process! process!

One aspect as it seems like, I self-misgender when I see my own tells. It was so with smell pre-transition, with stubble pre-success of laser (somewhere a year in or so, a state change), it is so still with voice as I hear it myself, with torso rectangularity, and with genitals, whenever they emerge. This is something that happens in the day-to-day moments, and the effect pain-wise lies in the feeling of falsehood and unreality that the self-misgendering brings.

It’s possible to work around any trait; this I do with others, I parse others as who they seek to be. It requires a little mental work, but I do it as a matter of course. I can do it on myself too but it either is somehow harder, or it is how that then means I have to constantly apply a filter to my self-perception. Vigilance thing.

This is why tucking is good, it turns that need off when clothed. This is why I don’t relax well during sex when naked, I’m actively translating perceptions into other representations. Live transitioning the lived experiential and social body. Medical transition shortens or eliminates those paths. It successfully did for hair removal and a lot of the HRT effects so far. I actually have a mostly smooth face, feminine eyebrows, and breasts, such as they are. I don’t need to shift those perceptions around.

I’d want that for genitals too, so I wouldn’t have moments during the day, like when dressing or going to the restroom, or when being intimate or getting aroused, when I’d be reminded of tells and self-misgender.

Then another thing, I’m sure I underestimate the pain and horror. Tiredness, pain, fear, no sleep, being drugged. Good part is, once it is started, I will be unable to stop it. I won’t have to choose to continue. I will have to. This is probably very similar to subbing. And reminds of Christ on the Cross, too. Thy will be done, not mine. Liberating from choice to be weak.

*
Then noting a new fear. What if there really is a somatic counterindication? I’m deathly afraid of that, I realize. In the same way as I’ve feared so many other things. I’m wanting to get x-rays and everything done now already, though they would be useless, they need to be recent by surgery, just to know I will be OK, which is to say, that I won’t be denied. I won’t get them yet. But I’m realizing as I hope for surgeries that I will fear the chance taken away until they sedate me. So that’s a chance to practice fear management. I’ll try to ride them but to still feel them.

toadette

SO MUCH TMI but I think I actually have some sort of scrotal yeast infection. In the area that is most densely tucked, which is also the area that has visible changes to skin pigmentation and texture. While it stings, it is also weirdly validating if so.

Also on the SRS matter. I was holding back when I started transition because I felt very strongly, I would never have SRS unless I am, well, not necessarily cis-passing, but looking like a cis woman with a few tells.

Whether I am or not, I’m realizing that at some point in the last year, I’ve started to think of myself so. I no longer feel a risk of perceived dissonance between genitals and rest of body. I feel that post-op me would be perceived as wholly and fully a trans woman to most.

This probably also impacts why I’m moving like this. I don’t always feel right like that, but it feels like the exception when I am not. And that means that not only do my genitals stand out stronger, but it means that perhaps strong fear I had of being a parody (the inverse dickgirl fear), that has dissipated, leaving me less worried.

noveau vag

“Should I have SRS (now)” is really the new “should I transition?”. I feel similarly over it – obsess over it, asking everyone, essentially looking for evidence and permission that this thing which somewhere deep down in my dissociate self I want, is something that I “get” to do, something that I won’t regret. It’s really exactly as things were two years ago, in the spring of 2017. I knew on some level what I wanted, and I was very worried that I wanted it for some other reason than I believed I did, and I was feeling reluctant to commit before I was certain enough that I would be OK if I did.It’s been two years of transition then. Woah. It really has. It feels like it should be less? Some of these posts are almost that old. I should perhaps go back and re-read myself, this transition account. I intended for it to become one, but it was also a venting space. It has become one. Maybe at some point I’ll bundle and edit all this. Maybe some of it is useful to someone.

So, going back to the analogy. I felt a longing to become sure I really was one of those who would be happier if she transitioned, but I needed external assurances – from reading accounts of others, from trying to evidence within my autobiography, from experiments. Eventually I got past all that by having enough experimental results and enough not-giving-a-fuck that I decided I get to decide. And moreover, that I got to decide because my will mattered. Which it does because I am a person like everyone else. Which I am because I am a woman. So I am transgender.

What I also did then was to process my fears. I was afraid of so much along the path that lay ahead of me. I was afraid of being seen as a freak, of being discriminated against, pitied, shunned, of being looked down on. In hindsight much of that was fear of coming out. It was also the fear of finally losing the choice of being able to pass as cishet or not.

I processed even before that point by stretching boundaries, going more and more androgynous. This was what I escalated back then. I got my first bralette almost a year before HRT and wore it thereafter when I went through airport checks. I started switching restrooms, presenting myself as trans, all these things before I was formally sure. I told my parents about my questioning. I know why I did this, I was trying to experience the awkwardness and fear and pain, socially speaking, before I passed the point of no return. I wanted to know if I could handle it, how bad it would feel, and perhaps also to dull the pain before it became compulsory. I LARPed being further along in my transition so that I would build resilience but perhaps above all to check, would I experience regret?

This afternoon I realized I’m doing the same now with SRS.

My increasing genital dysphoria and issues with sex may well to a large part be unavoidable and there, but I also focus on them and nurture them, let myself feel them, experience them. I open myself to the stone butch life, where I let myself feel the dysphoria of parsing my bare genitals wrong during sex, where I let myself get used to not wanting or be able to climax with a partner (or alone – I can but why the hassle? pfah). I’m actively riding the wave of these emotions, calling increasing attention to them.

In so doing I am testing myself for what my sex would be like if I had an unfavorable SRS outcome. Part of this which I am doing is this kind of emotional preparation, I’ve been asking myself the question: “Could you be OK with life if you never came again, if all your sex was breastplay and painplay and cuddles and topping?” I’m mildly melancholically sad about it, is the answer. I’ve looked to that melancholia as a putative reason why I should have SRS, and felt it’s not a big thing.

Where I should look, rather, is why I’m trying to get used to that sadness, why I’m preparing for the worst. Clearly it’s because some part of me deeply wants to be able to conclude she should have SRS. And it’s similar to the part of me that tested out being queer and at social awkwardness and risk as a non-passing trans person even before she had to, because she wanted to be able to conclude she should socially and hormonally transition.

I think one very likely conclusion to draw from this, though it needs more testing, is that to a large extent I want SRS for the same reason I wanted to transition in general. Underlying it all is a conceptual and existential dysphoria. I must be as much like other women as I can for the world to be OK. I felt that enough to take the steps I took so far, of which I would say that coming out and social transition was far costlier than anything medical – the latter I would say have all been pleasure and some interesting pain (when did I become so OK with pain? Ah, when I’d trained it enough…). So the question now is, is that same feeling strong enough to make we want the cost that is the risk of loss of orgasmic capacity (because ultimately that’s really the only realistic fear I have that I care about)?

I think it is, but I’ll take some more time to process all of it. I don’t have to decide just yet. In the next months. Perhaps by April I will.

(And if I just go by intuition? I want to be on the operating table already, so badly. Or rather, I want to know I am on track there. But I should not only trust intuition. Only more than I did in the past.)

hentai

So, the thought was raised and resonated with me, so I should inspect it deeply, what of effects of HRT and realignment on my person? More specifically, is there the possibility that continued further HRT and body awareness and happy sexual and sensual and mobile experiences will get me to a point where my genital issues are a sufficiently small obstacle that at that point, the distress they cause is less than my risk-weighted fears of unfavorable SRS outcomes?

This is relevant because it seems to be the core point of my process of decision-making for SRS. And while I can wait and observe (and will, as much as I need to), I also don’t want to wait more than necessary. I could wait for Godot forever. So I should actively inspect this part and it will require some significant effort to do so. Luckily it is within what I was planning already, actually, it is precisely what I was planning already.

So for dumping related observations, what came to me on it this day was the memory of what HRT has felt like, not the changes but my relations to the changes. When I came out and stopped trying to present androgynous, I accepted being seen however I am, however my body becomes. I have wishes of course for what HRT does to my body and mind, and I am an active participant in my treatment.

But more importantly, I remember now what I felt: I give myself up for puberty. I surrender to the best changes my regime and genetics give me. I’m not sculpting my body specifically, I am surrendering it to the becoming of womanhood. That changed a lot. I stopped fearing so much, started to anticipate so much.

On some level, at that point I accepted that whatever transition does to my body, it will. I will be whatever woman I can sail to within the scope of my biology. It’s not only my choice but it is how I grow. And on some level, that also reduced my fears of SRS complications. As long as I move towards womanhood, there is unpredictability in what womanhood I get. On some level I feel this way about the uncertainties of surgery also.

This is not by any means a reason not to worry. But it may be a part of why I don’t worry so much as I feel I should, intellectually. I accepted already that the details of this process are things I can influence but not control.

stone of miles

In prosaic and banal yet probably relevant terms, today I got access information to my bank again (there was a technical issue) and set up my monthly utilities payments. I also set aside the costs for the SRS I want in a separate account (draining most of the others, so should rebuild during the year).

This in itself is minor and means nothing. But with that in place, and hopefully soon the therapist letters in place, and knowing there are open surgery dates when I am considering it…

… there will soon be no concrete obstacles in the way, so I’ll have to face the moment of decision.

tiphareth IV

These are days of force going up and down. All in all I am so blessed. There is so much to challenge, but I feel the world unfold. Life is adventure.

I must learn the saran wrap technique, must try it. My estradiol levels were not tested after I started gel, so I worry perhaps I misapply and my levels may be too low? Next check is scheduled for March. But there is no fear – I no longer masculinize, so even delays in my change are only temporary setbacks.

With too many crucial and important things at once I must learn to force relaxation. It is so hard. I must set evenings when I do nothing, not even emotional labor, not even quick email answers. Certainly not late chatting. I must set days when I do nothing productive, only go see new parts of Babylon, or try to write more intense words than these. I must set days when I work on forgotten projects only, or long-term projects only, despite any urgency, days when I just read. I must start placing these into my calendar, schedule nothing conflicting then, and adhere to them.

I know this is truth and that I can do it. Nothing stops me. It is still difficult. But nothing stops me. I am alive now. I know it is what I need, so I must do it.

Similarly, I must do what is needed for health. It seems documents will not be an issue, so after the consultation in April I can decide on surgery – if, and when, and where. And if as I now am leaning to, and I will go to Chettawut in Bangkok, and if I have the funding ready, then perhaps I have no reason to delay. I’m trying to get used to the really scary thought of doing it in December. Maybe one of my partners can join. I can’t assume they will, so will keep that open, for whomever can. And thereafter, after the first month, will I spend one in my country of origin? Or will I stay in Babylon, receving guests?

It scares immensely. It must and I must process it even more before April, so I will be ready to decide then.

I fear somehow having a heart condition. I don’t think I do, but I must minimize the risk so I am not denied. So this year is the strict deadline for perfection, isn’t it? What should I do?

I should attempt to make real – again, I can, I just have to dare schedule it – so that I sleep closer to eight than six hours each night.

I should attempt to reach fully where I want to be with the fasting, and keep diligent with probiotics and vitamins. I need to minimize risk for blood clotting, optimize blood circulation. So I should also begin cardio exercise. This is even harder in terms of finding time. I cannot become sick. So I must dress warmly, from now on.

That effort with voice, that must continue.

I relax into these preparations. Certainly there is also here a factor of having a complex goal and vast ordeal being something which empowers me. After surgery, which will mine be correspondoingly? Asides from all my other goals? I will find one, certainly.

Emotionally, I learn to be ebb and flow. I write heart-baring words and then brood over whether to send them.

The sun is shining today in terrible glory.

birth

Learned there are structural muscles inside the body that hold organs in place and that many women train them after giving birth. Realized I must do so to prepare for surgery. My partner noted, “giving birth to yourself”.

Yes. That is exactly what I will do.

auld tan sine

NSFW: Sex party stuff.

I’m a sappy, romantic girl. Also I need to learn kinder time management for self. Also life is hard and life is great and I may need and want more consistent/coherent/intensive emotional connections; perhaps I’ve kept expectations low as part of a strategy for not being sad in a life often complex and disappointing. Also the stereotype is real in that if at all possible, trans girls crush on trans girls at the drop of a hat, more than 50% of the time.

Went to sex party for NYE again, it was once more transformatory, edifying and more fun than the last two times, I’ve gotten closer to a social self that can handle it. In past years I was shyer and less anchored so I spent more time being unsatisfied with not enough happening. Some this time but less.

As previously, started out with name and pronoun rounds, as well as stating intentions for next year and next few hours. Mine were embodiment, and for the evening, getting caressed, worshipped and spanked into submission, as no-one really has tried my pain threshold and I want that. I suppose what I want is something very specific, and I did not get that yesternight – having my butt spanked with flat, blunt implements like floggers by someone I am sure knows enough not to leave permanent marks, but going at it far and hard and long enough that I really cannot keep dignity. Basically relaxing into a state where I keep no control except resisting, and then lets go and surrenders when it’s reached the level that I cannot stand more. Crying and screaming and actually feeling something more than pretending, giving in because I literally have no choice. This really appeals to me. But also needing for whoever does it to not tease me with pain, not let me get all cool or bored or resentful or dissociated or distracted or zoned-out, it has to stay full-on intensity so I can’t escape anywhere. This has been a tall order for a girl who tends to date subs and very kindly, conscientious people…

Anyway. Then there was facilitated play which was much better than I thought. Group takes turn, one third at a time wears a blindfold for ten minutes. The other two thirds move between the blindfolded people, greet and goodbye them by touch, staying for some time and touching them. Anything is on table unless the blindfolded signals not – pain play, breast fondling, caresses over and under clothing, kissing, biting. Ensure at least one person touching each blindfolded person at all time, preferably more. Hardest part was with people who did not respond much to what I did, easiest where I could guess from their wishes what they liked.

I told people they could remove my corset beforehand. So that felt amazing, being held and moved around, having my chest made unclothed, nipples pinched and kissed and sucked, being grabbed and touched hard by several pairs of hands at once. I didn’t go ecstatic or lose control, but I did have a lot of fun.

This leads to one of several insights. I fear not being as reactive as other people in terms of getting lost in passion, I fear being relatively asensual, that I’ll always have to remain in control, remain aloof and separated. What I’m beginning to suspect is that perhaps I’m just difficult, that I need a lot of time during which I both feel safe and secure, including socially and emotionally, and during which I get sufficiently intensely stimulated, am not allowed to fade out or zone out or dissociate, do not feel the duty to give anything back and so to focus on giving rather than receiving (happens all the time, I always fear being selfish), and am not touched in any of the wrong ways. Maybe if that happens then somewhere there is a state change and I too would lose myself in passion. Or maybe there has to be an emotional connection also. I really hope I can experience that. It seems so, so selfish. And then I think of people I’ve been with who feel guilty for functioning exactly like that. Maybe I function exactly as my girlfriends have, and am as hard to please (and as deserving of that effort) as they? Wouldn’t be the first time it was like that…

Anyway. Then faded out a bit but got to experience violet wanding; tried to push my boundaries by nipple play or so, but while it was fun to experience the electric jolts, in the end it wasn’t strong enough. Perhaps having it directly on genitals while tied up would be something I couldn’t just take, but this was nice but mild.

Then an odd episode. Someone spilled vanilla sauce on himself. I commented that at least something at the party should be vanilla and offered to get a napkin. He offered me to lick it up. So I did, at his feet, and he kept spilling vanilla sauce on his leg while I lapped it up, until I said I’d had enough vanilla sauce. Then we kissed and made out and he gave me pain and pleasure on my upper body through mouth and amazingly strong and capable hands. I felt safe and present mostly, as he was clearly more into giving at this point, and it was mostly surrounding social circumstances – and sort of not knowing him enough to read whether I kept him happy or interested enough, causing again social-style worry – that limited how far I could get to some extent.

This suggests to me that I should make sure not to let social anxieties get in the way. Specifically, it’s great the more I know someone so I can read them, know how they communicate, know what sorts of things they feel, know what they want and what the understanding of the situation is. I will continue to do party play like this, but I’ll hope even more for stable friendships and partnerships as a vehicle for really intense sexual experiences. I need to accept that I stay a social creature also in formal play.

It may also be that I have to acknowledge that I DO have preferences for people, some attract me more than others, and I actually need to be somewhat physically attracted to someone for sex to be able to be as intensive as I want it at least sometime to be…

Then there were some formal sessions/rituals which didn’t do much for me, and I fell out of scope and mood and mindset from having come down, until I was again asked to join play with some people very dear to me in different ways. However, given their relatively more intense dynamic internally, I felt through no fault of theirs that I was somehow in a fifth wheel situation, and having already begun thinking on the above, that moved me even further out, and I spiralled on that thought. In a sense, I realized I really want situations where I don’t worry at all socially, where I feel fully engaged, and where I feel certain we want the same thing, and that this is what we want most and undividedly, right there, right then. Not in all cases, perhaps, but that type of emotional framing for sex, with friends and partners alike, seems like something I may need to focus more on, I need more talk on the framing and perhaps I should be more restrictive on whether a certain time is the right time or not?

Found the way back though as we ended up with me essentially cuddling the others while casually using a vibrator on my bottom parts through clothing. It turned a somewhat challenging situation into a great opportunity. I can’t recall when last I masturbated except as isolated experiment to see whether I still could come, certainly years ago, so having a situation where the best thing to do was to lie in a cuddle pile masturbating was a great learning opportunity. I can indeed stay in pantyhose tuck and use even a small vibrator, I won’t get too hard, and can trace tissues like where outer and inner labia would be, where the clitoris would be, where the vaginal opening would be, can try to trace what touching sensations and pressure on these parts would be like, and that felt safe and good. I could get close to coming, enjoy that, and edge myself for what must have been close to two hours. It takes me time to be able to reach close to climax, I can keep myself close to there and enjoy vibrations, and when I finally went over, I enjoyed that too.

Then the fluid aspect made everything horrible. I don’t ejaculate so much, and it is clear fluid at least, but I loathe it so much because in this setting I end up with the tucking panties getting wet and cold, so the only way out is to again acknowledge the shape of my anatomy. Up until that point I don’t have to. It’s possible that being all wet would be fine if I could be naked (and/or casually wipe off), but getting naked reminds of my shape. I can’t use any other words for it, I can’t type out what others might call my genitals. And loathe getting hard, and can only hide it from myself by tucking.

So… I want to be able to stay relaxed throughout pleasure, but right now, coming means a huge let down, dysphoria spike, logistics. All so cumbersome. I just want to be able to stay present in my embodied self and not have to edit my impressions or keep doing workarounds. Well, maybe I look for confirmation that I should have surgery, but yes. There should be a way around this. And I worry about finding the right technique, and recovery times and challenges, and costs, and things that can go wrong one way or another, and how afraid I will be of complications without easy access to the same surgeon, and how afraid I will be that healing won’t go well, or that nerves won’t work.

I’m still really afraid, and I become more afraid when I think of really doing it end of this year. That’s so close! Barely any time to prepare! However will my life be ready! But at the same time, I want it done now, I want it over with. I want more life post-operatively. I’m definitely on a track here. I briefly implied to my parents I will do it, and to the rest of the world. I think perhaps people won’t be surprised. I hope it will be soon. I hope I won’t regret anything going wrong. I feel guilty that I’d pay so much privately rather than save/invest, if waiting longer would mean insurance coverage. But I realize I won’t wait three years for a body I can be naked in.

In the meantime, I’ll try my best to enjoy sex, and nudity as best I can, and so on. It will be a year of workarounds. But what else is new?

It will be OK.

econ

Got the hope today of maybe making some money through pharma consulting after all. That appealed because of one thought: being able to afford the SRS I want (?) faster. The thought of waiting feels unhappy. The thought of having it done feels appealing. I jump on options for having it done like I want (?) to.

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.