end with me getting laid, where I had thought I would. I’m crushing (surprisingly strongly) and I want to be explored and touched and observed, I want to be held and handled and I want to be smiling and cheeky and full of feeling as I tease and torture. I updated my fetlife profile even.

At the same time it is really really unappealing to think of anyone seeing directly the malformed parts between my legs. I can’t even name them comfortably, not on myself. There are exceptions for some people but I remain in high vigilance mode as it happens, when I was recently licked for example, I enjoyed and wanted it, but I couldn’t stop being watchful. Through clothes is OK, I enjoyed pressing myself against someone, or having a vibrator against me.

I want to come, I want that release. But there’s still fluid when I do. Transparent, yellow-reddish, sticky. Not so much, but still there. I can hope it would get less. I’d be happy being wet like a cis girl, even squirt like some, but I cannot reparse my fluids to that, and I deeply loathe the point at which receiving turns into cleanup. I learned I can come when tucked, with a magic wand against me; it was harder than I thought (though this was mostly experimentation to check I still could, so not in super sexy mode – I scrambled for fantasies and ended up thinking of how it would be like to have my vagina penetrated, that worked finally).

I fetishize cum in itself, I would want it on me and on those I make sex happen to, but I don’t want it to be mine. I hope (and believe) if my genitals had the right shape and lack of tumescence, I wouldn’t mind this fluid. It could drip from the hands of someone who had just fingered me and it would be fine, I’d be fine with wet panties and a wet spot if I felt the right shape of my parts against it, I’d be fine being seen with the right parts. I’d love to be licked like that.

I want this so much, I realize. And despite the longing, trying for it where I am now remains a matter of careful workarounds and ersatzes. I’d feel unsafe otherwise. This state, then, makes me feel some sort of affinity to stone butches (some of whom presumably are trans men), who have sex but do not want to be genitally touched. I no longer feel I appropriate by saying so, though I do acknowledge their direction as opposite to mine.

I should get SRS, shouldn’t I? I still have troubles wrapping my head around the want. I feel like I am deciding, like I know that I have decided somehow, that the timer is already counting down. It was two years from when I first decided (?), less now. I want a healed and functional vagina before I am 40. It feels scary and weird to type it. I’m preparing for it, a lot of things I do seem to be work towards it. I need to get the money – saving up something like 18K if I want to go for Chettawut and have extensive margins; not yet sure how I will do that. I’ll schedule and undergo electrolysis with that explicitly for that purpose. These things I know. I’ll continue to sculpt away bodily masculinity traces, reshape myself more, and I’ll get my legal sex change and voice work done within this time span also. I sense I will do these things.

I can also sense me going through with it, stepping into the flow of events for surgery and recovery. That sense has a shocked numbness from fear too, of pain, of complications, of not knowing how to get all the aftercare right. It’s the fear of wounds, of having surfaces where it is possible for me to do wrong, or for things to go wrong. But I feel also some sort of headiness when imaging it. I am beginning to imagine the feel of rush of will, of agency. I can somehow feel how I would feel in the moments of acting on the decision. I think I can feel how I would react, contain and mindful away the fear, be still and scared and still acting as normal despite the fear. I am familiar with how that feels for me. I’ve practiced a long time now.

So what else can I feel? The tucking project worked, I now know what it is like not to protrude. It feels right, it feels safe, it feels contained. I want that. I feel now the shape of my crotch as it would be, mounded but otherwise flat. It’s numb though, I have no lips yet, no insides, no knowledge of that. It’s like I have only the sketch, the draft, and it still goes stiff where it should not. Could I change that? That’s the point, I guess. Can I already now work up to feeling insides? Maybe. I’d need to try inguinal canal sex, maybe other sorts of touch in between what my outer labia would be. Still incomplete, but I hope maybe some of my loved ones will end up doing me like that. I think perhaps I’ll ask them to.

So… yeah. The trajectory is here. I’m working towards it. Steps on that route will also involve documentation, preparing my family, ensuring competence is in place for when I will be on leave, ensuring my house has an elevator by then. Getting in the best shape I can. In every one of these regards I act in a motivated manner to make it happen. Looks like I plan for having non-penile inversion vaginoplasty by latest 2020.

pathfind

I am more confident this year, and my language more direct often. I am confident making statements without being positively certain sometimes. I believe this is agency/self-appreciation largely. As noted, this is me channeling more of my big sister. She too can be blunt when no reason not to.

More interesting, I am reaching something which is either honesty, daring, or both. I am habitualizing not delaying things. I used to delay, to save things for some unspecified later. I trust things will just keep getting better. And if so, no need to ration exploration or evolution or progress, no need to hold back. I’ve been reaching out against social fear more, I’ve talked about things more when uncertain of how wise it was, in some name of fundamental honesty.

I want a life of fundamental honesty, and not to waste time unless when doing so feels good or productive.

On time, this also impacts some my thoughts on SRS. I want some youth at least in the right body. I have some time left, but I need to use it then.

magos

My decadent lifestyle takes a toll, cold symptoms and lack of sleep in parallel with stress. Will work it out, and worth it. But noticing I get super worried about everything in some moments, especially in chats. Absent explicit responses or emojis, whenever I write something, part of my brain often is convinced the other does not respond because I wrote or did something horrible that finally convinced them of how boring and useless and unkind I am, how it is not worth it to communicate with me, and that they will leave me. Part of me does fear that. But I know on some level this is irrational, it will be false 999999 times in a million. I keep worrying the present is the exception. This is one of my social anxiety tendencies, and I have had it for a long time, and it makes chat communication with me, especially within relationships, and especially in the evenings, difficult. It probably stems from having had such a low self-image for so long, the fears from which have stuck (and does this mean I have abandonment issues?).

It is why I generally prefer voice where I have so much more information to go on, but it can also be avoided if the other basically confirms we are still OK on an emotional level after I write something, easier with microsymbol languages like smileys. My overuse of these probably comes from me assuming other people will react like I do, which of course they actually don’t, they don’t need these confirmations but I always act as if they do.

But it also does not make sense others should have to help me manage my issues like that. I cannot dump it on my loved ones. I need to get a new therapist and ask specifically for help with this. And it is the central thing where I know both from meta-communication and from inner work that the Crone is needed. She can cut the threads of OCD spirals, she can decide that no, this is not something to worry about, what will be will be, they probably won’t stop loving you, you probably didn’t break anything that cannot be mended, it probably will be OK, and even if this is the one case in a million, you must stay sane and do what you are supposed to, not raise drama because you are afraid you hurt someone just because they did not respond.

The Crone for me is often about remembering that. I still can’t do it as well as I want, the fear is still there, and it’s still there because something within me still really really fears and worries I will be proven unworthy of my relationships and left alone, but my remembering her as symbol, perhaps I can learn to better cope and not dump that fear onto my loved ones to contain, which presumably hurts the relationships much more.

That said, when this came up tonight, biology perhaps played a part too. Changed my estrogen patches and feel a little calmer from that, it was past the end of the 3-day period so might have started to slump. Should get back to work.

process process

CW harassment.

Things were good yesterday, having dinner with a few friends then going out clubbing, despite some of us facing various sadnesses from other directions and along the path. Maybe this blog will eventually become some sort of mini reverse pervocracy, starting out talking transition stuff, then when that’s mostly in hand, just describing my day to day kink and decadence? Long story short, got to know a friend better than before during evening, realizing I am attracted and would like to be closer. Going out that evening, I therefore had hopes of something happening between us. Usually when I fancy someone I have difficulties because anything I can read as disinterest will make me pessimistic and withdraw emotionally, so I take no risks and ask for nothing; more importantly, the emotional withdrawal makes me less present in the situation, having less fun, being less available. It is mostly here that alcohol helps.

This night I somehow realized I could try to consciously ignore that mechanism, and I realized on the dancefloor that this is what the Maiden is about. She is naïve and happy enough that she does not interpret everything as rejections, so she remains happy and daring and sometimes she is lucky. I made myself present in my body as Maiden, and whenever I felt the alienation feeling of “I don’t grasp the codes” // “she is not interested” // “I am being embarrassing and stupid by doing/not doing this”, I felt her making a horizontal cut between the thought layers, like a lobotomy, not letting logic flow from the worry into inaction. Removing the cause but not the symptom; Frank too certainly was a Maiden. I just kept dancing, and when I felt there was chemistry, I gently expressed my interest, and learned some of the communication as it happened. I don’t think I’ve been this brave before like this.

I did get to know my friend better, and to sleep (though not very deeply) next to her, and to marvel at how she responds to touch, I’ve seen that sort of reactivity before and am jealous of it, hoping perhaps that I might gain it if I add progesterone to my regime. Will there end up a context where I’ve known most of my friendship circle(s) intimately at one point or another? Who knows. But looking back, that always was how I envisioned my life would be like, it’s part of my view on what is wholesome. Heh.

*

On the way back from the club, my friend and I walked arm in arm and a guy followed us muttering lewd suggestions about “pussy” and “fucking”. He walked very close and it was the first time someone groped my ass, I realized after a while. All in all quite scary, and I was so happy to be there with a girl whispering to me she could take him out with her keys if she had to. He followed all the way to the subway, and I used the minimizing/ignoring/defuse by asking nonsense questions, noncommittal comments, soft distancing, just as I am sure women do every day with this. Still, I was especially afraid since I could not tell how he read us. Did he parse us as cis lesbians or just cis friends? Or did he clock us and saw as us some sort of down-low gay entertainment? The fear of homo-/transphobic violence was there and I could not say whether it was already upon us or not. Basically I feared he might stab us, or that we would have to fight. My companion said it would have been much worse had be not read us as cis, she interpreted us as passing to him throughout. And she fundamentally does pass as cis, so maybe so – this would be a silver lining, beyond just another experience shared with sisters everywhere.

*

Confessed one crush, will see how that goes. Realizing another old friendship (and maybe two more or so) with smart boys may have been sort of crushes too. In one of those cases, not so sure I will never follow up on it. Hmmm.

tension

I took extra estradiol today in case patch was running thin, so I am not low. But I am in a reactivity state that matches descriptions of PMS. The stresses yesterday, who knows how they contributed, or the shift to autumn, or sleep deprivation? Who knows if this is random or nocebo? I just know that I’m extremely easily frustrated, despairing (not actually! Just feeling like I do, and moaning and groaning), crying, very easily irritated, short fuse, easily saddened, yesterday and today. Low on containment ability, and high persistence of affect. A little bloated as well. Dark chocolate craved and helping. What a cliché. Never mind etiology, this is how I feel today.

*

Marking this point. Should the same return later, that yields more data.

cornerstone

One good thing about having your own lockable office is that when you are reaching levels of stress from how much you have to do in a short time and you feel tears are coming on, which you can no longer stop, just delay, since starting HRT, you can go to your office and lock the door and you can cry and hyperventilate. And blog about it. And think that it will feel better in a few moments, and then later you can be calm and focus and get things done and they will be done and everything will be OK.

There is valuable truth in that I both can be overcome with emotions and remain in control.

*

Happy that I can do this by crying instead of biting myself, at least. Healthier.

Don’t worry. I’ll be OK. I only accept a successful outcome. It’s just that for a while this evening, while working towards it, I will be crying.

lacuna maris

I’ve really been crying a lot lately, for happiness, for stress, fear, sadness and without knowing why. Thinking thus I can likely conclude emotional volatility increasing, and loving it.

Also, I probably should find a short-form description of my gender model (e.g. “gender is the reflection of sex characteristic continua in the space of human perception, emotion and action, involving opt-in/opt-out clauses in modern contexts“) to make it clearer to communicate.

lacrimosa

Nice start of evening going to event for queer women, felt all accepted and OK except for my horrible deep voice. Was OK.

Then randomly sir:ed, I think, by the person selling me fast food. This in full femme presentation. Are my features and voice so awfully masculinized that random strangers can only parse me as some drag queen or something is that it?

Went home. Realized I would weep. Doing so, with support of moon and rain and a fairy child grown strong. Cannot really stop. Feeling, quite simply, sad. Crying because I am sad and despairing, right this minute. Later, I won’t feel that, it will be OK. I will cope and deal and grow stronger.

Right now wondering what the fuck I can even do, wanting to cut away all the despicable horrible flesh that makes me look and sound like something which is not even a person, like some corpse, like some dead thing. Wondering what I can do, not finding clear solution. Hoping my medication will work its wonders over years and years of alternate sexual differentiation. Remembering this pain and sorrow so I really will put in the 10K hours needed to master a voice that lets people hear me as me.

Remembering and habitualizing to ask, “sorry, what did you just say?” by reflex, causing trouble. Not for my sake, the harm will already be done. But a teachable moment for the sake of others.

Still feeling it. I suppose this is good, this is me finally not being an emotionless husk who could just choose not to feel, this is me feeling without having to decide to feel. This is new growth, this is life. Growth hurts. Healing hurts.