I'm scared

I have just finished writing an eloquent blog on why I’m feeling angry and frustrated and that it’s spilling out.  The paragraph from that, which is the only one that has survived, is the one that made me realise what the problem really was:

“As I write this, I realise my train of thought is in the same direction as my last post.  I’m just looking for a way to cope.  I’m just looking at the same problem again from a different angle.  I’m wasting my mental energy on a problem I’ve already solved, but that I’m afraid to take action on.”

I now know what I need to do, but honestly, I’m scared to do it.   My last post on how to cope received some elegant and helpful responses from some very kind ladies.  Together with my mulling, I realise there are five things I need to do urgently:

• Seek professional support – my doctor is a good place to start and I think they’ll be able to help.
• Find people to talk to about it – ‘nebby’ (Midland-ish for nosy – who knew?) bloggers and other people who I know care about me.
• Go to a support group and talk to other people in my situation.  Does anyone know if such groups mind having really fat girls attending their meetings?  Most seem more glamourous, skinny and chique than I could even dream of being.  
• Find ways of incorporating Rhiannon in without it necessarily being too obvious. 
• Cut down my work and find time to relax properly.  I’ve been overdoing it for far too long now.

Lynn Jones captured it well, as she tends to, with: “it's not going to be bad forever.... but you may have to step out of your comfort zone to get out of the mire”.  That’s the problem and therein too, the rub.  All five of those things are outside of my current comfort zone and I’ve never been well known for being able to ‘man up’ to the challenge.

I’ve cogitated on the advice for a while now.  Tried to find ways of getting different advice that was easier to do.  Ran in and out of the heavy storm a couple of times.  But never really stood out in it properly and got soaked to the skin.  I guess it’s just about putting one foot in front of the other and to keeping doing that until you aren’t angry and frustrated anymore and that instead you are in a happy place.  Not sure that place exists at the moment, but its time to find out.

How do you cope?

I don’t know about you, but I find this life quite tough.  Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t want to change it.  I live for the times when I’m able to present the person I actually am on the inside to the rest of the world.  But it happens only infrequently and it is that infrequency that is the cause of my angst.  And it causes me to have to try to find a way to cope.

It seems hard for people who don’t live with it to understand.  Maybe I’m alone in feeling like this, but it is there with me all the time.  I never go for more than a few minutes without thinking about it.   Every time I look around you, everything I watch on television, every day at work, whenever I go out, there are reminders of what I can’t be and what I can’t have. But worse than that is the ongoing pangs of regret at how things turned out.  Don’t get me wrong, my family, in particular, is important, but I also know that the more I increasingly follow my heart, the more hurt and pain I am likely to cause to them.  Its hard to live with that and it tears at my thoughts all the time and makes me feel sad.  

I clearly don’t begrudge women their gender.  My position is nobodies fault, there is no-one to blame.  If anything I blame myself.  Why did I not realise that this was inevitably going to be the final conclusion in the final analysis.  Why did I not stop the world and get off when I was 30 or 20 or even 10.  Its not like I didn’t know what I was, even then.   When I was growing up, before the internet age, all I had to go on was that transvestism (as it was presented then) was for perverts and weirdos and that society found more deplorable than gay people.  I was both of those things (well, bi-sexual at least) and was horrified at feeling like I did.

But the point is that when you have this secret and know what you know, how do you live a normal existence day-by-day?  I’m afraid to say I don’t.  I work as hard as I possibly can for most of my day - I try to dutifully put the thoughts from my mind and get on.  Some days I succeed better than others.  But then the evening arrives and the structure disappears.  I hold onto work as late as possible - 7, 8 or 9 o’clock.  But with that gone, I found the only thing that numbs it all: I eat a hearty meal and drink more than my share of alcohol.  Alcohol is useful in this fight.  Drinking causes some people to be aggressive, some to gain bravado, some to get loud.  I sleep.  The soporific calming makes me forget about my feelings.  I’ve questioned at times whether I’m an alcoholic if I’m perfectly honest with you.  But I know that I can stop for periods of time if I have to or want to, but there is an addiction of sorts in there.  The release from my thoughts in exchange for a bottle or two of wine or beer.  It seems like a small price to pay.

Except that I'm paying the price: the classic, “moment on the lips, lifetime on the hips” situation.  My weight yo-yos anyway, but I’m at the larger end of it at the moment and that makes it worse.   The small price is becoming a bigger one that is sitting on my body making me look even less like the beautiful girl I want to be.  But also that its not doing my internal organs any favours and I don't want problems into later life.

It strikes me that the only real way of coping is to be what I truly am. 100% out 100% of the time.  But its not possible right now.  So I found myself wondering what others do to cope with this turmoil.  For some I’m sure its sex or drugs, or depression pills or even a shrink.

So can I ask for advice please?  I know I’ve asked for it a lot of late, but you are all a lot more experienced than me and it would be nice to have some new strategies to try to master (or mistress) my thoughts and to take control.

Fluffy Posts Inc.

A non-content entry today.  So apologies to those who like my sparkling wit and eloquent ramblings (an oxymoron if ever there was one).  But I had myself snapped this week and I wanted to share them with you.

I will resume normal service as soon as possible, but in the mean time, I hope that you'll forgive my self indulgent narcissism.  And that you won't be too harsh on a fat chick.

          

 

Female ratings? and androgyny

Don't worry, this isn't a Strictly Come Dancing situation where we have to hold up funny sticks indicating what score we are giving to any passing woman. Or to each other for that matter. Although I think there are some sites that allow you to do that. Off topic, but based on Strictly, wasn't Jason D amazing this week. This girl is in serious danger of getting a crush. Inappropriate, given my 37 years.

Anyway, to the point. I had a fun, interesting email exchange recently with Becca of http://rebeccas-introspective.blogspot.com fame. I was talking about how I want to try to start to blend my male and female personas together a little bit more. Effectively trying to wear female clothes or accessories while ostensibly in drab. I've heard tell that some people out there do this successfully. For example this might be (stereotypically) wearing more pink, or buying and wearing girl jeans, sporting girl socks or even wearing female body spray or perfume. Brave new world.

I'm struggling with this a little and Becca posed one of her usual insightful comments: "it sounds like everything you buy has to go through an internal check as to it's 'female rating' - if it's too high then it's not bought."

This really set me thinking and my reply was: "I definitely do have an internal female checking monitor.  I guess that it is to do with the fact that I've spent my life paranoid that someone might find out my secret.  The challenge now is that I want to raise the female rating level and I'm not quite sure where that new level should be. I need to be both happy personally and also have it so that I draw only the right level of attention to myself.  For example, and it sounds small, but I've started to use Oil of Olay as my moisturiser, but so far it's not drawn any attention, but ridiculously I was nervous when I started because it doesn't smell like a man should. I particularly try to think about what level will avoid tipping off Mrs A so she doesn't ask awkward questions.

"If we use a scale out of 10, previously if an item was above a 3, I'd have to reject it. Now I wonder how I could push it to level 5 to make me happy. And is that noticeable? In reality I want to be an 8 or a 9 out of 10. 

"In guy mode, I'm not very good at working out how to blend androgyny into my wardrobe.  So I have no real clothes that I can wear in boy mode.  I have a couple of pairs of girl jeans that I could wear, but I'm not sure if they look too obviously girl like.  I should ask one of my girl friends for a second opinion.  I think they are more obvious because they have that style of being tighter around the thighs and then they flare out.  Great for heels, but that might be too obvious!  But if I bought some girl boots with a low wedge heel, would that look to girly because they are girls shoes? I wear pink shirts and clothes etc, but they are very much in a man's style.  

"At the moment I'm growing longer nails and am determined to grow my hair out a bit. Things are starting to creep through. But wearing body spray or perfume would probably be a step too far.  I don't know anyone who wears ambiguous or even vaguely womanly perfume - if they did, I would assume that they were very gender ambiguous.  I'd assume that it was a big tell that they were transgendered."

The conversation went on and in reality I want an 11 where I present as a girl all the time, but given that is not realistically on the horizon, what to do? I was wondering what other people who have to live in male mode did to blend in their girl side - to be happy do you have to go to a 5 or above, or do you avoid it completely and push it to 3 or below because dressing as a girl a couple of times a month is enough? If you do try to blend, what do you do -- this girl for one is curious to know.

I panicked...

Last night, I was sat next to Mrs A, watching television. My God isn't X-factor rubbish this year and that was soooo unfair on Rory Bremner. Anyway, the fire was on next to me, and it was a chilly night. That meant, that owing to me occupying the warmest place, I was hot and she was 'just right'. Oh, the sacrifices. It was so hot for me, that I ended up dressed in t-shirt and shorts.

Perfectly normal so far, nothing crossed my mind. Suddenly Mrs A remarks,"have you shaved your legs?" In that moment, the world inverted.

For those of you who aren't regular readers, the current plot is that Mrs A and I split up. We got back together on the basis that I would, by hook or crook, stop my transgendered ways. I genuinely tried for 4 months-ish to do so, but couldn't and have lapsed into my old girl ways. The first step of which was to shave legs, armpits and chest. I'm practised, after 17 years together of hiding this in a stealthy way. Except last night, I forgot. Idiot that I am.

So when she asked, I panicked. Don't you think that's ridiculous? I just completely overreacted and started saying that I hadn't shaved and that my leg hair is always that short and it's really fair and that of course I didn't shave it. Now, neither of those things are a million miles from true, I don't grow much hair naturally, and my leg hair is very very fair. But I'm still not sure I was believed.

Why didn't I just say yes and tell the truth that I had shaved? Believe me, that was the question I asked myself straight way. I reasoned that whether I'm dressing or not, she knows I hate body hair and might actually just think it was a vestige I was holding on to, without actually dressing. But the thing that panicked me was that a scarier line of questioning could result from saying yes. I already think that my reaction will lead to more scrutiny. Upto press, I think I've not done anything (that she is aware of) that would lose trust. And if it's a measure, I've only dressed a dozen times in the last month or so. But her thinking that I'm shaving, could lead to her noticing more and getting suspicious of everything. Or you could say that she already was and she'd been waiting for an opportunity to say something? In my gut, it feels like I'm on the brink of her asking directly whether I've returned to my girl ways and of me having to decide how to answer that.

I thought I was hiding it well. But just writing this post has shocked me. I always say that articulating this stuff makes me look at it in a very different way, yet again the blog delivers for me personally. Why has my life, yet again, become one of sneaking around, hiding, lying to the people I love to protect something I'm proud of and that is not wrong or shameful, but instead is a big part of who I am. Why, in the place of greatest intimacy and supposed trust am I forced to be the pretend me?

Many people I have spoken to have encouraged me to keep the lie in order to keep the marriage. To keep everything that I love - my home, kids, job etc. But I am increasingly uncomfortable with the level of compromise it leaves me with. I'm a heart on her sleeve kinda girl and this is not playing out well for me. I don't want to be the kind of person who lies all the time, it makes me so sad and makes me feel somehow, dirty. I've reluctantly agreed with my advisors and counsellors that it's best to keep the secret, for everyone's sake. Seemingly except mine. I am such a selfish bitch, does this mean it's time to face the music?

Help needed: how do you explain it?

I’ve come out to a fair few people over the last year and am really happy about it.  I have a script that I use now that allows me to test the water and to reveal my secret bit-by-bit.  I start with the ‘easier’ parts of my story and finish up with the doozy that I’m transgendered.

But, having explained it and my situation, many of the people who I tell frustrate me by saying, “So it’s a bit like being an alcoholic then?”  Their meaning behind that is that it’s an addiction that I can’t give up.  To them, this would explain why I would be willing to sacrifice my family, home and life to still be able to be a girl.  I have to say, I blanche every time.  This analogy they use is one that I find almost upsetting.  It implies that this is something that:

a. I’ve chosen to do
b. I could stop if I had enough willpower
c. is deliberately debilitating to my life and health
d. is a negative bad thing that is horrible for the people around me

You get the picture I’m sure and like me I suspect you will find the analogy quite insulting really.  Nothing against people who suffer with alcoholism, but transgender-ness is very different surely.   So, I always disagree with them when they say it, but I’ve never managed to come up with an appropriate alternative.   I toyed with likening it to a terminal disease: it’s something you didn’t chose, won’t change and actually have little control over.  But the issue with that view of it is that you presumably don’t enjoy (in any way at all) having a terminal disease.  Whereas I love being able to be Rhiannon.

So to be honest, I’m stumped.  I was wondering whether anyone else had an analogy they use that I could borrow for when I’m trying to help people understand what is going on with me?  Any help would be gratefully received.

Camp or kitsch

Is it possible for t-girls to be camp?  It probably sounds unusual but it is one of the many questions that have been playing on my mind for a while.   No, I really don't have too much time on my hands - honest.

A few weeks ago one of my friends, who knows about Rhiannon, said that she thought I was camp.  The thing is that I never ever considered myself camp at all, so to be honest I was a little surprised.  My definition of camp is fairly stereotypical and probably slightly prejudicial if I’m honest.  What I mean is that I wouldn’t consider myself camp because I have a normal type of voice and when I’m not in heels, I don’t mince.  Actually I more lumber really.

So I couldn’t fathom what prompted my friend to make the comment and actually why it jarred so much with me.  But in talking to her, we arrived at an understanding that it was things I talk about that make me sound camp rather than me actually ‘acting’ camp, if that makes sense?  

Anyway, I parked it for a couple of weeks without consciously thinking about it.  But every so often I would mention something or a point would come out in a conversation what would make me think, ‘oooh, that is SO camp’!  But I still dismissed it.

Then, last week I started to listen to a new book.  One of the things you need to know about me is that I read and listen to books a lot.  I drive for many hours each week and I voraciously consume audio books. My tastes are wide and varied – I’ve even owned up to recently discovering a penchant for chick lit.

The book in question is Seth Rudetsky’s Broadway nights.  If, according to Wikipedia, the original definition of camp, in the 1909 Oxford English Dictionary was “ostentatious, exaggerated, affected, theatrical; effeminate or homosexual”, then Broadway Nights is 100% well and truly camp.  And Mr Rudetsky, who voices the book, is camper than a scout jamboree .   But the thing is, I loved it.  It was fun, sparky, bitchy, laugh out loud funny and, did I mention, very very very camp?

If I like campiness and am happy to revel in it, surely I must be camp?  And then the thought struck.  Camp is a term applied generally to gay men – so is it even possible for t-girls to be camp too?  Partly I guess it depends on how you view your t-ness…  But assuming we aspire to be more feminine than masculine, I tried to recall whether I’d ever heard of women being referred to as camp.  I couldn’t think of a time when I had seen it – it certainly doesn’t seem to happen very often.  Instead of referring to a woman as camp, people seem to say that they are either being retro or kitsch.  

So, girlfriend, that’s where I arrived – and next time I see that friend of mine I’m going to tell them.  They can call me kitsch and I will own that label, but, as fun as it is, I’m rejecting any campiness.   But the question it leaves me with for you is – are you camp or are you kitsch?