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.

Steps and Starts

I didn't think it would be a big deal this, walking down the road to somewhere I've been before, the windows frosted so no one can look in, not that they'd want to anyway I'm sure. I've been here before long ago for a whole different reason, same purpose, different reason. This new purpose, new resolve it's a bit like burning, it warms and hurts me. Makes me question so much that I am not even sure I should be doing this. My heart pounds nervously against my ribs, I feel cold and my skin is hot as I fill out forms and give the uninterested bordering on belligerent receptionist my 3 forms of ID.

It's been playing on my mind for months now, this question, I could not find an answer. It twisted it's way around and inside me like wire, cutting and strangling out the small corner of joy and peace I had dug out. I slept on it for night after night turning the question over and over in my mind. What if, why not, but, maybe it's like a nest of worms these questions turning in my guts, strangling the air out of me until I can't think about anything else. I want to talk about it, to anyone who will listen and yet when they are in earshot I can't find a word to say out loud. My tongue rebellious will not speak of it, my guts rot with the questions swallowed by it.

So here I am, I could not ask anymore, I could not circle it one more time, here I am exhausted and broken by myself in this dirty GP office registering to ask for a referral to a Psychologist. They say at best it'll take 7 months for a referral and a part of me sighs with relief I want the time, I need it. I can't rush into this I think secretly I am hoping that in time the idea will wear away, just be a phase or someone will say nope that's not what it is, it's this. Somewhere I'm hoping against hope someone can prove me wrong. Pluck this thought out of me and put it in a jar filled with surgical spirit sterilized and confined so I can take it home and show it off like a gall stone whenever I need to whip out an entertaining anecdote. I remember the time I thought I wanted a different body *big belly laugh*.

I am terrified I won't find that middle ground I am fighting so hard to stay on, I'll be swept away in the promise of it all, find that what I really want, what I cannot deny is to get on that train and ride it all the way...