Sweet News!

I’ve been feeling fat this past week.  I was certain I had gained weight – maybe taking me back to 240+.  Not good.

Then I weighed myself this morning.

Ready for this?

229.0 lbs!

Wow!  That’s me over eating and feeling fat.  It’ll get even better as I lose more weight!  Of course Vanessa, with her stomach issues, is down to 188 lbs.

Nevertheless I’m staying in the 220’s!  I gained 1 pound from “over eating.”

I’m loving having a friend (Teresa) at work who gives me compliments and pointers.  We finally had a chance to share lunch on Wednesday.  That was fun as well.

I love being a woman.  There is so much to learn, so much to unlearn and yet I’ve come so far in just a few months.  It’s a wonderful feeling.

Today I wore my new dress.  It’s a green mini-dress with a blue and green see-through a-line knee-length dress over it.  My off-white (loose) sweater, nylons and tan heeled boots complete the outfit.

Oh, me.  Oh, my.  Miniskirt?  ME?

:: blush :: yes.

Rebecca likes it.  Teresa likes it.  I love it, though I think I need to walk through some populated place like WalMart of the Crabtree Mall and see how many heads I turn – if not for the too masculine face, then for the great outfit.


A Story Response

This is a real comment on YouTube.  The video is a child exploring their world and wanting to be called “she” instead of “he.”  Rather than blast the person, I figured I’d write a little something around my desired response:

“HE is just a mentally disturbed boy, pretending to be a girl, encouraged by irresponsible parents.  Those are facts!  Nothing disrespectful to see here.”

The professor turned to face the room.  “This is the kind of junk ‘science’ we see so often.” making air quotes around “science.”  “It’s infuriating to think so many people are so narrow minded and unwilling to gain even a basic understanding before they judge and pronounce sentence.”

He paused.  “But there it is… over and over and over.”

“What’s worse?”  The professor stopped at this question.

Students looked at each other.  Were they supposed to answer?

Someone from the back shouted, “Rape.”

The professor smiled.  “Yes, rape is worse.  But think within this context.  What are people doing that makes them such hypocrites?”

The class remained silent for a moment.  Nobody seemed to know what the professor was driving at.

“People think they have a right to tell others what they can or cannot do while they sit around complaining about others restricting their rights.

“So let us treat this comment with the same respect it shows the transgender individual.  Does anyone have a proper response?”

At this the class began muttering.  Insults are easier to fashion than compliments.

“Brainless Loser!” came the first shout.

“That’s a start.” confirmed the professor.  “Keep it going.”

“You willing moron. Go read something useful. Maybe you can become a useful person some day.”

“Nice.  It describes their mental state, gives them a solution and suggests they might become more constructive.  All while it’s degrading and insulting them.”

“Is this how we should treat each other, donkey excrement?”

“I’m sure we can all devolve into monkeys and sit around throwing scat at each other.  Would that suit you better, dog breath?”

“Very good.  Thank you.”  The professor stopped the class before the insults got too thick.

“Whether you were this person or the child, it’s not so fun when the desire to tear someone down is directed at you, is it?”


My Transgender Parable

I was driving down the road assured by everyone I’m doing good and headed the right way.  Life is good and people are happy.  Thing is, my car is misaligned and keeps pulling me into on-coming traffic.  Each day I dodge around a few cars and get back on the road, hoping I can hold the wheel steady forever.

I do research and speak to a number of mechanics. They all tell me using a steering additive will fix the problem but it leaks and will slowly change my car’s color.  I never liked my car’s color anyway.

A group of people speak up:

  • “It’s wrong. The manufacturer says steering additives are bad.”
  • “Your car is fine because, well, look at the outside.”
  • “Fixing your car will kill you. The manufacturer says so.”
  • “You can’t fix it.  Your car will always be a car.  Nothing will change that.”

So I listen to them and the voice of fear and keep driving as-is.

Day after day I struggle to keep my car in-line.
Day after day it gets harder and I get weaker.

Eventually I lose control, side-swipe another car and crash into a building.  It severely hurts the other driver.  I’m so tired of fighting, so amazingly overwhelmed I lay down and start to bleed out.

“Luck” finds me.  Someone manages to revive me and patch me up enough to get back in the car.  Other than some scrapes and dents the car’s body fairs well but it’s even harder to handle on the road.  Another collision is imminent.

Now that same group of people keep texting and calling me, giving me the same stories. They tell me to keep driving as-is because the car’s body is fine. But I KNOW better because I’ve been driving it all my life.

Is it wise to continue driving when you KNOW it will quickly lead to not only your own death but serious damage and possibly death to others?

Car = my body
Driver = my mind and spirit

Amazing Results
I’ve been taking that additive for almost a year. The price exacted by others is very high. But my car is driving true.  I can finally let go and let God drive.

So much of my life has become easier to handle. I can THINK more clearly and multitask so much better. Mountainous problems have become little more than hills easily conquered – especially with God’s help.

Best of all: no more secrets.  I don’t need to hide from myself, others or God like I did before.

I just wish others would stop trying to convince me I’m wrong.

Remembering Trouble

Preface (edit):

The past few days have been hard.  I’m questioning my decisions, questioning my heart, questioning my status and state in life.  The only thing I’m not questioning is my transition.

In many ways I don’t know who I am anymore, only what I am striving to become.  But “what” is not “who”.

Now Vanessa is in serious trouble.  As a result my doubts have increased and my mood has turned dark.  It will pass, though it’s hard to see when.  In the meantime dark moods tend to reminisce about a dark past.

I am still a wreck.  My heart is still in pieces, bleeding pain into my life.  And I again I am trapped with nowhere to go and a sinking feeling I needed to be somewhere else yesterday.

Please keep all that in mind when reading the following from this morning:



I remember being told you were leaving in the middle of the night.  This was somehow protecting James.  I agreed to leave instead and you stood there repeatedly telling me to get out.

A week later I had barely contacted you.  You insisted I come over so we could talk about finances.  I had asked for reasons to give you $300 per week.  What I got was an attack.  I barely said anything as you did most of the talking.

It started with, “You’re not going to like this.”

Then you proceeded to give me a list of fix-it items, insisting that I wrote them down.  I still have that list.  During this you repeatedly bashed me.  I still don’t remember the exact words, but I do know I asked you to please stop.  At that you backed down a bit.

I then started talking about week-to-week finances and you shut me down with a, “I don’t care” statement.  I was devastated, ready to burst into tears.  I held it as long as I could – just long enough to get in the car.  Then I cried my way back to my friends.  I cried hard and long that night.

The next day I was served with the restraining order.

A week later at court I was expertly turned into some evil jerk looking to destroy you and your son.  The order stayed in place.

With 1 exception I haven’t hurt anyone physically since I was 18.  And that 1 exception was not deliberate.  I was not trying to throw you into a wall.  I was trying to get you out of the way so I could escape.  If I had aimed a little I could have sent you to the stairs or straight down the hall.  But I was panicked.  I was livid.  I was in horrible pain on top of suffering horribly with dysphoria.

Meanwhile for years I suffered while standing with you, holding you up.  For years any time I needed help with my dysphoria I was verbally abused.  Just to say the word “transgender” in a conversation would result in a nice verbal lashing.  Any time I would go to the LGBT center I was questioned as if I was cheating.  I was made to feel uncomfortable for seeking help because you thought they were trying to convince me to transition.  I could not get comfortable around you but I tried.  Lord knows I tried.  Day after day I sat loving you, hoping you would reach out and help me.

But it never came.

Instead I got labeled a villain and kicked to the curb.

That still hurts.  It’s a wound that may never heal because it broke my heart so hard and so deeply.  I nearly died.  I was repeatedly ready to die, though I cannot take my own life.  You know, just lay down and not wake up.

That changed my life and the ripples are still rebounding off me.

As a result of the restraining order I lost the church.  My moral support was ripped from me.  I was set adrift and for a time (with help from other “christians”) I lost God entirely.

Do you know what really hurt?

Nobody was upset.  Nobody tried to bring me back to God.

Not 1 soul.

(Okay, I have to admit Rebecca did suggest I find another church with more accepting standards.  But there was no concern when she suggested it, almost as if she expected me to leave.)

Can you imagine the horror?  Can you imagine feeling cut off from God?  Can you imagine feeling like everything is being stripped from you?   My status, my home, my family, my happiness, my sanity, my love… gone.

All this was because I could not handle my dysphoria and could not find help.

And now my friends are having big troubles – the only people who cared and took me in.

Am I cursed?  I keep asking myself that and wondering what can be done.  Should I just drop off the map, go hide in some hole deep in some forest?  Everything in my life is rotting away or being stripped from me.

Is it any wonder my work performance shot up but has steadily dropped?

I’m torn and tattered.

I’m tired of the stress.

I’m tired.

I’m depressed.

My friend is lying in the other room sick and dying.

My wife will see me but encounters are a big stress unto themselves.

I’m tired.

1 Saved Child

I’m only a few months into living my life full time.  Being me is so rewarding.  I can’t imagine how much more rewarding it would be to have transitioned when I was entering puberty… or 20… or 30.

I actually feel sorry for people who scream hate at us for expressing who we are.  They have such a narrow view of life.  And to think they fill it with hate.  How miserable they must be.  Oh, sure, they’ll claim joy or happiness now and then.  They will never reach the level of joy, peace and contentment we feel when we can finally take a breath and start being ourselves.

This little girl gets to do it correct.

I wish I were as lucky as Rebekah.  Nevertheless the sense of relief at her living a full life as herself brings me such joy.  1 less person living a hollow life.