Thursday, 29 September 2011

You were only supposed to blow the bloody doors off

I haven’t blogged for a while.  Sorry.  I have got several drafts of blogs written, but to be honest I lost confidence in my ability to do it,  Don't get me wrong, I don't think my writing is deep and meaningful and that I was lacking a muse or some divine inspiration or anything of that nature.  But I felt like I sounded purile and couldn’t find my groove.  The reason for that, I’ll explain later.  

I know that you all warned me that putting Rhiannon back in the closet was an impossible thing to do.  Deep down I knew that you were right – but I needed to try.  So try I did.  I went for 4 months without so much as presenting any part of me as Rhiannon.  I resisted completely and whilst I was deeply unhappy and conflicted, the effect on my home life was extraordinary.  Things were really happy and relaxed and loving and unpressured.  It was exactly what I hoped for.

Maybe I have something in me that can’t cope with things being too good.  But I really don’t think so, it was the girl in me resurfacing.  Every day she crept up on me.  Small, definite reminders that she was there, that she hadn’t gone.  Every time I thought of her I was sad.  I didn't want her to go and maybe that subconscious need was what meant that it never worked.  Sometimes she was all I could think about.  It is almost as if writing this particular blog was an inevitability.  She would eventually win over in time.

The last two months have been particularly tough.  The real reason I didn’t blog perhaps?  I felt it building up into an all consuming crescendo.  And I crashed, burned and cracked.  Cracking was expensive on two levels. 

Firstly you’ll remember that all of my clothes are in storage.  My kind friend is housing them for me.  Without access to them and in such a desperate need to look at the girl again in the mirror, I hit the shops and one LBD, a white vest top, top, boot cut jeans, underwear, tights, belt, patent black shoes, powder blue pyjamas, nail varnish and body spray later, I had well and truly blown it.  It was bliss.  I then shaved as I used to do until everywhere was hairless and smooth and I smiled – the first really satisfied smile for a long time.  But my bank account was seriously raided!

Secondly, it means that in terms of my partner I am now in a very compromised situation.  If she finds out, I am in so much trouble.  Gender aside (I get that it’s a big aside!), as I said, it’s been happy.  A blip in concentration, coupled with contriteness would have been forgiven and we could have got back on the horse.  Unfortunately I’ve gone far further than only blowing the bloody doors off.  The van got totalled too.  Michael Caine would have been proud. 

So I am back at square two.  I am Rhiannon again, but I have some new knowledge: no matter what I try, she won’t be put into the corner.  I'm going to have to do something else to try to reconcile my life with my need to present as Rhiannon.  

Any advice right now would be greatly appreciated, it really would.