It's been a while..

It's been a long time, I've been up and down and all around the world inside my little world and here I am again. It's been a change of pace a change of job a change of living space a change of me and back to old me and then change again. It never stops changing here and that's ok, I like the change I like the constant roar of back and forth of not quite knowing where I'll be or who I'll be when I wake up.

So Since I've been away aside from the job and new place to live I've given up on love and then found it again ( funny how the universe will always pop along to dangle some sort of delicious treat in the form of something you've just given up to tempt you just as you swear you'll never eat it again and before you know it your stuffing your face full of it, but that's ok too I like it. ) I went to my local psych for an evaluation and apparently I'm not to crazy to go to the gender clinic and so i got an appointment for October, I was happy to wait, I'd waited this long and a few months for time to adjust to the idea of doing something about changing was nothing compared to the years I've spent agonizing over whether or not I should do anything at all. Then I got a letter saying my appointment has been pushed up to June, suddenly the reality is more real and more scary. I'm torn between the excitement and the wanting to finally move a little further along that road to being more me and the fear of what that me might be. How will I change, who will I change into, will I like the me I become? Will this change change the friends I have found or the friends I have kept. Will I remember to take a breath every now and then to take stock and just make sure I am really going where I want to go. Everything is changing..

Afraid..

I am afraid, afraid that you think I came across this easily, that somehow it is some childish whim, this dialectic between body and mind. I am afraid that because I cannot find the words to tell you, that the best I can do is point dumbly at a TV screen when something similar to the way I feel comes on. That you see me as some kind of perverse child pointing out the latest toy of obsession from the Saturday morning advertisements. That I am somehow playing with fashion, a desire to be special and cool like the other kids. Not that this has wriggled around inside me for decades, that it eats away at my flesh from day to day. Each time some stranger sees me, the not me, not the me, each time a friend calls me out exposes my un me ness to someone I have just met and am hoping for a second or two that they may see the me ness and know me thus.

It is like I am a boy in a dress, I know I am a boy yet everyone can only see the dress. They do not care that I walk and talk and feel like a boy, they only know that girls wear dresses and so I am a girl. I cannot take the dress off, at least not easily and I am afraid that if I do take off the dress then I will loose a part of me I can never have again. What does it all mean, what does this mean? Am I imagining this? One day I am sure I want to take the dress off and the next I am clouded with confusion, drowning in questions and self doubt. Waiting for some magic answer to answer all my questions and set me down on the road I need to travel.

It's not like this body and I do not share intimacy, we have shared the same space for 30 odd years now, felt the same joys and pains. We have known love and self destruction together and survived and although I know it is not mine I cannot deny like my oldest of friends this body knows me. It bends to my will, whether it wants to or not, whether I want it to or not. I am afraid that if I finally give in to this need to change this body I will be doing it for the wrong reasons. Afraid that in change I will become part of the problem and not the solution. Where does my responsibility lie? And yet here I am again and again and again, the same question, the same need to rid myself of this body and find my body, to keep this body and learn to live with this my body. Over and over again, I am exhausted by it, demoralized that I have come so far and yet it is the same set of questions over and over that I still cannot answer.

Again!?!

I know it seems almost incomprehensible that I would be posting again. I guess I have hit a prolific patch no doubt triggered by my misery as seems to be the way why can I never write reams of prose and poetry when I am feeling stable that's what I want to know. I've had a lot of thinking towards the poetic in the last few weeks. I rarely carry a notebook with me these days as it tends to attract the attentions of drunks and homeless folk who are then compelled to sit and have conversations with me which I really don't mind but it does interrupt the flow of words I must confess. I have thought about putting them on this blog but my concern there is that my focus will be lost here as I do occasionally wander off the point at times I try and keep it at least roughly in the ball park so to speak so I suppose I may start another just for the more creative rambling it's nice to have that back.

So I was hanging out at a friends today and saw a documentary on sky called sex change, it followed the journey of a MTF having top surgery and a FTM learning to be more feminine and having electrolysis. It was an interesting show I could see that people were trying to handle the subject with some sensitivity but not really understanding the full depth of the subject. I guess a case of too much subject matter, not enough time. As always seeing the FTM having top surgery made me smile and then that familiar twang of jealousy in me as they try on a shirt and walk down the street for the first time, I can still hear myself quietly longing for it still afraid to say it out loud but wanting so much to be that person looking in that mirror at a flat male chest. I am so horribly afraid of it all going wrong I can't afford to go private and the NHS isn't known for the best care. I could of course be wrong I've never been to the gender clinic I don't know what it's like I know a bunch of people who have been and they seem to think it's a good place.

I feel that impatience in me that long standing everyday of my life longing to be a boy again. To wake up and find that these breasts, that belong to someone else, not me, have finally gone. That I am finally me, oh god, it is so tangible I can touch it, that want, that need. Run my fingers over it, feel it's smooth metallic tenseness, it's unyielding qualities, unrelenting, grown thick over the years. Buried deep in my flesh, hot with it's insistence. I don't want to give into it, I don't know why, I am afraid of it's intensity and afraid of what it will surely mean for my future life. What unsurities it will mean for my future life.