A journey to San Francisco to become no less than Me. (BLOG REBOOT: Former site of Hairy Legs.)

Posts tagged ‘dreams’

Sex.

So, to put it bluntly, I’m having a problem I didn’t think I’d have.  Not only am I having issues with my given unit whilst in bed, but I’m having trouble letting myself be on bottom, period.  I don’t really want to go into all the gory details because I’m sure I’d manage to offend someone out there, but let’s just say that this has led to a lot of heartache and tears for both parties.  I can’t enjoy being in bed anymore unless I’m on top, which basically means I haven’t had sex in a week, because my partner and I are clashing on who gets to dominate.

I never thought I’d be that person who would let those sorts of problems get to me so much that I’d start having feelings of worthlessness and depression, panic, general inferiority and anxiety about it all.  It got bad.  I started tapping out whenever we’d start to do something- down there- and recently I nearly threw up, immediately after which I lost consciousness on my floor next to trash bin.  I spent so long trying to accommodate him and let him know that he wasn’t losing the person who could once upon a time be anything and everything for him, but I pushed it too far, WAAY past the point of being comfortable, to where it seriously started screwing with my mind.  I haven’t felt such a disjunction between my identity and what I was trying to be in a long time.  There’s a lot more going on in my sex life than I care to continue going on about, so let’s just say it’s not going well.  I feel like I’m coming apart at the edges again.

Anyway, I’m starting to feel less lenient on the subject of of bottom surgery.  Last night, I dreamt that I went to a prison, and was told that if I was everybody’s love slave, then I could eventually grow my own penis.  It was horrific, and symbolic in ways that I don’t really care to point out.  I really think that I should pursue bottom surgery if I want these disturbances to stop.

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Ivy, my baby girl.

Last night, I dreamed that my lover and I were getting married.  He was wearing the most amazing white wedding gown and he looked like a princess.  I was wearing a tuxedo.  When we walked into the chapel, which had been barren before, the entire place bloomed to life with plants and vines and flowers and it was as if the entire world had become a beautiful and colorful place.

His bouquet was made of baby’s breath and ivy.  When we reached the altar, time slowed and stopped, and he handed his bouquet to me.  As I gazed at it, I knew our destiny.  One day, I told him, we’re going to have a baby girl, and we’re going to name her Ivy.

When I woke up, I felt on fire.

I’ve been wanting to figure out some way to preserve my eggs so I can get on testosterone and still be a daddy some day.  The main problems I have with this are the financial implications- it’s going to take me a lot longer to save up enough money to be able to extract and preserve my eggs than it would just to fling that dream to the wind and go on testosterone soon as possible.  I know I could still adopt, or find some other way to have a surrogate mother, but more and more often lately I’ve been feeling that I want my baby to be mine.  Is that too much to ask?  Should I just accept that any baby is as precious as one that comes from my genetics?  Am I being too hoity-toity in wanting to be the biological father of my child?

Anger management.

I’ve had little to write about lately- kind of been sitting in a pool of stagnation for a while- but I feel obligated to update.  There hasn’t been much change except for the fact that my life has been taken over by a couple of munchkins.  In a sense, that has changed EVERYTHING, but it’s put me on hold.

I’ve been feeling an inordinate amount of bitterness towards the kids, and it took me a little while to figure out exactly what it was that was bothering me.  But now I’ve got it sorted out, and I guess I could stand to get it off my chest.

Just before they came into our lives, I was getting to that point with my dad where I was nearly comfortable enough with him that I could have come clean with him about everything and maybe not even have to leave home in order to start transition.  We were getting really close and he was even on good terms with Jack before he integrated.  I’d just had that talk with him where I explained that integration was happening and a lot of big things were about to change.  I didn’t say what, but I think he had a guess, and I was going to give him time to figure it out and let it sink in before I dropped the bomb.

And then these kids showed up, and he’s completely moved away from me and sunk back into this weird religious hellhole.  Now I’m expected to set the best possible example for these kids, and there’s no way I could start transition with them in the picture.  He wouldn’t allow it.  I feel utterly betrayed.  I was on the edge of finally, finally having something, a place in my life where I didn’t have to hide anymore, and these kids stole it from me.

I’m having a hard time coping with it.  I know these kids didn’t do anything wrong, and I can’t take it out on them.  I know my dad is just trying to do what’s right, and my stepmom loves those babies and wants to see them grow up right.  But I don’t understand why it has to be us.  And maybe I’m just being selfish, but this is the worst of possible outcomes for my transition.

I was so close.  And now I’m back to square one.  I have to leave home before I can even think of starting transition.

Now I’m thinking about having some kind of anger management therapy or something.  I’ve been having the same dream almost every night for weeks, where I get in a fight with someone and I’m trying to hit them, but for whatever reason, my punches won’t land right.  I miss, or my arms feel too heavy to lift, or I’m too weak to do any kind of damage, but it’s always the same- I’m trying to fight some kind of enemy, and they’re just laughing in my face.  I wake up in humiliation every morning.  I’ve always had a good right jab and I throw a heavier punch than the typical female-bodied person, and having that taken away from me every night only makes me more and more frustrated.

And plus, my anger threshold keeps lowering.  I fall into a rage at some of the slightest and most stupid things, and it makes me look like an idiot because there’s nothing I can do about it.  I don’t like people seeing me as this overly sensitive, bull-headed jerk.  I used to be level-headed and logical.  Where did THAT go?
I’m crawling in my skin.  My sex life is alternately eluding me because I can’t deal with myself or anyone else seeing me naked, among other things.  My back is slowly being raped by the binder I’ve been wearing lately- I need to order an underworks binder before I warp my ribs permanently.  There’s a whole new set of people in my life who are learning to address me with the wrong pronouns and the wrong name, and hearing the occasional “Tommy” from the one friend who even bothers to use it does little enough to cool the burns.

I JUST WANT OUT.

Dreams and binding.

I’ll have to keep this one short because I only have 20 minutes, but I figured this was worth mentioning.

Last night I had a pretty intensely realistic dream that I was growing facial hair, and what’s weirder, that nobody really seemed to notice.  They just… didn’t mind, and that made me happy.  I wish it were that simple, here on the outside.  The outside of the dreamscape, that is.

Anyway, it seemed so real that, when I woke up and stumbled into the bathroom, I was slightly shocked not to see that patchy fuzz on my chin.  I guess I was still a little asleep.  The biggest thing here, I suppose, is that I’ve got direct evidence that my subconscious self-image is male, if not just yearning for transition.  I’ve so rarely had a consistent self-image while I’m dreaming, I’m usually just watching other things happen, so this is comforting and inspiring to me.  One never likes to admit to these things, but when life hits you over and over with the same avalanche vote of no confidence, one starts to have little moments of self-doubt.  It’s nice to be reminded who you really are once in a while when you start to get lost in what everyone else thinks of you.

Another little news blurb- I’ve graduated from Ace Bandages, finally.  I was getting tired of there being only two choices- moobs, or warped ribs.  So I found something in the family’s costume bag, an old bodice.  I’ve worn it before, backwards, under Halloween costumes and it works perfectly not only to flatten the chest but to arrange the fat in such a way that it gives me totally awesome pecs.  The only problem was that it had really stiff boning, which I ripped out.  It works just the same, if not ten times better, without it, and it’s way more comfortable than anything else I’ve worn so far.  The boning used to give me bruises in my ribs.

And that’s what she said.   😉

Later!

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