T14: Three months! More fishing and more belly hairs

Yesterday marked three full months on T!  Woot!  It has been feeling like things are going really slowly lately, but when I re-read where I was back in late February and March, I’m reminded just how far I’ve come, both mentally and physically.

The acute anxiety I was having initially has decreased so dramatically.  Its gone from nearly every night to maybe once every week or two, and it feels exponentially less intense even when it does hit.  This is largely due to my adopting a ‘fuck it’ attitude around how I’m supposed to label myself now, although xanax gets to take some of the credit.  I am still uncomfortable with the word ‘man,’  although guy, dude, fella, etc. all feel perfectly comfortable.  So what am I?  I just can’t fucking care right now.  I’ll get there in due time, but I know I am able to feel grounded in my own skin for the first time ever.  I know that T was the right move.

I’m still working on bolstering my emotional coffers enough to tell my family, but again, so what?  I’m a grown ass adult.  I don’t owe them my coming out (again).  It’ll be time when it damn well is.  In many ways, I really appreciate having my transition be just about me for the time being.  I am a deep introvert at heart, and I really enjoy that for now I can spend my energy caretaking my own self, getting cozy in and right with my own skin before I start having to crisis manage for them as well.

My body is definitely changing.  While some days the changes feel nearly imperceptible, other days they seem impossibly huge.  Last night I got home and, as always, stripped off my binder before I had done anything else.  I lay in bed and my hand happened to brush my stomach.  Something felt at once new, strange and also surprisingly familiar.  Belly hair.  I’ve seen it sprouting up, dark and conspicuous, for weeks now.  My stomach has always been a huge source of shame, dysphoria, yuck for me and I have not only avoided acknowledging its existence myself but also asked partners in the past to leave it be.  So I hadn’t actually felt all these hairs before now.  They. Are. AMAZING!  I love them.  Like, really really love them.  Like, they have a new little corner tucked away in my heart just for them, love.

To be fair, I have hairs sprouting everywhere.  Legs, ass, upper lip, side burns, unibrow, tip of my nose (little fuckers).  And I’m sure that, just like kids, you shouldn’t pick favorites.  I totally have though.  These ones, the silken black pelt ‘tween tits and crotch…  these are mine.

My voice has deepened pretty dramatically, most of the time.  My old vocal range is long gone, although some days I am farther from it than others.  My mother continues to ask if I have a cold each time we talk on the phone.  Nope, I don’t think so.   Am I sure?  Pretty sure.

I sweat now.  My skin is oily all the time.  Acne is a constant on my face, my ass, the insides of my thighs.  I smell like a fucking man.

My muscles continue to grow, although I’m putting on some weight since I stopped working out and they aren’t as visible as I’d like.  Time to get that gym membership.  I keep talking about it, thinking about it, but its time to just do it.  I don’t care too much about my weight, but I look round in a very feminine way.  I have those big ‘child bearing hips’ that people have been telling me about since (the first) puberty.  I don’t really want those.  I want to see the definition in my arms and legs, in my chest as much as it’s possible.

Then there’s the libido which waxes and wanes with everything else.  Even at my calmer moments, though, sex is still a near constant background thought.  And with the wee fledgling dick that is finally, um, peeking it’s head from the nest if you will, its harder (ha ha) to ignore such frequent arousal.  Ooof.

I went fishing yesterday to celebrate.  Caught another nice walleye, although I had many more on the line that snapped it before I could net them.  I even hooked a 3ft or so sturgeon.  It jumped a good foot out of the water and broke my ill-equipped 6lb test line as it landed.  That fight was fun while it lasted though.  I stayed out til nearly 9:30pm and watched the full moon rise amongst the orange and pink clouds on the horizon.  It was so fucking beautiful.

On that idyllic note, my friends, I am signing out.  Till next week!

T13: Fishing and a Snake

No real transition notes.  Shit has stalled.  The only thing really growing is my stomachs (and my ass).  I may have sprouted, like, three new mustache hairs, but only on the right side.

A few weeks ago, hanging out with C having drinks, he started giving me his insights on the social aspects of transition.  “What I’m about to tell you is gonna sound really judgemental, and it shouldn’t be like this, but it is and so I’m going to tell you anyways.  Because you need to know.  Now that you are transitioning, and people start to see you as masculine, you need to know that you will be hanging out with friends, especially women, thinking that everything is cool and you’re just friends, just hanging out, but you aren’t.   They will have crushes on you, and will be resenting you for it.  They will say everything is fine and we’re just friends.  Its a lie!  They are resenting you.  And you need to know.”   I’m sure it was somewhat tongue in cheek, cause obviously broad generalization are not usually a trannies best friend.

And then it happened.  I’ll avoid even first initials here, just in case.  But I heard through the grapevine that a newish friend “totally wants to fuck you.”  One who I totally would not fuck.  While it may be flattering and all, it also makes me feel uncomfortable hanging out with her.  I’ll admit that there were desperate moments where I thought about it, but even in those moments my better judgement prevailed and was able to recognize what a terrible idea that would be.  Ooof.  The struggle is real.

Most of this last week has been spent fishing just outside of town, and it is some of the best therapy o could give myself.  Just me, a pole, calm waters, herons, eagles, and the occasional visit from a fish.  I caught a beautiful 21 inch walleye on Thursday that made for some delicious fried fish for dinner.   That same day, fishing along the bank, I was joined by a group of three guys who were super friendly and we intermittently chatted about fishing between casts.  At one point, one of them came over to check out the walleye.  He mentioned, “I mean, no offense, I’m just not used to seeing a girl fishing.”  Ugh.  Binder on, dude shorts, dude shirt, camo snapback.  Fucking girl…?  Ugh.

Lastly, my son and I got a new housemate yesterday.  His name is Salazar and his is a rather stunted-in-growth ball python.  The woman we got him from has been feeding him frozen/thawed pinkies, and having a rough time getting him to eat at that.  After he got well and settled in, my son and I went and got him a fresh, adult mouse.  I, uh, dispatched of it and offered it to Sal that night, half expecting him to refuse it.  He’s molting and just moved, and if he weren’t so underweight I probably wouldn’t have offered food that soon.  He got so excited, though, and struck almost immediately.  He had that thin down in minutes and was back to his little hidey hole in no time.  My so was stoked, and pretty entertained with watching the snake swallow it’s dinner whole.  Especially the testicles.  He thought that was hilarious.

On that note, folks, I’m off to finish the work day.  Living’ the dream.

 

T10: Meh

Starting my tenth week today.  Shot day has become nearly routine now.  I look forward to it largely because of the emotional stability that the testosterone provides, and the subsequent lack of stability that creeps in as the week comes to it’s end.  I’ve begun considering bi-weekly shots or even the pellets lately.  The swing is a lot to deal with and I already come with plenty of built in anxiety.  The combo is not so cute come Friday.

I spent last night at a ladies arm wrestling competition with C and a friend of his.  We were pretty chill compared to the rest of the folks there, lounging on the sofas in the way back of the bar.  C was more present with his friend than with me, which was completely reasonable.  The two had come together and his friend was going through some really rough times.  But that good old anxiety kicked in and, after going home, I began to fixate on whether he was upset with me.  Was it the petty remark I made about my ex last week?  Was it something to do with our tattoo trade?  Does he (does everyone) not take my transition seriously, and is he resentful of that?  This began to cascade.  Suddenly, I felt like I was losing all of my friends, my small core of people.  The few I’ve let close.  How can I do this by myself?  Am I strong enough to transition, to come out to my family, without my people to hold me up?

My shot was about an hour ago.  I’m sure all will feel fine by this evening so I’m just going to breathe until then.  I acknowledge that this will likely pass.  I recognize that I have chosen my friends well and that I can trust them even when I don’t.  But fuck…  these are the times I wish I wasn’t single and transitioning.  I wish I had someone by me during the wee hours to remind me that it’s all just fine.

Anyhoo…  I realized this week that I haven’t talked much about muscle growth and the discomfort that’s come with it.  I had to stop doing P90x at some point because the inherent muscle growth on top of working out was making my body such a wreck that I was in constant pain.  Most of this was in my neck and shoulders.  I started walking around with rolled in shoulders like some beefed up Jersey Shore frat bro.  It wasn’t posturing, it was just how my body was holding itself.

My shoulders have basically outgrown my binders, so that’s been fun.  My ass has shrunk enough that all my pants now require a belt, but my calves have grown enough that most of them are now tight on the lower leg.

I’m tired.  Like, all the time.

I dunno man, this week has actually been really great on paper, but I’m fucking tired and anxious and having a rough time being halfway out and transitioning is hard.  No shit, right?  I just… dude, I just need a fucking hug.

T9: Late nights and such

I’m glad this week is at its close.  I am a procrastinator, so I put off my taxes and some other stressful money stuff until the very last minute (yesterday) and spent all week avoiding them.  My anxiety level has been through the roof.  I have been spending all my free time outside the house in order to cope/not have to deal with shit.

Tuesday night I got drinks with C.  We didn’t stay out long, but its always nice to spend time together that isn’t part of our massage/tattoo trade.  I tried to make a concerted effort to not talk about transition or the breakup too much (he and my ex are friends from high school).  All the same we ended up discussing how very, very much I need to get laid.  He feels like that need never really goes away, but that you just become accustomed to it over time.

On Wednesday I went out with L and her buddy D.  D seems to identify as butch and a stud.  She’s also kiiiiinda chauvanist.  Doesn’t really seem to get what trans is.  She is a hot mess right now.  She and her gf broke up less than two weeks ago, and last week she made out with her roommate, who is dating her other roommate.  There is tension. There is drama.  She’s been crashing on L’s sofa for the last week and driving a rental car so her ex won’t know where she’s staying.  Damn.

So anyways, we all went out for drinks and pool.  D is bro-y as fuck, L is her usual loud self.  D kept sheing me and I still feel too awkward calling her, or anyone, on it.  I mean, I still haven’t explicitly asked for the change.  Any more, though, when I hear she or her it feels so gross and clearly doesn’t fit to the point that it seems intentional (even if it isn’t really).

I won every game of pool that night.  Ate a burger the size of my head, and 15 min later remembered what a bad idea that is with a binder on.  We discussed getting matching striped suit jackets and starting a queer acapella group that will randomly show up and bust out crooning at queer dance nights. I’ll get all the low parts once my voice comes in.  🙂  L regaled the two queer women in the bar with stories of foot fungus on massage clients (way to go buddy).  We left for a karaoke bar once the queer bar we were at went dead.

Once there, L spotted the most attractive coupled woman in the room, pointed, and said she would dance with her by the end of the night.  She has this thing about ‘stealing’ straight guys’ girlfriends, even if only for a minute.  She may get them to dance, she may ask them to be Jasmine to her Aladdin while singing A Whole New World, or she could just straight up leave with them.  You never know.  What is certain, though, is that straight dudes fucking hate this.  The guy on Wednesday night was no exception, although he tried to play it cool for a bit.  By the time we left, though, he was ready to fight and yelling something to his girlfriend about a bulldyke (PS, L is not actually a bulldkye, he was just soooo straight that he didn’t know the difference).  D and I attempted to hasten L’s departure and we managed to all leave before punches were thrown.

We went to her place for a bit.  The ladies introduced me to tinder and we watched Harry Potter.  I left around 3am, still wired.  “Well shit, I forgot the grocery shopping today.  Might as well.”  WinCo is open 24 hrs so I went and got groceries at 3:30am, in bed by 5am Thursday morning.  I haven’t stayed out like that since my teens.  The whole evening was ridiculous but also, I think, needed.

A few more mellow drinks the next night.  I roasted a chicken, sliced it up, and brought it to the bar with me at the request of my friends.  Went home early, got to bed early, and it was divine.

Yesterday, after I picked up my son (who has fucking strep throat)  we went out to my parent’s place so I could use their tax software.  Got the taxes done, got another huge bill sorted, ordered new checks while I was at it.  All the stressful shit all at once.  I was a mess and felt like puking  nearly the whole time.  At one point, thinking I had made a mistake on my federal returns, I hit my max.  I’ve always been quick to tear up when I am angry or frustrated.  But yesterday I realized that there were no tears coming.  I was able to calmly tell my mom I was taking a break, and snuck a cigarette break while driving a couple miles away to one of my other chores for the day.  I got that done, also without vomiting or crying.

By the end of last night, though, my adulting list for the week was nearly empty.  I have the day off from work today since the kiddo is sick.  He’s feeling alright, but still possibly contagious, so we may just go fishing or something for the day since the weather is great.

Oh yeah, on the T front…  my voice is still dropping pretty quickly.  For three days my chinhas felt like there are glass slivers embedded in it, which I assume means that hairs are ready to start growing there.  The acne is mellowing a bit, thank god.  My calf hair is reproducing exponentially and the hair in my nethers is starting to creep closer to my legs.  I was sir-ed at a rural grocery store last week, only to have the person apologize on closer inspection.  It was like this great, triumphant moment for just a sec, and just as quickly it was dashed.  Ugh.  I’m ready to stop feeling so in-between.  Although, as C points out, you’re just trading that in for invisibility.

Ah well…  I’m off to make Dutch babies with the kiddo.  All the best to you each this week.

Captain’s log: Supplemental

Jesus christ, its 11:30 and again I am nowhere near sleep.  Dysphoria, transition anxiety, money anxiety, anxiety anxiety, all the goddamn anxiety.

I want to win the lottery.  No, really.  I wouldn’t have to rely on my family, or anyone, for shit and I could just come out.  To everyone.  I could pay for top surgery.  I could pay for my friends’ top surgeries.  I could afford a therapist.  Buy a house with some land.  Never have to see another soul again unless I invite them over.  Get a Maserati and soup up the Blazer.  Set a small fortune aside for my son.

I want these things gone so bad.  Tits, man…  I’ve wanted them gone since long before I was out.  I’m done with them.  So over it.  Just… fuck!  Fuck!  More than any other change, I just. want. them. gone.

I want all the stressors in my life to be gone, who am I kidding.  My kid’s dad, the tension between my ex and I, the IRS, faulty alternators, messy houses, a job that never quite pays enough, days that are never quite long enough, every right wing conservative ever, cops, every abusive narcissistic asshole ever.  And fucking capitalism.  That too.

I just want a fucking break.  I want a chance to breathe one of these days.

T8: When it rains…

This last week has been lots of stress.  I still haven’t done my taxes, the brakes on my truck crapped out, I’m getting more and more anxious about coming out to my folks, plus bills upon bills to pay on an unexpectedly small paycheck.  To top it all off, my ex decided to fuck up our parenting schedule and just generally act like a prick.  I swear he has some supervillain spidey sense for when I am at my highest anxiety level, and those are the times he goes in for the kill.

T stuff has been pretty chill this week.  My moods are still a little intense at times.  I feel less patient, quick to anger, but it also passes so much quicker.

I soooooo need to get laid.  I envy every trans dude ever who transitioned while in a relationship.  The lust has hit, but I am crap at hooking up.  I am incapable of going out to a bar with the sole intention of getting laid.  It doesn’t help that my house is a wreck right now and I wouldn’t bring anyone back here even if I could.  I just…  ungh…  really, really, really am having some needs right now.

I think the chest hairs that had started growing are gone.  I don’t know where or how, but they don’t seem to be on there any more.

Same goes for my bits.  Still a tad larger than pre-T, but there seems to have been some, ahem, shrinkage.  Maybe it’s just atrophied from lack of use.  Ha ha!

My muscle growth has stalled since I haven’t been able to work out with K in over a week.  I need to start doing things here at home on my own.  I need to buy weights.  Maybe next paycheck.

I’ve also been really tired.  I don’t know if that is from the T, from anxiety, lack of exercise, or some combination.  I feel like I could sleep for the next week, though, and still not be caught up.

I also went back to that FTM group again, this time with C.  There were more people this time, and most were younger.  The moderator was struggling to moderate the group, and some folks were saying some problematic shit without being called on it.  C is a great person to have around in times like that, because he will not hesitate to tell it like it is.  “It’s only bitching if you’re a woman,” said one person.  “That is some gender essentialist bullshit and totally unnecessary here,” says C.  Boom.  The same person was later discussing wanting to be a midwife, but felt they could no longer persue that since birth is a women’s space.  This was where I spoke up.  I reminded them that there are plenty of trans men birthing babies, especially in Portland, and plenty of trans midwives to boot.  I pointed out how much that sacred womanhood shit had alienated me during my pregnancy, even though I wasn’t identifying as trans yet.  Poor thing looked like a deer caught in the headlights.  A lot of these guys seem to think that transitioning is an excuse to do away with feminism or a recognition of queer identities, that being a man means no longer having to question the gender roles forced on us, or that becoming hyper masculine is the only “right” way to transition.  I don’t believe that.  I am still tender hearted, still a nurturer, and still a flaming homo.  I could go on but I’ll spare you.  

Other highlight of the week included going out to the hot springs with friends, replacing the brake pads and one rotor on the truck, and then having it die in the middle of the woods again yesterday.  So it’s either a shit battery or I’ve got to rebuild the alternator.  L drove the 2 hours out to the middle of nowhere to jump the truck so I could get my son home safe.  Oof.  Long week.  I’m fuckin pooped.  Til next week folks.

T7: .5 is a lot

As I mentioned last week, my dose just went up to the full .5 each week.  .3 caused a lot of changes, really fast, and I was a bit hesitant to increase the dose just yet, but fuck it.

I realized throughout Saturday and Sunday that the T hadn’t been effecting my mood too terribly much, until then.  Saturday evening I went out to Blow Pony, one of the many queer dance nights in this town of plenty.  The friend I was meeting there ended up leaving within 15 minutes.  I should probably explain that I am a classic introvert, and have pretty intense social anxiety when I am alone in crowds.  That said, she leaves and I am all of a sudden by my lonesome in a sea of hundreds of sweaty, hot queers.  Oof…  I see this couple walk by and both of them caught my lusty little eye until I realized it was my ex’s bestie and her girlfriend.

I haven’t talked much about my ex, R, on here, but we split up maybe two or three weeks before I started T.  He still doesnt know, or at least I don’t mean for him to.  The breakup was messy.  The whole relationship was.  I love him deeply, still, but we both have pretty intense trauma/abuse histories, both had some low moments together, and then he up and left one night, screaming at me from down the street that he was never speaking to me again.  He still hasn’t.

I tried talking to him while we were together about how I really didn’t identify as a woman, how I wanted top surgery, etc.  He is also trans and was the first partner, the first person really, that I ever thought I could talk to and have them get it.  Instead, he seemed uninterested with the topic.  I think in some way he needed to own trans in our relationship.  He often “forgot” and called me ‘pretty’ despite the fact that he knew how disgusting that word made me feel.  Twice, while we were fucking, I let him know that I really wasn’t into him messing with my chest right then and his response was, “I’m not doing it for you, it’s for me.”

So anyways, his best friend walked past with her girlfriend, the one R stayed with after he left.  My mind went alight with just about every emotion all at once.  Grief (still), anger, discomfort, impudence…  I felt both cornered and heated as fuck, so I left.

It stuck with me though, and Sunday was absolute hell.  I was pissed about every damn thing imaginable and unfortunately Sundays are a work day for me.  I don’t even remember what I did that night.  Maybe I went to the bar?  I seriously don’t know, I just remember that I hated everything.

Oh yeah, this may have been what I did Sunday night.

By Tuesday, I had mellowed out a fair bit and went to an FTM peer support group here in town for the first time.  It was awesome to meet with folks ranging in age from 15 or so on up into their 60s or maybe 70s.  Guys from all different walks, each transitioning in their own way.   Some of us went out for drinks after.  It was so normalizing to be out, in the world, discussing transition with people you weren’t having to explain it all to.  With folks who weren’t scandalized by conversation about trans dick.  Folks to whom you are neither novelty or curiosity.

Wednesday I hung out with my coworker/friend L.  We drank beers, ate steak, and eventually she got drunk enough for me to decide to go home (I wondered if she was maybe trying to, ahem, get me to stay over.  Who knows, my radar is glitchy).  She is loud (uniquely, wildly so), usually completely inappropriate, not in the least ‘PC,’ and yet she is one of the only people I hang out with right now who really just treats me like one of the guys.  I never asked her to use male pronouns but she does anyways whenever we’re not at work.  She just doesn’t use pronouns for me at all at work and I am both amazed and grateful.  She refers to me as ‘this guy.’  Notices and compliments my muscle growth.  I was showing her a pic of 20 year old, very femmey me and she cursed me for, in her words, “being hotter than me as a chick and a dude.”

Yeah, that happened.

Its really fucking nice to have a friend, however crazy, that seems to really see you and who says all the right things.

As far as body changes, my stache is still filling in.  There is a new patch of thick, dark hair growing on the back of my calves.  The acne continues.  My BO has gone fucking wild.  If I thought I couldn’t skip showers a couple weeks ago, it is even less of an option now.  I smell… like a man.  Best way to describe it.  The skunky bite seems to have gone and it is nothing but overwhelmingly masculine smelling now.  Its not too bad an aroma when it isn’t full strength or when it’s cut with deodorant.  But damn.  Damn.  My bits have stopped doing anything exciting, and it almost seems smaller this week.  My libido, however, is starting to rear it’s impatient little head.  Just in time for short shorts weather.  Fuck, i need to get laid.  That is a terrible, horrible, tasteless way to put it.  I should be ashamed, and yet…  My muscle growth has done little, but given that I skipped two workouts this week and have been eating like a teenage boy it’s no real surprise.  My ass and hips are still shrinking. And my chest, just a bit.  Woo hoo!

I do believe that’s all I’ve got for now.  Have a great week kids.   Here’s to me not roiding out again this weekend!  🙂

T6: Pumping and Running out of oil

What can i say?  Everything is still growing.  Fast.  The dark if fine moustache hairs already span the entire length of my upper lip.  There are belly hairs, chest hairs, new crotch hairs, arm hairs, and tip of my nose hairs.  Seriously, WTF?  It seems like so many trans guys talk about how long it took for their hairs to come in.  I expected it to be leisurely.  I expected I’d have time to, you know, transition.  Get used to it.  Is it stupid that I am not overjoyed with all the hair?  Most of the transmen I know look forward to their facial hair more than almost any other change that T brings.  I, however, am incredibly anxious about it.  I’m not ready to be a damn wookie yet.  And tip of the nose hair?  Seriously?  Who gets that?  Who. The fuck. Gets.That?

It really has been causing some anxiety the last few days.  All this gorram, mother f-ing hair.  I just want muscles and a nice deep voice and a lovely, normal, trans guy dick.  Maybe a nice, easy, mellow bit of stubble.  Chops.  A reasonable trail.  A touchably fuzzy bum.  But I feel like I am destined for Chewie-dom.

The anxiety has been manifesting as the lovely “what the fuck am I doing?!” mental spin-outs.  I talked with a friend, A, about it and they said they had plenty of those moments too.  That you just gotta breathe, and remember that you can stop at any time if you really gotta, but also to stay focused on the positive.  Mostly to breathe though.

Nature is basically my therapy these days, so I decided to go out yesterday to look for morels.  Headed out towards the coast and got a mile up the steep logging road before the truck died.  Just died, while driving.  

Shit.

I backed it off the road and popped the hood.  Nothing looked clearly FUBAR that I could see.  I checked the oil for lack of anything better to do and there was none.  I mean, like, NONE none.

Shit.

The dog and I made our way back down the hill towards the highway.  I had my thumb out for all of 5 minutes when an uncharacteristically decent state patrol officer pulled over to see what was up.  I told him I needed oil for my rig, just a scosh up the hill, and with no cell service I thought I’d make a go of hitching to town.  Boone, my dog, and I piled into the back of his cruiser and he drove us right to the auto parts store.  I kept wanting to make a joke about how it had been a while since I was in the back of a cop car but thought better of it.  I also noticed how high in pitch my voice became.  It wasn’t intentional, but my fear of cops is as deep as my fear of cougars and some part of my brain auto-corrected for the duration of the trip.  I bought my oil, walked back to the highway, and waited.  And waited.  And waited.

Eventually this older, sea foam green pickup stopped.  The fella inside was very kind, very talkative, and clearly knew a lot about engines.  We discussed whether my rig had automatically shut off from a low oil pressure sensor or of the engine had seized.  Did it tick before stopping, or did it knock?  I wanted to be certain it would be fine once filled, but the doubt still loomed.  If it had in fact seized from the heat of running unlubricated, the metal would already have warped and I would be fucked.  SOL.  Up shit’s creek.

We get there and he insists on staying till I get going.  It took nearly the full 5 quarts to fill that son of a gun.  I hopped in the driver’s seat, crossed my fingers, cringed, and turned the key.  Click.  No.  No no nononono.  Try again.  Rrrrr… click.   Rr…click.

Shit.

As a last ditch effort, he decided to jump the admittedly aged battery.  I was just swearing and chain smoking at this point, scheming in my head to figure out how in the hell I could afford to either replace the engine or afford a new rig altogether.  My first thought was that it would definitely set me back on saving for top surgery.

So whenever I’ve jumped a battery before, I usually give it a minute.  As soon as they were hooked up, though, the guy told me to try it.  “It’ll either go or it won’t.”   Fair enough.

I hopped in, crossed fingers, cringed, turned the key, and…

Rrr….rrRRRrr…  VROOOOOOM!  My BABY!  THANK GOD!  Ahahaha!

I immediately jumped out, beaming, and asked this dude if he was a hugger.  I hugged him no less than three times.  The graze of his stubble on my cheek made me immediately think back to shaving my own wisps this morning.  “Aw, it’s no problem.  Glad I could help.  What’s your name by the way?  I’m Sully.”

Sully offered to follow me through the pass to make sure the truck didn’t crap out.  The whole drive home felt surreal, undeserved.  I was so grateful.  I am still.  All of the sudden I thought about his name.  Sully.  Sullivan.  Holy shit, THAT is the elusive middle same I’ve been looking for.  Eli Sullivan Hunter Seda.  I may not have found what I went out there for, but I can’t help feeling like there was something else in the cards all along.

I came home and read lots of blogs and articles about transitioning and the doubt/anxiety that sometimes goes with that.  I want to thank every single fucking trans person ever who writes online.  Y’all have put some really hard to talk about shit out there, worn your blessed hearts on your sleeves, and it has been a godsend for me.

As I was starting to calm down, I saw some page about pumping.  I’ve gotten an earful from C about how I need to get a pump, like, yesterday, so I decided to see what it said.  On one page, in the comments, folks started talking about homemade pumps, or things that work the same.  ‘Wait, that’s genious!  Imma go grab that big old syringe floating around the medicine cabinet right fuckin now and try this!’

Holy hell.  Now I’m getting why a person would invest so much in a pump.  It feels aaaaaaaahmazing and it legitimately does get it bigger/harder.  Time to start saving up.

I also just started my full dose this week.  .5, what what!

That’s just about all for this week.  I want to thank all the other trans writers out there again. And if anyone knows an older dude named Sully in Portland, please tell him he has my undying gratitude.

T5: All the things

So, of course, as soon as I finished that last post fucking everything started happening.

Most notably acne.  On my face, on my chest, on my ass.  Big gnarly teenage boy pumples.  I have been assured that this is only temporary.  Also the oily skin everyone’s been warning me about.  I assume the two go largely hand in hand.

It’s made strict daily showers a necessity.  I always, exclusively, get off in the shower, though, so no complaints here.  🙂

My BO is changing.  Still.  It’s a bit… skunky right now.  Hopefully it hasn’t settled on this particular aroma for good.    Speaking of which, I’ve had a couple folks mention that their, ahem, bits change their odor as well and that there is a distinctly bleachy smell for a bit. ???  I haven’t had this yet, but I’m curious if anyone else out there has.

 

My coworker L and I have been hanging out quite a bit, playing pool and going mudding and whatnot.  This week, while we were playing a particularly miserable game, I was ‘him’ed for the first time post transition.  He was this real sweet older fella, watching our game just to laugh at how poorly we were both playing, and he probably couldn’t tell hell from a hen’s ass but he made my day.  Then on Thursday I had some cashier at the grocery store shouting ‘ma’am’ at me across the goddamn store probably five times before I realized who’s attention she was trying to get.  I felt embarrassed, angry, and ‘put in my place’ all at the same time.  I thought of a million things I wanted say, but the second I opened my mouth the voice would have given me away anyways.  Win some and lose.

I’ve been up late nearly every night this week from either caffeine, excitement, apprehension, or some combo of the three.  On Monday night, around 2am or so, I decided to sing.  My voice has been dropping bit by bit.  Still generally imperceptible to everyone else, but I hear it.  I wanted to see if my singing voice had changed at all.  I sang along with songs that have always been completely and comfortably within my range.  Only that night they weren’t.  I could barely hit the upper third or so of my register.  I immediately felt both excited at the dramatic change and so, so sad to be losing my singing voice.  Its a damn fine one for what it is.  But it seemed to be already slipping and I felt a great sense of loss and mourning.

So, here’s the thing, tranny.  2am is a terribly vulnerable time.  2am is also a wretched time for singing.  You may be tempted, my dearest tranny, to try out your new and changing voice then.  Unless you know for sure that there is a friend awake right then to take your call, don’t fucking do that to yourself.  Wait.  Wait until your morning commute, when you haven’t actually lost a third of the top of your vocal range.  Just wait.

Needless to say, things weren’t so low the next day.  It was a stark reminder, however, that I can and should take some space to honor the things I’m  giving up in transition; the payment if you will, for a greater sense of congruity over all.

I came out to my supervisor at work, a good number of my coworkers, and my stepsister this week.  She is the first family member to know.  Everyone has been really great about it so far.  The estheticians I work with have both pledged to help me deal with the acne and to wax the shit out of my back and shoulders should they start sprouting.  My stepsister was trying to sort out the logistics of getting me on her insurance plan as a domestic partner to help with top surgery.  So amazing.  We laughed about our parents potential reactions to me coming out.

It was nice to make light of it for a bit, but I am really nervous.  I have rehearsed the conversation with my parents on repeat for weeks now.  The more time that goes by without telling them the more I feel like I’m lying every time I see them.  I also really want to tell my son, which means dealing with them first.  Ugh.

Part of my fear is that I won’t have answers to all of their questions.  Part of it comes from realizing that I still don’t quite identify as binary and discussing non-binary gender with them seems a fuck of a lot more awkward than if I could simply say “I’m a man.”  Maybe that is what I’ll tell them, though.  Its easier, more succinct.  And in the end the specifics really won’t matter to them as much as the fact that I’m asking them to eventually start using male pronouns.

I’ve spent much of the last few weeks wondering just what in the hell I’m doing on T if I’m still not sure that I identify wholly as a man.  Would I transition if no one could see or hear me?  Fuck yes.  Do I identify as a woman? Not in the least.  I do identify as queer though.  Always have, even when I didn’t have the word for it.  One of the issues that keeps tripping me up is that I always felt like my attraction to women was what ‘made me’ queer.  Is that still the case?  Or is it my attraction to men now?  Or other trans men?  Or the fact that the women I’m attracted to are are almost exclusively masc of center queer women? What about the gender queer/non-binary folks I have dated and/or fucked?  Does my queer identity really even hinge on who I’m attracted to?  Does the socialization of three decades, hell-bent on feminizing me, still inform my queer identity even as I transition away from it?

Oof…  it’s been a bit of chaos in this head.

I keep coming back to a few core certainties each night when the questions have circled long enough.

*I am queer, even if I can’t delineate what exactly makes that so.

*I am not a woman.

*I am trans, and distinctly on the masculine side of the spectrum.

*Lastly, transitioning is clearly, finally allowing me to feel whole, in sync with my own self, at peace in a way I’ve never really known before.  In a way I never really imagined I could before now.

Feb. 20, T day

With little fanfare aside from C photographing, I shot my first miniscule dose of man straight into my decidedly un-masculine tuckus Saturday, Feb 20 2015.

Sure, there was plenty leading up to that moment.  That whole, “Oh shit, I really am trans, aren’t I” moment.  The binder.  Fuck that thing (and bless its clingy little soul just the same).  The doctor’s appointment.  I was fortunate enough to have an ND who works off the informed consent model, so no letter from a therapist willing to concede that I am, in fact, trans enough.  The blood draw.  The waiting for lab results.  Picking up my T from a compounding pharmacy in Lake Oswego.  Realizing that this tiny bottle, enough for about six doses, was somehow going to change fucking everything.  Waiting some more for the lab results.  Incessantly taking the vial out just to hold it, shake it, shine a light through it, sleep with it under my pillow.

On Saturday, three excruciating days after my blood draw I get the message.  “I have your labs!  When do you want to do this?”  Now. Duh.  The partner I had just split up with was also on T.  On the same dose, in fact, that I was starting with.  I know how to do this. Totally.  Toooootally.  “Tonight!”

C was there, like I said.  “Is it OK if I take pictures?  You’ll want them.”  Of course.  Please.

I get the schpiel.  The syringe, the drawing needle, the alcohol, the T, pull down to .3, pull the extra out of the needle, then twist on the shooting needle, push out the air til there’s a bead on the tip, send it in like a dart, pull back and make sure there’s no blood, push slow…. 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10.  Pull it out.  Cap it.  Done.  Tranny.