Aug 15 – 8:24am

One shortage of things on the web that I have noticed up to this point is very little about the life and times of a ts prior to surgery and/or hrt. What’s with that? I guess we don’t like to talk about the bad times. Some of the ts that I have talked with say that everything is great post-op… which I have my own doubts about… well, perhaps not my doubts. But a therapist I saw in the past told me never to trust a post-op, since they would never admit to making a mistake… I think she called it ‘lemon syndrome’, where a person buys a real bad car (a lemon), but tells everyone else what a great car it is. This idea plagued me for a while… that and some of the ts on-line that I have talked with… well… perhaps it is better to say there are people in this world who are only happy when others are suffering, and they seem to feed off of another’s insecurities.

Therapists seem to dwell on a few standard subjects. One trend is an obsession with genitalia and underwear. I’m not worried that when the time is right, I’ll find the money for SRS… and heck… I’ll even go to the local lace shop and buy some really sexy underwear.. but for the time being I’m not obsessed with slicing and dicing my little friend in my pants. I want estrogen. Of the therapists and doctors I’ve pleaded with (and sometimes I’ve even considered indentured service… I’ll wash their car… tutor their children in science… ), a few think that you roll out of bed one morning, decide your ts, ask a doctor for estrogen, and you sign up at the post office for SRS. Sure I’d like to do that… but that’s not the way it goes folks. And no, I don’t own any lingerie… just cotton “just her size” panties… and very comfortable Fruit of the loom cotton boxers… both from Wal-Mart.

I think I’ve mentioned before that I am the largest ts that I know. I think there might be a few over six-feet tall… but I’m more massive. I say that as encouragement to anyone in the five-foot bracket who thinks they are too-tall. And if you weigh under 200 pounds… your gonna be a sweet little honey compared to me. So smile… heh.

Does anyone have periods of being ts? I feel my periods of feeling ts have been more of a series of tests than anything else. I’ve tried being single. I’ve been engaged twice. I’ve dated a hetero woman, I’ve dated a bisexual woman… I’ve been in a relationship where I was encouraged to crossdress… I don’t know… I think I have been trying options. And right now I am down to exploring what life is like before estrogen, but after you realize that hrt is the way to go.

Didn’t Shakespeare hit the nail on the head with Hamlet? Exchange hrt/full-time/SRS for any ideas of death in Hamlet… and I think you’ll see many parallels. How in the heck are we to know if SRS/hrt is for us? And when people say “you can never go back”… or things like “you have to know for sure”… what’s with that. For all I know I could win the lottery tomorrow, or the Cubs may win the world series… but I do know I have been trying the alternatives.

You know, a misconception I had about transitioning was that it was an overnight deal. And the ts I had talked with… well, there was an idea amongst a few of them is that it took real guts to go into full-time… I’d agree up to a point. I’m one of those people who stick their foot in the shallow-end staircase first, then my other foot… I slowly get into the pool. I admire someone who can jump into the deep-end and emmerse themselves. But, I hope that if you are like me, you don’t feel any less of a ts for taking the slow route.

Aug 16 – 12:27am

Who is this woman typing at the keyboard? Must be me again. I spent my evening zapping hairs… before I treated myself to a burger, I thought about driving to checkers en femme. Now the last time I had this wonderful go-thru the drive-thru idea, it was 1993. I was wearing my then-favorite skirt/sweater combo… I was on a date with a ftm ts, and we left to go to burger king. Well… about 10 minutes on the way home my electrical system shorts out… and I smell smoke. We pull over, and the back of my trunk is on fire! The car is filling up with smoke… I am having visions of me explaining to the police/fire people who I am… and why I am wearing a skirt… and lipstick… heh.

I decide to change into male drag… at which I feel like pre-pubescent boy since I don’t have any extra hair on my body… but… I go to Checkers. On my way there, I start to analyze my trip… was I afraid of going there ‘en femme’? Well.. I do consider myself a woman, and clothes do not the woman make… so I was going as a woman, just not in pantyhose… (and who goes to get a fast-food burger in pantyhose?). Well, as I’m driving back I get mad at myself for not sticking it out. So I get back… and as I am on my way into bed I pause for a moment and think about not wearing my outfit to Checkers… so in transit to bed I pause and don my garments.

Well… as I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw for the first time in a while the woman that I have grown to love… me. And to know that I am here.. that is a very comforting reality. It’s real easy to doubt oneself… which I do when I look down at my 50d bra stuffed with old tube socks… I’m too tired to take the mental paintbrush and imagine those wads of odd cotton being flesh… my flesh… breasts… but whoa I want them. All things proportional, me being 6 foot tall, 265 pounds heavy… well… filling up my bra with socks feels funny, but in reality it is a good test run.

I love the clothes I am wearing… I like dressing for a theme or color… surely I can accomplish this with men’s clothes… but there’s something about the fingernails matching the lips matching the shoes matching the blouse matching the skirt… well, makes me feel like I’m doing something right….

11:28pm

Well, I spent the early part of today gathering info from the web. I got some stuff from Dr. Laurence’s page, and the Benjamin SOC… I printed them out, photocopied them, and put them into notebooks. Tomorrow I will give a notebook to the MD which I have asked for HRT, a notebook to my therapist, and a notebook for the nurse who I chatted with at my university. We all could use more info on what will be happening with me over the next few months.

I think I’ve figured out why women shop so much… the truth is that there is almost no consistency between labels… even of the same maker. I went to Wal Mart to buy some women’s shirts… I’m slowly upgrading as time goes on… as my old clothes get worn I replace them with new items from the “plus misses” aka “really fat chick” area. Anyway… a size 26w in one thing, is not the same as in another…. So I think women spend so much time shopping (and/or at least get really excited) because there are so few clothes that will fit an individual woman… so after a long search (we’re talking weeks), if a woman finds a shirt/shoe/pants/skirt that fits… it’s easy to see why she gets so excited.

Aug 17 98 – 11:37am

Hard to believe that getting my hands on a little bottle of pills would be so tough. Jeeeze, it’s easier to get a dime-bag of crack than Premarin… whah. I want to complain, but I don’t know who to. I can’t call my Mom… Dr. A is busy… Dr. C is not around. Phew… a low moment here.

The solution, as Dale Carniegie would suggest, would be to get up and do something, anything… and continue to be busy… ride the feelings out, I guess. So far my search for estrogen has taken me to wider circles… and out of range of my ‘free’ medical insurance. The farther out I go, the less of a chance of seeing anyone for a low price.

It makes me want to box up my clothes, get a hair-cut, trim my fingernails, don’t shave my legs… and act like Joe cool, all-American college student. But I’m to tired… no steam. I like my non-ape appearance, thank you.

Aug 21 98 – 9:39am

Good morning. Nothing like waking up in full burrito position, imagining being held by a nice man. We all can dream, can’t we?

Back in ’93 I made it a point to buy something "female" every time I went to the grocery store… perhaps nail polish, or a shade of lipstick, etc, etc. Yesterday I bought a deep purple shade of nail polish, and I read a book about "how to be beautiful." The book focused upon skin care, hair care, make-up, nails, etc, etc. Things your Mom should of told you when you were a young girl taking your first foot steps into adulthood.

I guess that’s one thing that is missing for mtfs out there… motherly advise… such as the restorative effects of tea-bags on puffy eyes or the fact not to wear white shoes after Labor Day… or is it Memorial Day? See… I don’t know. To be honest, I get both days mixed up… I know one has got Jerry Lewis, the other does not. Hmmm. It’s approaching… I think it’s Labor Day. Arbor day… when all of the ships come into the arbor? Heh… old Peanuts joke.

Last night I told myself I would awaken today and take a shower, shave my legs, get dressed in bra, blouse, hose, skirt, shoes, and try out some of the make-up tips from the book… and spend the first part of my day ‘en femme’ walking around the house doing the chores I needed to do… what a crossdressor I would be, eh? But… when I awoke I had no such desire… I just want to be comfortable… and that means boxers. Applying make-up and rubbing it off with tissues (my standard make-up routine) is terrible for one’s face, at least according to the book, so until I get some make-up remover and some moisturizers… well… I’ll avoid that.

Does that make me any less of a woman… transsexual… I don’t think so. My ideal image of having some time off is waking up slowly with coffee, Red Dwarf, couch and maybe even a man to laugh at the jokes with… when I do leave my domicile, should I decide to get ‘en femme’… that’s then.

You know… I really hate that term… ‘en femme’… we all know what it means. It’s like distinguishing between Heinz 57 and A1… we know what it means and what it’s like. But, why not allow the individual to decide what that is? I was told by a ts here in town that you have to jump through the hoops to get HRT. I suppose if that means I gotta be a vamp… or even a tramp to get the scripts, then that is what I must do. But it’s grossly unfair.

What kind of woman am I? I think a fun one. Hmm… can’t I just be a person? What kind of person am I? I am a fun one… a creative one. I enjoy planning things and working with others. Will that happen once I transition? Well… I am transitioning now, dear friends. My hair is touching the back of my neck… sometimes hairs get in my eyes… I feel a tickle on my neck… and bat the hair away… oh precious hair… don’t fall out… convince your brothers and sisters to continue to grow longer… get those root cells dividing. I’m learning about taking care of my skin. And of course there is the biggest change of all… I’m zapping my facial hairs… ouch. Pain… ouch. Zap… zap… zap.

I was told that electrolysis separates the men from the women. Ha! And ffff you too! I guess biological women have cramps associated with PMS… so they know pain. And of course there are labor pains… but not all women experience that. Electrolysis hurts honey!!!! I guess plucking eyebrow hairs is a close second? Hmm.

Well… I am bashful… no skirts above the knees please. You ever seen women wear those skirt/shirts half breeds. I bought one… I don’t wear it… I get embarrassed. I don’t want people looking at my thighs… heh. Some clothes really do hike up a woman’s body. And bathingsuits… geeze… I own a one-piece… embarrassing! Heh. But that’s the norm for women, I think. Sexual domination. Women are revered for some reason. Perhaps it is my up-bringing… but some of the men I have been around feast on the image of a woman… picture a girl in ‘daisy duke’ shorts… the lower hem is centimeters above the panty line. I don’t know. Sour grapes? Heh… I guess if you got it, flaunt it.

So that makes me a more conservatively dressed woman? And I’m sitting here in my living room in boxers. Is there nothing more comfortable than boxers? Whoops… if you like men’s underwear your not a woman… baloney! How many girlfriends have I had who liked to wear my old shirts/shorts? Perhaps the clothing industry is messed up? I know of three women who wear men’s oxford tie shirts. Wow.

Of the clothes I own, and of those that I enjoy looking at, I enjoy wearing slightly above the knee shorts, or skirts below the knee. I like comfortable shoes (isn’t that the quest of every woman, to find comfortable shoes?)… whoops… if you don’t like high-heels than your not a woman. Really? Wanna know the ratio of my last girl friend’s sneakers to heels ratio? About 9:1…. I know women who don’t even own a pair of heels. And some who don’t buy flats. So comfort is a biggie for me. In terms of make-up, I think that less is more.

I’m in the process of finding out what works for me. Again, the book I read last night was very helpful. I would like, as a next cosmetic step, to be able to start to wear a ‘natural’ cosmetic sequence. Nude/neutral lipstick, eyeshadow, and base. Funny how they make these products. But, as the book said, these things are better than no make-up at all provided you take care of your skin, something which to this point I have done none of. I wash all over with Irish Spring, and from what I’ve read that dries out your face.

I’ve been told that a difference between a woman and a girl is that the woman knows who she is. Each real woman has her own style… things she considers to be important for her. Therefore I should not be too considered about trying to fit a particular image or style. It’s up to me.

And, I suppose that comes back to the idea of me transitioning now. My transition is in small steps. I don’t have to really do anything, other than provide for my survival… eat atoms and drink water. Growing out one’s hair is transitioning. Trying new things is transitioning.

I guess I’ve hit another idea… an iceberg if you will… meaning there’s more to it than at the surface. And that is that I think it’s near impossible to even consider HRT without getting facial hair zapping out of the way first. When I shaved my legs and arms, I shaved a good portion of my facial hairs as well. Naturally I felt great. De-aping is a big thing with me. So long as my legs/arms are without ape hair I really feel female. And, that is something no one can take away from me. I can do that the rest of my life if I want… I intend on waxing my arms and legs next. But I knew about two weeks ago that once I shaved my legs again, that I it would be a heart-wrenching experience to let the hair grow back.

This is all individual choice, mind you… I’m not telling anyone to do anything. But in my own experience and life as I am experiencing it now, I think it’s better to take the slow road. It also gives more time to bail if you want too.

Something else that has changed is my perception of others. I used to be very careful about doing the hair zapping… I did not want others to catch on. But you know what? I worked this summer at a job where you would have a beard if it was under control. So, I just stopped shaving and zapped the little smegers as they got long enough. I brought my beard under control. When it was the shape of a beard, then I randomly zapped hairs, basically thin-ing out the beard… making it less dense. I think the time it took me to zap enough hairs to be visible was close to the time it would take the non-zapped hairs to grow longer, so they appeared more dense.

But the point I was making is that I think it’s not a good idea to do HRT/SRS without getting the hair zapping done first. I know that’s a bummer…but I guess that’s what works for me. The endocrinologist I found in Daytona requires that zapping is done first. And I think if you’re willing to sit through 200 hours of pain… well, then no one is going to keep you from HRT. (and god help them if they try).

12:31 am

Hello… we lost power on the battery, so I moved into the bedroom. Where was I? Couple of things. One is that I wonder what ts do when everything to get them ready to be women is done. Surely they are women… but… well, as an example, I got up this morning, zapped through the day, and can’t seem to keep my fingers off of the remaining hairs. I want them out. What do you do when stuff is done? Sleepy….

Aug 22 98 – 8:34am

Oh well. I don’t like to sit on the fence. I think I will give myself a respite from all this thinking and exploring until my face is totally hairless. There is a temptation to get some estrogen, and take the minimal amount until this task is completed…pooh.

And, there is temptation to contact the doctor in Daytona and set up an appointment… and not wait… to cross-live or just say ffff and go into RLT. What difference is that… between cross-living and RLT?

Well, for one I think I would have to stuff my bras, and wear them when women do… say…. Here’s something that I found works real good for bra-stuffing. Take your favorite brand of sandwich bags (I have glad bags), and fill them up with Bisquick. Take a twistie tie, and tie off the baggie. Due to it’s powdery constancy (corn starch and flour), it will take on a variety of shapes. So using my body’s naturally fat state, it’s easy to combine flesh and baggie to fill a bra… the baggies conform to the shape necessary to fill the empty space. Pretty cool, eh? Heh. No silicon needed… plus… when you’re hungry, just add water and you can make Pancakes!!!!! Heh… well, gotta have a sense of humor… but really, the darn thing works.

6:16pm

Hello again. I’m back home. I’m a mess. I feel so sad. I came in, talked to my roommate. He asked me three times what’s happening… how am I doing… what’s new. So I told him I was really having a hard time waiting for estrogen, and that I feel a bit sad because I want to resign from my post as ‘best man’ for my best friends wedding. I said I was not feeling all that great because I don’t look like a woman, I don’t talk like a woman… at which my roommate chimes in “and you don’t act like a woman.” And I get all upset… I’m crying… I say “but I’m not a man”… at which my roommate goes back to his book… and ignores me.

As I am sitting there… I am building up severe steam, resentment, sadness, anxiety. I ask God why am I here? What is my existence? Why can’t I just be happy as a man? I get angry… I get mad. I wanted to knock over the coffee table, take my roommates book and throw it at the TV… and ask “Am I acting like a woman now?”… but I just sat there and went through phases of hating myself… hating the world… hating stereotypes. I decide to ask my roommate for some more info… I asked him if I could ask a question, and I then ask “how do I not act like a woman?” To which he says “you act like a guy”. To which I ask “how do guys act?” To which he says “you lie around, you fart, you belch.” To which I ask “so girls can’t fart or belch?” To which he says “they can biologically, but it’s just not something they do.” So I thank him, then walk outside to find a nice spot to pout and get some wisdom from somewhere.

There is a small brook that runs behind our complex, so I walk out to a sandbar and sit on a tree that has fallen across the stream. I watch the water for a moment, then pause and try to talk to God. “Why am I here?” “Why did my roommate say something that hurt my feelings when he knew I was having a bad day?” I listened for a moment, then decided to come back inside. So what’s up?

I’m not a woman because I don’t ‘act like a woman’… maybe there is some validity at this….. but I’ve known too many women who do fart and belch… and think it’s funny. I was cultured (Boy Scouts) to think these things are funny… and I find that they are. As I have gotten older, I don’t do them as offen, and I have learned the diplomacy and etiquette to know when to hold things in, and when to let go… but it really hurt me hard to think that according to my roommate (my closest barometer for society) thinks I’m a guy because of my flatulence. Geeze. Part of me asks… “is he right?”, and another says “ignore him”.

Certainly there are some social rules that may be exclusively female… but I think it’s a mis-judgement to say what one is or is not… damn it. Society and their games. Whew. I am really too drained for all this…

As I paraded around the library, I realized that I am beyond male and female. Sure I want to ‘be a woman’, but I don’t want a strait-jacket there either. I just wish I had someone to talk too… my mom won’t understand… no therapist seeing currently. Right now I am just hungry and tired… and emotionally drained. I feel that my roommate's reaction was purely “male”… all fix-it and no thought of emotion or feelings. And mine, perhaps was not-so-male… as stereotypes go. Isn’t amazing how some stereotypes are good in some ways, and bad in others?

Aug 23 98 – 9:46am

So… as I’m in burrito mode in bed, the little demons (there’s no other way to describe them… I guess I’ve seen to many Bugs Bunny cartoons… the little fellows who sit on your shoulder and whisper in your ear… they may even look like Yosemite Sam!) comeforth. One says “Come off it, you’re just experiencing your TG emotions because you were feeling unstable, as you have in the past”, the other says “so… when you gonna phone up that mail-order company and order some estrogen?” I sit up, very pissed that I can’t enjoy Franks embrace (maybe I should call my comforter Frank? Hmmm. Nice, warm…big. Hmmm…), and flick the demons off. “Can I please have half-an-hour alone? Go bother someone else!” The demons flew about me… and I felt like I was stuck in a Bugs-Bunny cartoon, or even a Tom-n-Jerry cartoon.

I retreated to the safe-room… where I tried to throw toilet paper rolls at them, but the little smeggers dodged. So I resorted to my Cornholio routine “I am Cornholio…are you threatening me? I need TP for my bunghole! I am Cornholio!!!!”. At which the demons retreated… they are rational creatures… so me imitating Bevis scared them off. After my business was done, I made a dash for the kitchen for some coffee… and made it okay. Afterwards I went to the bedroom, and started Zapping hairs.

The longer I zapped hairs, the more I realized that this is going to take a long-time…. Zapping. And, I suppose over the past few days I have decided that it is pointless (but very emotionally satisfying) to do HRT while I have a beard. So… instead of rushing into HRT… and getting pissy about it, why not continue to Zap my 200 hairs a day, let my head hair grow out, and continue to learn what it is to act like a woman, as my roommate would say… heh. Last night we were watching TV and I made notice of all the non-stereotypical female behaviors… that women do. I guess it’s funny when women do burp… maybe there is some truth to the rules bit. Anyone got a book on manners? I’ll have to go check that out.

I mentioned the fact that I am ‘best man’ in a wedding. I’m trying to phrase my withdrawal from that position. I really don’t want the job. I don’t want to engage in stereotypical male behavior anymore than I have too… I don’t know… but looking at a female stripper is not my bag.

Who am I? I am not woman nor man. Well… according to house rules I am a woman who farts and belches… and wears boxers. It’s funny in some ways. Not so funny in others. I guess all I can do is keep reaching for establishing who I am. There’s a story from about 5 years ago… it was Christmas and my Mom was dividing up all the presents she had gotten from her schoolchildren. One of the gifts was a very pretty basket. It had bows and ribbons… I mean it was cute. My Mom “naturally” asked my Sister if she wanted it, at which my sister said no. I asked if I could have it, at which my sister said ‘oh no... that would not look good in your apartment, that’s a Woman’s basket.’ At which my Sister went back to watching TV, my Mom to sorting her gifts, and I retreated to the guest room where I sat on the bed and cried. Yes, it was a Woman’s basket… and that’s why I wanted it…. So it’s like… listen to myself… listen to my soul… look beyond the beard stubble, and the size 11 sneakers… look into my eyes… what/who do you see?

Can you relate to me… as who and what I am. I have no great love for “men’s” things… except for my ability to write my name in snow… and I am reaching for what society calls “women’s”… can I have them?

I know I can be quite frooty at times. But that’s my style… walking up to someone I don’t know and talking with them as if I did… singing out loud before the library opens… jumping up on a table and quoting poems… as well as acting out some of my role-play characters… I enjoy messing with society in very tasteful ways. I am adverse to gothic-punk… no dog-collars, no tattoos, or body jewelry.. no… just me. No props. I am in love with Cyrano de Bergerac’s “I just came from the moon” character… and Willy Wonka… am I slightly unbalanced, or am I just wise enough to demonstrate absurdity by being absurd? If you call me butch, will I then become so overly ‘female’ so as you make your stomach overly-sugary? If you call me ‘effeminate’ will I then put on my hiking boots and flannels and see if you want to go canoeing?

Why must society call me Sir, or Mister… and refuse to call me Madam, or Miss? Why all these names… why not ask me what I prefer to be called, and call me that?

1:43am

hello… I can’t sleep… so I’m writing things down. Ah… tomorrow is the first day of classes… I’m so nervous. I feel like it’s Christmas… heh. I finished working at the library today… a pleasant memory. Who knows what/where I’ll be working next summer? Heh. Oh well…when one door closes, another one opens. I feel so excited… so many possibilities…. School, theater, web-pages, friends, role-playing, anime, support group… maybe even some estrogen down the line. Nifty, eh?

Aug 25 98

I’m doing okay… nice to be taking classes I can get excited about. Hard to believe that two days ago was no school. As things take off… etc, I will get busy. My TG feelings are around, but not as for-front as they were before. Sort of saying “we can wait”…

Made an appointment to see Dr. L on Wednesday. I don’t quite know what I am going to do… I know I’m not going to ask for estrogen…. But can I prepare for it? I dunno. It’s difficult to do hrt stuff with a beard. I went to a LGBsu meeting tonight. Hard to see where I fit in… not a lesbian… not a gay man…oh well…

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