A brain dump
This is a dump from my brain of the situation I have found myself in. It's not short. It's depressing. It kinda has a happy ending. It's very stream-of-thought. So. Read if you want, or don't. Commentary appreciated.
Where I should begin on this, I am not sure, but I need to get it out of my system so that I can focus on healing and getting better. This may be even more rambly and disjointed than usual, so be aware of that. My mind is a muddle and my emotional nerves are all raw and jangled. But I need to say what I can of this.
I guess this all began when I decided to transition between genders, leaving my life as a boy behind, and moving forward through life as a girl. It was a decision I did not come to lightly. It was a decision I did not come to alone. I send a lot of credit out to the people that inspired me to walk this path. Dara, Deb, Jenna, and Jenny. Jenna was my biggest inspiration. I sent her cookies apparently while she recovered, though my useless memory had forgotten. But I am glad hers didn't. Watching her struggle through things has been an inspiration to me. Deb and Dara, I didn't see as much of but enough to respect both immensely. Jenny is the only one I have watched from start to "finish". Not that there is such a thing on this journey. There is a final milestone, yes, but after that... The unknown. Life. Being who we are. It's a scary and wonderful though.
When I began this journey, I did so with a certain degree of hesitation. I worried, and was in fact told by a person or two, that I couldn't really even be TG. Yes, I had wanted to be a girl for as long as I can remember, since I was a very small child. But... I wasn't, I thought, unhappy as a boy.
I think that's a mistake, there. I think I was unhappy as a boy. I think the fact that I hate myself, that I see myself as ugly, unlovable, unworthy, stems from my issues with gender. I can't say why. I can't point to thoughts or instances. But from as early as I can remember, I considered myself hideous. And I still do. I think that projected onto others, and so I ended up isolated and lonely.
Where was I? I wasn't, I thought, unhappy as a male. But I thought I would be happier as a girl. Jenny was the one who pushed me off the cliff, making my wife and I talk about the issues and the situation. When we agreed that I should make an appointment with the gender clinic, the impact was immediate. I was giddy, elated, /relieved/.
I should have recognized then how much I needed this. But I stayed with my illusion of happiness. And it was a functional illusion. One that worked well for me and gave me a functional and comfortable life, even if I wasn't whole.
It took three months to get in to see Dr. Bearman. In that time, my emotions were up and down. I was eager. I was scared. Scared I wouldn't be trans 'enough'. Scared I would be. Scared of the whole thing. But... I was still relieved. I still wanted it. I /needed/ it. I don't think I put that word on it until later, but it's true. from the moment Rosie agreed to my transition, it went from want to need. And I pursued that need determinedly.
The appointment came and Dr. Bearman was a total sweetheart. We talked a while about my history and past, and my feelings, and why I felt i was trans. I won't go into those here, because they aren't even remotely relevant, but we did. And her acceptance and support were immediate. She had no hesitation about giving me a Spiro script. About advising me to continue. About referring me to the clinic shrinks so I could be assessed by them and put on hormones. She, like so many since, seemed to spend 15 minutes with me and know that I should be a girl.
So I jumped the hoops, got hormones, started taking them. Eventually did a blood test; I was in female range for hormones, but only just, so she put me on a supplemental hormone. My next test (A long long time later) would show that I was very comfortably within female range now.
I bought clothing. Not much, a top and a skirt, brown. In retrospect, blah, but at the time I liked them. I wore them a bit around the house, and I think went out once or twice, but nothing serious. I also got laser treatments. I wanted to go full time, but I knew I had a trip home to the US for my cousin's wedding coming, so it wasn't an option.
Hormones produced almost immediate reactions. My skin was soft as a a boy. As a girl, it's almost too soft. Very sensitive. And breast growth started within a month or two. When I went to the US for that wedding, I was already showing signs of it. I made sure not to be topless around my family, in fact.
The trip went well, and nothing else gender related happened there, other than a little shopping, and soon we were home. And, being home, it was time to bite the bullet and go full time. So I did, in November. I'd been on hormones 6 months at this point, and Spiro about 8 or 9. At the time, I thought I passed reasonably well. And I probably did; I got plenty of ma'am's. But plenty of sir's too.
Time passed, my hair grew, my breasts grew, my voice changed some. I passed better all the time. I interviewed for jobs as a girl, though didn't get any offers. My skills were too rusty and out of date. But, irrelevant. My wardrobe slowly expanded and grew less formal. When we decided I should enroll in school, I spent some time getting some more dress-down clothes. Jeans and whatnot. And passed better.
When school started, noone even blinked. I was a girl. I don't think anyone in my classes, teachers or students, pegged me as anything but a natal female. If they did, they kept very quiet about it, and I never felt anything but acceptance.Eventually, in October of this year, I bought more clothes, even more casual and comfortable. And at this point, I looked a hundredfold more womanlike than I had when I started.
With school going well, and people pegging me as male now being rare and isolated incidents, I grew more confident. More sure of myself, more comfortable with myself. I saw a girl in the mirror. Sometimes, she wasn't even ugly, but usually she was. But an ugly girl was a lot better than an ugly boy. And I was happy, and I was thrilled, and I was content.
I had always said from the beginning of this that SRS was something I wanted, but I wasn't in a hurry and when it happened, it happened. Oh, how naive and stupid I was! Contentment in my passing, in my breast growth, in my voice... It became clear that there was, really, only one thing left that needed attending to. I was ready for SRS. But I still told myself I could wait, that I didn't .need. it. It was too big a burden on my family. It was too big a cost. I had already put them through so much just transitioning, that it was unfair and selfish to want SRS.
In late October the headache started. Now, I have always been prone to headaches. Always. But this was different. Naproxen, my painkiller of choice, didn't usually do more than dent it. It also didn't go away; save the very rare periods where meds helped, it was constant for 8+ weeks. I also started having intense dizzy spells when I stood up. And I stopped being able to sleep. I was getting 3-4 good hours of sleep a night.
Eventually I went to my doctor with this, because I knew that this was not normal, and because I was nonfunctional. I had missed weeks of school with it, and ultimately ended up failing the semester. My doctor looked me over, took my pulse, all the normal things. My BP was normal; my pulse rate was not. While it should be around 70 at the high end, she found that while I was sitting relaxedly in a chair my heart was beating at 120 beats per minute. Almost double what it should be.
She figured that this was caused by stress, but ran a battery of blood tests to be sure. She also had me do an EEG (EKG? One of the two). All the blood work came back normal (Which was nice). The heart test showed that, yes, my heart was beating very fast, but the rhythm of the heartbeat was spot on. The condition, she said, was 'sinus tachycardia'. Stress is the biggest culprit in causing it.
Working with her, I tried a wide variety of supplements. I tried a variety of methods to reduce stress. But nothing helped. I was very confused - I didn't feel that I was under any sudden new stress, and things were going so well with school and passing that I was actually relaxed.
I look back now, and it's obvious what the cause was, and it was one I wouldn't admit to myself: Subconsciously, I was crying out for SRS. My psyche knew it was the next step. I was so, so close to being whole, and all I had to do was come up with a king's ransom in money. Selfish to ask for, and painful to talk about, I didn't even let .myself. know what was causing it.
Time passed. The school term ended and, as I said, I blew the courses. This added a lot of stress to my life, and especially to my relationship with Rosie. She didn't understand what the problem was, why I was so knocked down and inoperable. By this point, sleep started catching up thanks to an Ambien script, and slowly I pulled out of that depression.
But, not before I had to confess to my mates and my shrink that I had been having very self-destructive thoughts. That I went to bed every night praying to die in my sleep, and fantasizing about ways I could kill myself painlessly. I was scared, and so were my mates. But just talking to my shrink seemed to lift that. She gave me a script for Zoloft, but I was already recovering somewhat when I left her office.
Rosie and I sat down and talked, and worked out some things in our relationship. Especially that, if I blew next term, we were finished. We are on our last chance at this marriage, and it's a shaky start when you don't know why you were depressed to begin with.
A few weeks passed and the holidays were approaching. I had a checkup with Dr. Bearman, my gender doctor. She hadn't seen me in 8 months, and I was now 50 pounds lighter and a lot more feminine. She didn't recognize me at all at first. Throughout the appointment, I kept getting amazed looks from her and she complimented me a lot. She was very, very happy with my progress. We talked hormones, went over my last blood test, and when I suggested moving off oral hormones, she lept on it. We settled on patches, a script was written, and that was that. I'm to do a blood test after two weeks on the patches to see what my numbers are at, but she sees no reason to actually see me then. Come back in 6 months just to chat, and leave it at that. It was clear to me that really, she saw her role in my transition as basically finished, that I had passed beyond needing her.
This was an amazing, wonderful feeling that lasted all day. It also carried with it a conscious realization: The only thing blocking me from SRS was money. I had been full time for over a year. On hormones for 18 months. I passed excellently. My doctor was confident that I was doing well, and doing the right thing.
I don't remember when, exactly, the crash hit. But it hit hard. And then I made the biggest mistake I could: I hid it. I pretended nothing was wrong, or came up with other reasons why I was depressed, or anything at all that wasn't admitting that I needed SRS. I also mailed Dr. Suporn, the surgeon I have chosen, and got an up to date price list.
I made some odd decisions in here, and I admit I am unclear on some of this time. I started looking into options to make the money on my own, and the only thing I really came up with was, essentially, prostitution. Brothels are legal in Brisbane, and I have seen ads for ones that specifically did trannies. I was even researching this quietly. I talked to a few people about it, getting advice and opinions. The response was, overall, that I should do what I felt was best, but to be safe.
During this time as well I stopped taking Ambien. And discovered a nasty possible side effect of coming off a month of using it: rebound insomnia. Over the week that followed my stopping, I got 17 hours of sleep. Over 7 days. Some nights I didn't sleep at all, and I was absolutely bushed and frazzled. Eventually I did start sleeping again, but I think that did a lot of damage.
Then came Christmas. Christmas eve, my mood began to tank. I tried hard to keep it under wraps, but I think my crankiness showed towards the end of the night.
I pause here to explain one big sticking point in transition: My in-laws. Specifically, my mate's father and aunt. Neither has made much effort to adapt to my change. We had given them 2 years already, and my father in law still routinely called me by male pronouns, or 'Sir', or 'Daddy'. At home, it's not so bad. But he does it in public as well, and that is just humiliating.
So, Christmas Eve went by with the normal gentle, and not so gentle, corrections on pronouns and name usage. When they were gone, I was very upset and bitter about it. But, I sucked it down because it was Christmas, and went off to bed. The next morning, I was so, so depressed. Lower than I could recall ever having being. And I struggled. We got through the kids opening their stockings ok, though I was pretty down the whole time. We usually do stockings, eat, then we do presents when Grandma and Granddad get there.
Not long before Grandma arrived (Sans Granddad, who slept in so had to catch up on work instead of coming to do presents) my girlfriend, Courtney, logged in. I started talking to her. I can't even recall what about at this point, but it was Important. I was near breaking point and trying desperately to keep my head above water without disturbing Christmas too much.
Rosie called everyone in to open presents. Now, I couldn't ask for they kids to wait after she called them, but I was very much needing to stay with C and keep talking. So I compromised and grabbed the laptop, so I could talk to her and watch presents. This, of course, annoyed Rosie, who sniped about it. Not wanting to make a huge deal of it, and trying not to cry, I shut it and set it aside. At which point Rosie snapped that if I was going to sulk, I might as well just leave.
That was, for me, the breaking point. I grabbed the laptop and fled to the bedroom, locking the door. And then... My memory of the details is fuzzy, but I started to talk. Babble, really. And I cried. I cried harder than I ever have before. And I talked some about how hopeless and alone I felt. And how much I wanted to stop hurting, to stop fighting. And I begged C, very hard, to let me kill myself.
I don't remember what either of us said. I just know that, at that moment, there was only one person besides myself in the world that I cared about, and I needed her to let me go. I could, I guess, go read the log. But I am not sure that would be a good idea for me. So, I will try to do the best I can.
Like I said, I don't remember specifics. I begged a lot. I whined a lot. I was, basically, broken. I don't remember how long it lasted. I don't know how I got through it. I don't know how Courtney did. But somehow, we did. The first clear memory I have was being asleep on the bed, surrounded by spent tissues, with Rosie coming in to check on me. She'd read the backscroll and was worried.
I'd already expressed not being up to going out to lunch with her family, so that passed. I assured her I wasn't going to do anything to myself, though I was honestly far less than certain. She left and went off to lunch with the kids, and I... Think I went back to sleep? Things are .really. hazy here. No. I didn't go back to sleep. I got up after a while, and went out into the living room, to my computer. I logged into a few places, just to be around people. I didn't talk much, I don't think. I don't remember. I just knew I couldn't be alone.
By the time Rosie came home, I was somewhat recovered. I was still very broken. I still couldn't handle human contact. Even paged or IM'd hugs were making me twitch. That lasted almost a full day. I waited vainly for Courtney to come back, but I think between the stress of my BS and a family dinner, she got sick and had gone to bed. I discovered here that I didn't have her current cell #, only her old one, and noone around had the new one, so I couldn't call her; I couldn't take calling the main line and asking for her, explaining who I was...
Things are a blur. We put the kids scooters together. I managed some light touches with Rosie. we maybe had dinner? I didn't eat, but they must have? I stayed up pretty late, hoping for one of a few people to log on I could lean on a little and cry on.
I think it was the next day, we talked some about what had happened. Me and C. I explained that I had been fighting my needs for so long, and felt so alone and hopeless. The two things I want most in the world right now are SRS, and to be with C. And both seemed hopelessly out of reach. C can't immigrate because Australia is really really strict, and SRS is tens of thousands of dollars that we didn't have.
I went to bed, umm. Maybe around midnight. Maybe later? Earlier? I don't remember. But I got up around 5am. C came on not long after and we talked a lot. I had spent time thinking, and I needed a change. Here in Oz, I am alone, pretty much utterly. I was determined, at that point, to avoid Rosie's family. So the only real contact I would have, would be with her and the kids. And our relationship is rocky at the best of times.
Simply put... I was ready to leave. Chatted with C some, talked a bit about possibilities. When Rosie got up, I drug her and C off for a family meeting. I talked about what was bothering me, what had led up to that point. We talked about ways to avoid that happening. And I said I needed a change and was considering leaving.
Rosie took over somewhere in here. I don't recall exact details (damn my mind), but she saw three options.
1) I move to the US - Not a great option, but if it was needed....
2) I take a 'break' and spend 6 or 12 months in the US with friends and just get my mind and emotions together, be with C a while, maybe save towards SRS or whatnot. Then I would come home to here.
C and I jumped on option 2; it's something we hadn't considered. There was chatting, then C got drug off for Christmas dinner. Not long after C left, Rosie presented option 3:
3) We talk to our bank and her parents, and between them borrow the money to fly us to Thailand, get me SRS, and have C join us for recovery.
At this point I broke. Somehow, in a conversation that started off being me needing to leave, it had become a dream come true. I asked if she was serious, she said that she didn't want to get my hopes up too much, because it might not work, but yes she was quite willing to pursue it. At this point I cried more, and we tabled the discussion till C could join us. Rosie went off to do boxing day things and I tried to get myself under some semblance of control.
Rosie got home about 5 minutes before C logged on (The timing was eerie) and we eventually resumed talking. It wasn't a long conversation, from what I recall, as it was very late for C and she was unwell. Or maybe her mom needed the PC. I can't recall which. But, we worked out details. Rather than meeting us after, C would meet us before, and she would be with us in Thailand. I would have a couple days to get close to her, get to know her physically, and then we'll be off to Thailand. She'll come back to Oz with us after, and will stay as long as she can. I will also be asking some friends, maybe, to come and help out after she goes. Depends on timing and what I actually need at the time. Rosie reminded us a lot that this was all very tentative and might not work out, but was sound on paper. Eventually, C went to bed and we toddled off to finish our day. I was in very very high spirits now. What lingering brokenness I had was more or less washed away by the sheer love and sacrifice of my mates.
Today, Rosie and I talked a lot in the morning about things. She talked to the bank, to the health care company we are with, and various other people. And we are seeing if we can do it. And once we know for sure, once we have the money, and have a date... Well, I am sure there will be an announcement! I am guardedly optimistic at this point, but we will see where the coming days bring us.
And... That's that. I hope it wasn't boring, I know it was way too long. But I needed this brain dump. I needed to get all this out of my system, so that I can deal with the emotions, settle my nerves, and for gods' sake, GROUND AND CENTER. I think I remember how to do that. I need it.
fin
Where I should begin on this, I am not sure, but I need to get it out of my system so that I can focus on healing and getting better. This may be even more rambly and disjointed than usual, so be aware of that. My mind is a muddle and my emotional nerves are all raw and jangled. But I need to say what I can of this.
I guess this all began when I decided to transition between genders, leaving my life as a boy behind, and moving forward through life as a girl. It was a decision I did not come to lightly. It was a decision I did not come to alone. I send a lot of credit out to the people that inspired me to walk this path. Dara, Deb, Jenna, and Jenny. Jenna was my biggest inspiration. I sent her cookies apparently while she recovered, though my useless memory had forgotten. But I am glad hers didn't. Watching her struggle through things has been an inspiration to me. Deb and Dara, I didn't see as much of but enough to respect both immensely. Jenny is the only one I have watched from start to "finish". Not that there is such a thing on this journey. There is a final milestone, yes, but after that... The unknown. Life. Being who we are. It's a scary and wonderful though.
When I began this journey, I did so with a certain degree of hesitation. I worried, and was in fact told by a person or two, that I couldn't really even be TG. Yes, I had wanted to be a girl for as long as I can remember, since I was a very small child. But... I wasn't, I thought, unhappy as a boy.
I think that's a mistake, there. I think I was unhappy as a boy. I think the fact that I hate myself, that I see myself as ugly, unlovable, unworthy, stems from my issues with gender. I can't say why. I can't point to thoughts or instances. But from as early as I can remember, I considered myself hideous. And I still do. I think that projected onto others, and so I ended up isolated and lonely.
Where was I? I wasn't, I thought, unhappy as a male. But I thought I would be happier as a girl. Jenny was the one who pushed me off the cliff, making my wife and I talk about the issues and the situation. When we agreed that I should make an appointment with the gender clinic, the impact was immediate. I was giddy, elated, /relieved/.
I should have recognized then how much I needed this. But I stayed with my illusion of happiness. And it was a functional illusion. One that worked well for me and gave me a functional and comfortable life, even if I wasn't whole.
It took three months to get in to see Dr. Bearman. In that time, my emotions were up and down. I was eager. I was scared. Scared I wouldn't be trans 'enough'. Scared I would be. Scared of the whole thing. But... I was still relieved. I still wanted it. I /needed/ it. I don't think I put that word on it until later, but it's true. from the moment Rosie agreed to my transition, it went from want to need. And I pursued that need determinedly.
The appointment came and Dr. Bearman was a total sweetheart. We talked a while about my history and past, and my feelings, and why I felt i was trans. I won't go into those here, because they aren't even remotely relevant, but we did. And her acceptance and support were immediate. She had no hesitation about giving me a Spiro script. About advising me to continue. About referring me to the clinic shrinks so I could be assessed by them and put on hormones. She, like so many since, seemed to spend 15 minutes with me and know that I should be a girl.
So I jumped the hoops, got hormones, started taking them. Eventually did a blood test; I was in female range for hormones, but only just, so she put me on a supplemental hormone. My next test (A long long time later) would show that I was very comfortably within female range now.
I bought clothing. Not much, a top and a skirt, brown. In retrospect, blah, but at the time I liked them. I wore them a bit around the house, and I think went out once or twice, but nothing serious. I also got laser treatments. I wanted to go full time, but I knew I had a trip home to the US for my cousin's wedding coming, so it wasn't an option.
Hormones produced almost immediate reactions. My skin was soft as a a boy. As a girl, it's almost too soft. Very sensitive. And breast growth started within a month or two. When I went to the US for that wedding, I was already showing signs of it. I made sure not to be topless around my family, in fact.
The trip went well, and nothing else gender related happened there, other than a little shopping, and soon we were home. And, being home, it was time to bite the bullet and go full time. So I did, in November. I'd been on hormones 6 months at this point, and Spiro about 8 or 9. At the time, I thought I passed reasonably well. And I probably did; I got plenty of ma'am's. But plenty of sir's too.
Time passed, my hair grew, my breasts grew, my voice changed some. I passed better all the time. I interviewed for jobs as a girl, though didn't get any offers. My skills were too rusty and out of date. But, irrelevant. My wardrobe slowly expanded and grew less formal. When we decided I should enroll in school, I spent some time getting some more dress-down clothes. Jeans and whatnot. And passed better.
When school started, noone even blinked. I was a girl. I don't think anyone in my classes, teachers or students, pegged me as anything but a natal female. If they did, they kept very quiet about it, and I never felt anything but acceptance.Eventually, in October of this year, I bought more clothes, even more casual and comfortable. And at this point, I looked a hundredfold more womanlike than I had when I started.
With school going well, and people pegging me as male now being rare and isolated incidents, I grew more confident. More sure of myself, more comfortable with myself. I saw a girl in the mirror. Sometimes, she wasn't even ugly, but usually she was. But an ugly girl was a lot better than an ugly boy. And I was happy, and I was thrilled, and I was content.
I had always said from the beginning of this that SRS was something I wanted, but I wasn't in a hurry and when it happened, it happened. Oh, how naive and stupid I was! Contentment in my passing, in my breast growth, in my voice... It became clear that there was, really, only one thing left that needed attending to. I was ready for SRS. But I still told myself I could wait, that I didn't .need. it. It was too big a burden on my family. It was too big a cost. I had already put them through so much just transitioning, that it was unfair and selfish to want SRS.
In late October the headache started. Now, I have always been prone to headaches. Always. But this was different. Naproxen, my painkiller of choice, didn't usually do more than dent it. It also didn't go away; save the very rare periods where meds helped, it was constant for 8+ weeks. I also started having intense dizzy spells when I stood up. And I stopped being able to sleep. I was getting 3-4 good hours of sleep a night.
Eventually I went to my doctor with this, because I knew that this was not normal, and because I was nonfunctional. I had missed weeks of school with it, and ultimately ended up failing the semester. My doctor looked me over, took my pulse, all the normal things. My BP was normal; my pulse rate was not. While it should be around 70 at the high end, she found that while I was sitting relaxedly in a chair my heart was beating at 120 beats per minute. Almost double what it should be.
She figured that this was caused by stress, but ran a battery of blood tests to be sure. She also had me do an EEG (EKG? One of the two). All the blood work came back normal (Which was nice). The heart test showed that, yes, my heart was beating very fast, but the rhythm of the heartbeat was spot on. The condition, she said, was 'sinus tachycardia'. Stress is the biggest culprit in causing it.
Working with her, I tried a wide variety of supplements. I tried a variety of methods to reduce stress. But nothing helped. I was very confused - I didn't feel that I was under any sudden new stress, and things were going so well with school and passing that I was actually relaxed.
I look back now, and it's obvious what the cause was, and it was one I wouldn't admit to myself: Subconsciously, I was crying out for SRS. My psyche knew it was the next step. I was so, so close to being whole, and all I had to do was come up with a king's ransom in money. Selfish to ask for, and painful to talk about, I didn't even let .myself. know what was causing it.
Time passed. The school term ended and, as I said, I blew the courses. This added a lot of stress to my life, and especially to my relationship with Rosie. She didn't understand what the problem was, why I was so knocked down and inoperable. By this point, sleep started catching up thanks to an Ambien script, and slowly I pulled out of that depression.
But, not before I had to confess to my mates and my shrink that I had been having very self-destructive thoughts. That I went to bed every night praying to die in my sleep, and fantasizing about ways I could kill myself painlessly. I was scared, and so were my mates. But just talking to my shrink seemed to lift that. She gave me a script for Zoloft, but I was already recovering somewhat when I left her office.
Rosie and I sat down and talked, and worked out some things in our relationship. Especially that, if I blew next term, we were finished. We are on our last chance at this marriage, and it's a shaky start when you don't know why you were depressed to begin with.
A few weeks passed and the holidays were approaching. I had a checkup with Dr. Bearman, my gender doctor. She hadn't seen me in 8 months, and I was now 50 pounds lighter and a lot more feminine. She didn't recognize me at all at first. Throughout the appointment, I kept getting amazed looks from her and she complimented me a lot. She was very, very happy with my progress. We talked hormones, went over my last blood test, and when I suggested moving off oral hormones, she lept on it. We settled on patches, a script was written, and that was that. I'm to do a blood test after two weeks on the patches to see what my numbers are at, but she sees no reason to actually see me then. Come back in 6 months just to chat, and leave it at that. It was clear to me that really, she saw her role in my transition as basically finished, that I had passed beyond needing her.
This was an amazing, wonderful feeling that lasted all day. It also carried with it a conscious realization: The only thing blocking me from SRS was money. I had been full time for over a year. On hormones for 18 months. I passed excellently. My doctor was confident that I was doing well, and doing the right thing.
I don't remember when, exactly, the crash hit. But it hit hard. And then I made the biggest mistake I could: I hid it. I pretended nothing was wrong, or came up with other reasons why I was depressed, or anything at all that wasn't admitting that I needed SRS. I also mailed Dr. Suporn, the surgeon I have chosen, and got an up to date price list.
I made some odd decisions in here, and I admit I am unclear on some of this time. I started looking into options to make the money on my own, and the only thing I really came up with was, essentially, prostitution. Brothels are legal in Brisbane, and I have seen ads for ones that specifically did trannies. I was even researching this quietly. I talked to a few people about it, getting advice and opinions. The response was, overall, that I should do what I felt was best, but to be safe.
During this time as well I stopped taking Ambien. And discovered a nasty possible side effect of coming off a month of using it: rebound insomnia. Over the week that followed my stopping, I got 17 hours of sleep. Over 7 days. Some nights I didn't sleep at all, and I was absolutely bushed and frazzled. Eventually I did start sleeping again, but I think that did a lot of damage.
Then came Christmas. Christmas eve, my mood began to tank. I tried hard to keep it under wraps, but I think my crankiness showed towards the end of the night.
I pause here to explain one big sticking point in transition: My in-laws. Specifically, my mate's father and aunt. Neither has made much effort to adapt to my change. We had given them 2 years already, and my father in law still routinely called me by male pronouns, or 'Sir', or 'Daddy'. At home, it's not so bad. But he does it in public as well, and that is just humiliating.
So, Christmas Eve went by with the normal gentle, and not so gentle, corrections on pronouns and name usage. When they were gone, I was very upset and bitter about it. But, I sucked it down because it was Christmas, and went off to bed. The next morning, I was so, so depressed. Lower than I could recall ever having being. And I struggled. We got through the kids opening their stockings ok, though I was pretty down the whole time. We usually do stockings, eat, then we do presents when Grandma and Granddad get there.
Not long before Grandma arrived (Sans Granddad, who slept in so had to catch up on work instead of coming to do presents) my girlfriend, Courtney, logged in. I started talking to her. I can't even recall what about at this point, but it was Important. I was near breaking point and trying desperately to keep my head above water without disturbing Christmas too much.
Rosie called everyone in to open presents. Now, I couldn't ask for they kids to wait after she called them, but I was very much needing to stay with C and keep talking. So I compromised and grabbed the laptop, so I could talk to her and watch presents. This, of course, annoyed Rosie, who sniped about it. Not wanting to make a huge deal of it, and trying not to cry, I shut it and set it aside. At which point Rosie snapped that if I was going to sulk, I might as well just leave.
That was, for me, the breaking point. I grabbed the laptop and fled to the bedroom, locking the door. And then... My memory of the details is fuzzy, but I started to talk. Babble, really. And I cried. I cried harder than I ever have before. And I talked some about how hopeless and alone I felt. And how much I wanted to stop hurting, to stop fighting. And I begged C, very hard, to let me kill myself.
I don't remember what either of us said. I just know that, at that moment, there was only one person besides myself in the world that I cared about, and I needed her to let me go. I could, I guess, go read the log. But I am not sure that would be a good idea for me. So, I will try to do the best I can.
Like I said, I don't remember specifics. I begged a lot. I whined a lot. I was, basically, broken. I don't remember how long it lasted. I don't know how I got through it. I don't know how Courtney did. But somehow, we did. The first clear memory I have was being asleep on the bed, surrounded by spent tissues, with Rosie coming in to check on me. She'd read the backscroll and was worried.
I'd already expressed not being up to going out to lunch with her family, so that passed. I assured her I wasn't going to do anything to myself, though I was honestly far less than certain. She left and went off to lunch with the kids, and I... Think I went back to sleep? Things are .really. hazy here. No. I didn't go back to sleep. I got up after a while, and went out into the living room, to my computer. I logged into a few places, just to be around people. I didn't talk much, I don't think. I don't remember. I just knew I couldn't be alone.
By the time Rosie came home, I was somewhat recovered. I was still very broken. I still couldn't handle human contact. Even paged or IM'd hugs were making me twitch. That lasted almost a full day. I waited vainly for Courtney to come back, but I think between the stress of my BS and a family dinner, she got sick and had gone to bed. I discovered here that I didn't have her current cell #, only her old one, and noone around had the new one, so I couldn't call her; I couldn't take calling the main line and asking for her, explaining who I was...
Things are a blur. We put the kids scooters together. I managed some light touches with Rosie. we maybe had dinner? I didn't eat, but they must have? I stayed up pretty late, hoping for one of a few people to log on I could lean on a little and cry on.
I think it was the next day, we talked some about what had happened. Me and C. I explained that I had been fighting my needs for so long, and felt so alone and hopeless. The two things I want most in the world right now are SRS, and to be with C. And both seemed hopelessly out of reach. C can't immigrate because Australia is really really strict, and SRS is tens of thousands of dollars that we didn't have.
I went to bed, umm. Maybe around midnight. Maybe later? Earlier? I don't remember. But I got up around 5am. C came on not long after and we talked a lot. I had spent time thinking, and I needed a change. Here in Oz, I am alone, pretty much utterly. I was determined, at that point, to avoid Rosie's family. So the only real contact I would have, would be with her and the kids. And our relationship is rocky at the best of times.
Simply put... I was ready to leave. Chatted with C some, talked a bit about possibilities. When Rosie got up, I drug her and C off for a family meeting. I talked about what was bothering me, what had led up to that point. We talked about ways to avoid that happening. And I said I needed a change and was considering leaving.
Rosie took over somewhere in here. I don't recall exact details (damn my mind), but she saw three options.
1) I move to the US - Not a great option, but if it was needed....
2) I take a 'break' and spend 6 or 12 months in the US with friends and just get my mind and emotions together, be with C a while, maybe save towards SRS or whatnot. Then I would come home to here.
C and I jumped on option 2; it's something we hadn't considered. There was chatting, then C got drug off for Christmas dinner. Not long after C left, Rosie presented option 3:
3) We talk to our bank and her parents, and between them borrow the money to fly us to Thailand, get me SRS, and have C join us for recovery.
At this point I broke. Somehow, in a conversation that started off being me needing to leave, it had become a dream come true. I asked if she was serious, she said that she didn't want to get my hopes up too much, because it might not work, but yes she was quite willing to pursue it. At this point I cried more, and we tabled the discussion till C could join us. Rosie went off to do boxing day things and I tried to get myself under some semblance of control.
Rosie got home about 5 minutes before C logged on (The timing was eerie) and we eventually resumed talking. It wasn't a long conversation, from what I recall, as it was very late for C and she was unwell. Or maybe her mom needed the PC. I can't recall which. But, we worked out details. Rather than meeting us after, C would meet us before, and she would be with us in Thailand. I would have a couple days to get close to her, get to know her physically, and then we'll be off to Thailand. She'll come back to Oz with us after, and will stay as long as she can. I will also be asking some friends, maybe, to come and help out after she goes. Depends on timing and what I actually need at the time. Rosie reminded us a lot that this was all very tentative and might not work out, but was sound on paper. Eventually, C went to bed and we toddled off to finish our day. I was in very very high spirits now. What lingering brokenness I had was more or less washed away by the sheer love and sacrifice of my mates.
Today, Rosie and I talked a lot in the morning about things. She talked to the bank, to the health care company we are with, and various other people. And we are seeing if we can do it. And once we know for sure, once we have the money, and have a date... Well, I am sure there will be an announcement! I am guardedly optimistic at this point, but we will see where the coming days bring us.
And... That's that. I hope it wasn't boring, I know it was way too long. But I needed this brain dump. I needed to get all this out of my system, so that I can deal with the emotions, settle my nerves, and for gods' sake, GROUND AND CENTER. I think I remember how to do that. I need it.
fin