• As I have written before....

  ...on the days that I am not shaving, to grow hair for my electro person to get, I don't go anywhere unless I have to. And usually that is the liquor store, supermarket or drugstore. I couldn't even think of going someplace like out to dinner or the movies.

  So now I have two sets of establishments that I go to. I go to stores that are like pretty much way out of the way for the "hair days", and the stores that I would just normally go to that are nearby are for the days I am not a little more..... hairy. The reason being, I do not wish to have anybody close to where I live thinking of me as a guy. The far away places I just don't have to go to that often and people in stores nearest me never see the hair, or what there is of it. Think this is not a hassle? Yeah... Just a part of the whole fun transition package..... for a while. Anyway, close stores for normal me, far away stores for not normal me.

  I had two and a half hours of electrolysis yesterday. Good good good. I had my brows waxed also. This always makes me feel better about myself. A good productive day. I talked to my electro person and let her know that I had decided to get Gender Reassignment Surgery set up as soon as I can, so we need to get real serious about finishing this up as much as possible. She is with me.

  I also picked up my son yesterday for the Thanksgiving weekend. So he is here for a few days... I am prejudiced of course, but I have been told he is growing up to be quite a good looking young man.

   

  Don't eat too much, today.
  Trish

Sunday, December 8th, 2002

• So folks get mad ....

  ...at you for not wanting to leave the house on the days you must have hair on your face for the electrologist to get, like to go out for dinner or something. It's okay at first, but when they see you are totally serious about it and it happens more then once they get fed up with you. They say, "C'mon, you are letting that dictate your life." See, they kind of understand, but they prove they don't really totally understand, when they say that. It's not their fault that they don't truly know how deep this runs..... they were not born a freak. I understand.

  Just to put kind of an ending to this, today I resigned my administrator position at susans.org. Susan's is a very well run and respectable transgender site on the Internet. Susan is the best. She has been nothing but good to me and I have only the highest respect for her. I just did not fit in there anymore. This was totally by my choice. I thought long and hard about it before making the final decision to resign.

  I really loved being an administrator there. I had hoped it would be a way for me to give a little back to "the community" as "the community" had given to me, and I had wanted to be active in "the community" in some way. I had also hoped to learn there (and I did), make friends there (and I did), and if I was lucky, to pass a little of what I have learned along this path of transition etc., to others. Well, for one reason or another none of that was happening anymore. It seems that just as in any other aspect of the world where people are involved, sometimes there are one or two that just don't add much to the equation, and I am one of them. I will still visit, but I no longer wish to conduct myself as a representative of Susan's Resources. So I pass the torch. It makes me a little sad, but overall, no worries.

   

  Tis all for today I guess.
  Trish

Thursday, December 12th, 2002

• Okay, something I haven't wanted to do ....

  ...for a while, but I am going to do it right now. That is, to count my blessings. Nothing too spiritual. I know.... that is kind of boring. I say they Lords Prayer every night also. Boring, but necessary from time to time.

  Some of my blessings:

  My Mom -
  My son -
  Julie -
  The art of electrolysis -
  My electro person -
  Therapy -
  My therapist -
  Hormones: Estrogen -
  My endocrinologist -
  My Lawyer -
  An amicable divorce (more or less) -
  Legal joint child custody -
  A nice warm home to hang my hat for a while -
  A strong bladder (...nevermind) -
  My computer -
  The Internet -
  Colleen D -
  Little birds -
  CoverGirl® Makeup -
  Nancy J. -
  No weight gain -
  Wet & Wild Lip Gloss -
  Rat and D. -
  Hand/body lotion -
  Underwear that is not Hanes Her Way® with the lace roll up shred apart waistband -
  Little boxes -
  

  Told ya, nothing too spiritual.

  I had another 2 hours and 30 minutes of electro yesterday. I am now at 162 hours and 35 minutes. Progress is being made at a faster rate now that I have some money. Man, some of it really hurts, but the rewards are many. Many many many.

  People visit my website where I state that I support the "right to keep and bear arms", I support the 2nd Amendment to the Constitution of The United States of America and that I am a firearms enthusiast. When some folks discover this, among other things I am made to feel like a baby killer and also, "Girls don't like guns.... Woman abhor violence and guns were only make to kill." Oh, like I am a big mean violent violence lover. Oh man..... Here we go again with the McCalls version of a woman. I try hard not to debate this firearms thing. No opinions are ever changed. Too much stress. It is just that I believe I have the right to own firearms and I say so on my website. That is another of my rights. I don't throw it in anybody's face. Visit my website, learn about me. Don't like me? Bye.

  This afternoon Mom and I dropped off a car for some friends. They met us down at a Park And Ride lot. A very, very nice couple. Well, when they found out that I had received the "buying me out of the house for the divorce" money, our woman friend asked me, "So, are we going to see a brand new Trish sometime next year?" (Meaning Gender Reassignment Surgery) I said, "I sure hope so. I am going to be speaking to my therapist about it next Wednesday." She said, "Cool." I said.... well I didn't really say anything. I just kinda did the Trish squiggle squirm which translates to: Fuck yeah.

  There were several men (read: rednecks) milling about the parking lot while we were there. When Mom and I got back into the car and were driving home, she said to me, "The men used to look at me when we were out and about. Now they are looking at you." I said, "Really?? No shit?? They were looking at me?" She said, "Yes." I said, "Were they lookin at me kinda like, what the fuck is that, or were they, you know, checking me out, like CHECKING ME OUT." She said, "They were CHECKIN YOU OUT." I said, "I feel kinda good today for some reason, thankful too."

  I hope that the above is not coming off as gloating or bragging or anything like that. Lord knows there is enough of that around, so much in fact that I can never really talk about this kind of stuff anyplace other then here without sounding like one of the "I am so much of a GIRL!" crowd. I am just writing of my experiences as they happen. Nobody a year or so back would have ever mistaken me for female. It is relevant to my Transition Diary. This is the only place I can really talk about it without at least in my mind, sounding like a.... a.... well just a.

  "Jeez Trish, do you always have to inject those kind of "putting down on others" statements into your entries?"
  Um...... yeah?
  "But why."
  Well, I suppose it is to vent my frustrations at those who say they are so much like me. To the gender uneducated world, I am one of those that stand to have their picture taken in front of a store at a crowded (men, women and children) mall and hike their skirt up to just below their testicles. "Gee, don't I look like a women?" Um... No, you look like a guy hiking his skirt up to just a haaaaaiiiiirrrrrr below his testicles. You look like a horny idiot with a dress on. Why don't you save it for your bathroom.
  "Hmmmmmm..."
  Hmmmmm is right. When was the last time you saw a woman do that, or a man hang Mr. Ed out from the bottom of his bermuda shorts for a picture and not get paid for it. I will keep saying it as long as I need to:

  YOU ARE NOT LIKE ME.
  Capisca?

  The general public doesn't know the difference between a horny guy with a dress on, and those of us who just wish to transition and live in the world with the general public, in peace, and with some sort of normalcy.

  "I kind of understand where you are coming from, Trish."
  No shit? Naw.......
  "No, for once, I do. I do understand."
  Well, don't tell anybody that you do, it is a lonely club.
  "I was just kidding anyway. I wanted to see what you would say."
  Oh.....

  Anyway..
  Things are going well. I finally said enough is enough and I have the confidence in my appearance now (knock on wood) to use only the women's restroom when out. And that is what I have done for the last few weeks. Very little makeup, no dress, no heels, none of that stuff and I am able to just blend in. Do I sound like I am bragging now? I'm not. I have worked hard to get here. And it is good.

   

  When it comes together, it is real good.
  Trish

Wednesday, December 18th, 2002

• 11:07 PM PST... It's late. I have had a long day, but I had to make this entry....

    Today, I was given the full go ahead by my therapist for Gender Reassignment Surgery.

   

  Yes.... That means what it sounds like.
  I am going to have surgery, and probably pretty doggoned soon.
  YES, gosh darnit. YES.
  Trish

Friday, January 3rd, 2003

• How bout some more honesty....

    Here is the deal. I have been out, a lot. In the last months that I have been out I have not had any problems at all. Nobody looks at me. Except for when I am purchasing things and my identification is involved, nobody has given me any double takes or even so much as a second glance. I have been in restaurants, department stores, gas stations, busy busy crowded holiday shopping malls, alone and not alone, and even "buzzed in" to women's restrooms with camera surveillance and things are going great.

  The above paragraph is a setup to my next statement, which is not a gripe or a bitch or a whine or anything like that. And that statement is: I may look like a woman to people, but I am not an attractive woman. Now, I consider myself very lucky, but I have come to the realization that because I am not getting any second looks or glances, from men or women, that there is nothing much to look at. I suppose the fact that I have not had so much as a flirt in 16 years would be a strong hint also. This doesn't make me totally happy, but what the hay, I can move about unnoticed just as I had wanted to be able to do. Good deal then.

  The pictures of me on my website?

  Okay, here is the honesty. My looks. My hair is thin and short. I wear a wig (although I don't wear it when I am out and about most of the time, I just wear a hat). My teeth are awful, what there is left of them anyway. They have been a source of pain for me, both emotional and physical for 15 years. I am scared shitless of the dentist. My pain threshold is low low low babee. The skin on my stomach droops as a result of my 100 pound weight loss some 3 years ago. It is so ugly. And I do mean..... ugly. I have over 15 not small tattoos on my mid to upper arms that are not feminine in appearance. My posture makes Quasimodo smile. My body is shaped like the Great Smoky Mountains. There ain't no chocolateee smooth about me. I never had a butt and nothing has changed about that. My face is hard, especially in the morning, not something you would want to wake up to. I have the beginnings of a turkey neck. Real nice. There's more.

  But for now, that is that. I am not attractive. But at least when I go into a store with my Mom, they say "Hello ladies" every time. I'll take it.

  The previous paragraphs were not about vanity, but about reality and keeping my feet on the ground. I do wish I were beautiful or even slightly attractive, but there is nothing anybody can do about stuff like that.

  This is a picture of the little heart pendant my son gave me for Christmas. It has a little red rose in it. The back of the heart is gold and the chain is gold. I think it is beautiful.

  Gender Reassignment Surgery. Man, I am pretty much scared. Surprised to hear that?

  "What? What Trish?? You have not changed your mind, have you??"
  Are you kidding?!?!?!?!?!

  I am not good with pain at all. That is the only thing that scares me, but you have to do what you have to do and I will be doggone rootin tootin if I am not going to do this. It is what I have wanted for so long. There is just no way I would let anything or anybody stop me. I would die if this fell through. It won't. But just to let you know, I am scared shitless. Genital electrolysis? Let's not go there yet.

  Whenever I imagined that I would be approved for surgery and/or have a date, I never thought that I would be scared. I thought I would be a lot of things, but scared was never one of them. So anyway, down for the record, I am scared. But hot damn if I am not happier then a pig in shit.

  "A pig in shit? That is kinda crude, Trish. Not too girlish."
  Oh, sorry....... NOT.

  The holidays have kind of slowed things a bit. On Monday I will be making some phone calls to several surgeons requesting information, paperwork, whatever it is that needs to be seen and or signed. I am hoping to have surgery within the United States and not in Thailand or Canada. We will see. I do not think that I will be able to afford to have breast augmentation surgery at the same time, but I don't know that as fact yet. I want GRS performed within the next 6 months. Actually, I want it done tomorrow, but that is not the way it works.

  Wednesday, I have a therapy appointment and by then I will know a little more. As my Mom is my GRS Support person (at least, that is what I have planned), she will be attending the session with me.... My therapist will either put to rest some of the fears that Mom has for my future or he will thoroughly scare the shit out of her. Either way, she is my GRS support, whether she likes it or not. Nice of me, eh?

  I have been around when post-op women would be having a discussion and I would tell them that GRS is my wish for myself. They would say, "Well, go to such and such and you can view photographs of GRS surgeries." I am like, "No THANK YOU." Then they say, "Well Trish, if you cannot even look at the photographs of surgery, you are not ready to handle GRS." Oh yeah..... Okay... Well, when I had rhinoplasty I just wanted to lay down on the table, go to sleep and wake up with the procedure having been done. I didn't want to look at pictures of rods 3 feet long being shoved up somebodies nostrils beforehand, thank you. I guess looking at surgery photos is a rite of passage for some. Ferget it babee. Let's just do it.

   

  I have to quit smoking, and I will.
  Is there a better reason then GRS?
  Not in my life.
  Trish

Saturday, January 18th, 2003

• I haven't updated my Transition Diary for a while....

    ...because everything, I mean everything tends to take a back seat when you are in love. That's right, you heard me. I am divorced, free and back on the love train. I have fallen deeply, madly, passionately in love with somebody and they with me. Everything I have said about love, what could I have been thinking. Love is inescapable.

  I met this person at a small dinner given by a mutual friend. Have you ever had a dream where you meet somebody and they are everything you could ever want in a person? Everything? Well, that is what this person is to me. I was not looking for it, and I suppose I could just blame it on the only clean thing I had to wear that night, a very very short skirt.

  Ha... When I asked my true love what attracted them to me first, they said, "Um..... a short little skirt?"

  "Trish, I thought you said that you would never....."
  Please be quiet. Do not rain on my love parade.
  "But you said...."
  I know what I said and it was all bullshit.

  So anyway, I suppose my libido, my wanting to not be alone got the better of me and I let this person get close. Since meeting, this person has just romanced me to the hilt. I feel like such a woman. A real, live, ALIVE, woman. We have been to the movies, miniature golfing, reading, dining and even............. FISHING! I never thought I would want to go fishing, but my love didn't even make this girl (ahem, did I say girl? I meant, woman babee, all woman) bait her own hook.

  And the sex??? Oh....... my......... God...... I just could not hold out like I thought I could. I just couldn't. I know that I always said that nobody would ever see my pre-operative genitals again, but damn, I was so, well, feeling "that way" and "that way" can override so much.

  I am so, so, so, so in love.

  Then..................................................... two nights ago. My love had taken me to their place for a dinner and they had said, "Trish, I want, no I need to ask you something. It is very important." "YES!" I thought to myself. We are going to be a friggin item. La la laaaaa. Oh joy. My love arranged to have a beautiful Italian dinner served to us with candlelight and soft music. The food was so good, the company was melt city and I was in heaven. After dinner, the caterer left and we retired to my love's living room to sit and talk and do whatever came natural to us as we have done a few wonderful, wonderful times...
  The conversation is paraphrased as follows:

  My Love: "Trish, I need to ask you something."
  Me: Yes?
  My Love: "It's very important, to me."
  Me: Yes.... I want to hear it. I just want to make you happy.
  My Love: "Well......"
  Me: Will you just ask me already? Babee??? (I skooched closer into them, feeling happy, anxious)
  My Love: "Trish, will you please not have, or at least postpone your surgery."
  Me: WHAT? WHAT THE FUCK? I told you I was going to do this.
  My Love: "Please Trish.... Relax... It is just that I love you, all of you."
  Me: You can't ask me to DO that. Please. ANYthing but that.
  My Love: "I'm sorry Trish, I love all of you, just the way you are."
  Me: No.... Please.... Don't do this to me. (By now I am on the verge of fucking crying)
  My Love: "It is just that I cannot stay with you if you do the surgery, Trish. I want all of you."
  Me: Please just don't do this.

  ..and that was that. In silence my love drove me home. Actually, it wasn't total silence as I was crying off and on. I couldn't help it. This sucks so bad. So here I am totally in fucking love and this person will leave me, and I know for a fact they will, if I have Gender Reassignment Surgery. That's it in a nutshell. Why did I wear that short skirt. Why did I let my libido get the better of me. Why did I let this person get close? WHY DID I LET THIS PERSON DO THIS TO ME???????? .....maybe I did it to myself.

  Man, am I glad I just made all that up. Fortunately for me, this is just kind of a nightmare that could possibly happen if I let it. It does sound like kind of a familiar story though, doesn't it?

  "I knew you were bullshitting, Trish."
  Oh did you now, and don't you curse.

  My surgery is still on, babeee..... I just received a packet of information from one GRS surgeon and I am waiting for one other. I think that I'm going select one of these two surgeons if I can afford it. They are not in Thailand.

  On Thursday night I went out to dinner with my Mom and a friend at a very nice restaurant on the beach, the waves crashing just below the window, where we were seated. Beautiful. Our friend made a very generous offer, and that is to schedule her vacation time around my surgery date and take some days to help look after me during recovery. I am not sure yet if that will be needed, but it was sure nice of her to offer and it would help to take some of the pressure off of my Mom. Cool huh? A very nice woman.

   

  Beware short skirts and libido.
  Stay focused.
  Fishing... ha.
  Trish

Monday, January 27th, 2003

• Just an update....

    ...Nothing too important. Last Tuesday night one of my bad teeth kicked in again, with major pain. So Tuesday I didn't sleep or eat. Wednesday I didn't sleep or eat. Thursday I didn't sleep or eat. Friday I didn't sleep or eat. Saturday night I was in so much pain that I gave in and my Mom called a dentist to make an appointment for Sunday morning. You see, I have had these toothaches on an average of every 3 to 6 to 9 months for the last 15 years. As I am so scared shitless of the dentist and especially now that I have no insurance whatsoever, I usually ride them out. Four or five days of pain and that is about it. And I usually kept it from anybody around me because they would just get pissed at me. "Listen, it's you that chooses to be in pain. Normal folks would go to the dentist, so don't ask for any sympathy from me". And I agree. But I am at my Mom's now and I guess because she is my Mom, she is a bit more understanding, or at least more tolerant. Color me grateful.

  But late Saturday night, after about 96 hours of pain and no sleep, it got to be too much and I gave in to letting my Mom call a dentist. I went to my appointment on Sunday morning and had two root canals to hopefully be finished up next week. Another appointment, oh joy. And yeah, I am scared shitless of that appointment also and if it were not for the fact that what I have in my teeth right now are temporary fillings of stuff just to make the swelling go down, I would probably not go back. I would rather just have them pulled because they just put you to sleep, pull em, then you are up and on your merry way. But it is not working out that way this time. I kind of know what to expect at this follow up appointment and the dentist said that the "hard part" is over with, but that doesn't help me at all. Fortunately it was not near as expensive without insurance as I thought it would be.

  I only write about my toothache as I think it adds a little more about what makes me tick. I am not afraid to write that I may suck.

  "Yeah, Trish. Most everybody finds the dentist not all that pleasant."
  I know, and do you know how many times I have been told that?
  "...And with all the new technology they have now to make it less invasive?"
  I know, and do you know how many times I have been told that?
  "So then? What is your problem."
  I wish I knew. I wish I knew.

  Saturday I watched The Wedding Singer starring Adam Sandler on television. You tend to do weird things after not having much sleep for a few days. I really don't care for Adam at all. And do you know what? He actually made me cry. Now you know how bad my tooth was hurting and how delirious I was becoming.

  The therapist appointment that I had scheduled to go to with my mom 3 weeks ago had to be cancelled. Actually, I went, but my Mom did not. She was sick with the cold that I had passed along to her. If the appointment location had been a little closer and it was just that appointment and not an electro appointment also, she might have gone. But this is going to be another maybe 15 hours on the road and if you are sick, you are sick. Anyway, it was rescheduled and we are going this Wednesday. I have both packets of information from the two surgeons I am interested in having perform my Gender Reassignment Surgery, so unless there are any changes it is just down to making a choice. One is in the United States and another is just outside of the US. Neither is close to where I live so that adds a lot to discuss with my support system.

  You know? I really debated as to whether or not I should write my last entry of January 18th because I don't want anybody to think that after reading half of my Transition Diary entries, they are going to be Dallas'd all the time (reference to the Who Shot J.R. Ewing season cliffhanger that turned out to be a dream). I won't do that again, I think.

  And now I will let the vicodin (a going to the dentist perk) continue to do it's thing for the night.

   

  Hearin' people scream, sittin' in the waiting room.
  Readin' crappy magazines, with a toothache.
  This is it, pal, Root Canal.
  Weird al Yankovich

Sunday, February 2nd, 2003

• Mom and I...

  ...went to my therapy appointment together last Wednesday. Two and a half hours. It wasn't quite what I had thought it would be, but it was good. Hmmmmm.... Let me see here.... I ended up sitting between two like minded people when it came to my health and well-being. This all gets kind of muddy, at least to try and explain. Bottom line is that my surgery has been postponed until at least October (My therapist said October). Why? Well, for one thing, it appears that even with all that I am doing as to living life as Trish, I am really in no situations that I cannot just turn and run from if I want/need to. I am in no places that if people don't like me, or approve of me or whatever of me that I would have to "brave it out". Places like work, or school.... It seems that the only way to prove that Trish is committed enough to be Trish is to have to have my livelihood or some such thing threatened and me still not backing out of Trish. I think that sounds more dramatic then it really is, but that appears to be the case.

  I don't know, everything in this stupid transition works backassward and against everything else. My therapist and my Mom are concerned about my teeth. They want them fixed for a few reasons. One of the reasons being my general health, as infected teeth can be dangerous and kill a person (but then again, so can being in transition with no transition actually taking place). Another reason is that I may not be able to find a job looking like a toothless hound after surgery. Okay, so here it is.... I barely have enough money for surgery, and I am supposed to have my teeth fixed with absolutely no insurance. Also, I am suppose to hang in there another at least 9 months until surgery. And what am I supposed to live on for that 9 months? I will tell you what I am going to have to live on for that 9 months: Surgery money.

  There is also talk of me taking a college course or something to better prepare me for finding employment as Trish after surgery . I hate school. I am lousy at school. I never thought surgery would come down to my teeth and going to school. It won't. Fuck that. I mean, it makes some sense and all, but only if money is not an issue (in an ass backwards sense like all this "transition" shit). It is very possible that I will have dental coverage in the future, but GRS will never be insured. See how all of this is just so ass backwards? And hey, I was in the information technology field for almost 19 years. Many women are. That doesn't count? I mean, to qualify for surgery I have to prove that I can be employed? No no no no......... Women can't be unemployed? Or maybe it is just that being unemployed is not supposed to be a result of being a male to female fully transitioned women. Maybe it is that I can be an unemployed genetically born woman any ol' day, but nobody wants to take the responsibility of my unemployment being because I am a "transitioned woman". Man, is that the shits.

  "Um.... Trish... What the hell are you talking about."
  Just let me have my damn surgery and if I go downhill I go downhill, because you know what? It is not like I am winning any Nobel Peace Prizes in my current state. Damn.

  As of last month I have been in gender therapy for 3 years, I have been on HRT for over 2 and a half years and I have had 172 hours of electrolysis. I have heard of and I know some folks that have had Gender Reassignment Surgery with 3 months of therapy, 6 months of HRT and no electrolysis. So give me a little break already?

  All that I just wrote would probably make it appear that I am a little worried. I am not. I will have what I need, they know it and I know it. They want me to have what I need, they just want me to be safe and happy when I get it. What I need will come my way one way or another. It is right for me. I know this in my heart, they know it too. And I am not obsessing with it, I just need to get it behind me and I have the funds to do just that now. I am trying to do this the "right way".

  "Hey Trish... Look, why not just use the money that you have now to live, finish up electro and keep your hormones going for a while. Look for a job. You can save up the money for surgery again in the future. Have some patience. If it is right for you, it can wait a while."
  Okay, now I know you have lost your ever lovin mind.
  "It was just a thought."
  Yeah, and that's about all it was, and will ever be. Take a hike with that stuff.

  I am going to make a phone call to my lawyer tomorrow morning to start my name change process. Hopefully before too long, my legal name will be Trish-Marie Blahblahblah. This was discussed at my therapy session as a good next step. Mom and my therapist are behind me on this. It is kind of a hoop, a commitment. S'fine with me buddy. I think it is a good idea to get that done. And one thing is for sure, penis or no penis, they can't bury a guy named Trish-Marie in a suit, or really I guess they could, but it would be kind of weird.

  But, I would also rather go to my grave with mind/body congruency then a with a lovely set of choppers. If I never have Gender Reassignment Surgery, one thing is for sure: You wouldn't be seeing those teeth anyway because without that congruency I won't be smiling in my coffin.

  My Mom has been trying to clean out her garage and get rid of some stuff that she has had just hanging around for years and years, so we decided to go sell some of it at a swap meet, and on Friday we did that. I wore blue jeans, a pink T-shirt, tennis shoes and a ball cap. I knew it was going to be a hot day so I didn't wear any foundation, just some mascara, eyeliner and a little lipstick. I don't know about other swap meets, but this one could have been very dangerous for my physical safety and such when it came to stuff like using the restroom and one on ones with prospective buyers. I had no problems whatsoever.

  Oh, and I am down to 131 pounds. I am quite happy with that.

  I also stopped shaving some of my pubic hair in anticipation of possible genital electrolysis, preperation for surgery. It is so gross, the areas that I must let grow out. It feels..... I don't know..... skanky. But I suppose I needn't worry about that too much for now. Bummer. But I will leave it be in the hopes that surgery will come sooner then I think.

  I am not really thinking too straight today. (Shhhhhh.... Don't tell anybody. I have yet another tooth aching at this time. Shit.) The follow up appointment for my two exisiting root canals is next Monday morning, the 10th.

  I miss my son. I haven't seen him for about three weeks. If all goes according to schedule, I will see him for a short time on Wednesday night.

  There was a snake on the porch last night. Oh man, I live where snakes are.

   

  No real worries.
  So I will change my name and take some classes.
  I want to change my name.
  I will find a shit job until I have GRS.
  Sooner or later, I will have what I need.
  Trish

   

  Trish's Current HRT Statistics (02/02/03):
  Hormone Regiment: 8 mgs estradiol and 200 mgs spironolactone once a day.
  Emotions: Not bad, except with the teeth thing and the surgery thing, but still not bad.
  Breasts: Sore.
  Hips, Thighs and Bottom: Nope.
  Body Hair: Stable.
  Skin: Nothing.
  Erection Count: Discontinued for now... Since December 17th, 2001.
  Masturbation and Sexual Desire: It happens, been about every 2 months or so. Orgasm is good, but different as I have written before. Dealing with my semi-erect piece of shit sucks though, as I have also written before..
  Trish Bottom Line: I keep pluggin.

Wednesday, February 5th, 2003

• Love... attention... touching... being touched... caring....

    ...you just keep thinking it is going to happen. And then it never does, and it never does, and it never does, until one day, it just never did.

   

  
  Trish

---

Saturday, February 8th, 2003

• Last Sunday I had written...

  ...that Gender Reassignment Surgery was right for me and that everybody in my support system agrees. As a matter of fact, I have written that more then one time. Last Sunday I had also written:

  As of last month I have been in gender therapy for 3 years, I have been on HRT for over 2 and a half years and I have had 172 hours of electrolysis. I have heard of and I know some folks that have had Gender Reassignment Surgery with 3 months of therapy, 6 months of HRT and no electrolysis.

  ...and do you know what? That is absolutely true. So do you know what else? I will tell you what else. Maybe I am wrong about my support system thinking that surgery is so right for me, that I should have it. It's a natch for ol' Trish. Then why is it that three years later I am still being made to "prove" myself. Three years is quite a long time, especially when I am about as set in life for surgery with regards to money and timing as anybody ever was. It doesn't get much better. So maybe, just maybe, I am not the person that I think I am. Maybe, just maybe, they cannot really see it, because maybe it is not really there. Maybe it is not a natch for ol' Trish.

  What's this like. Every time I pull my underwear up or down, every time I use the restroom, every time I shower, every time I go to bed, every time I get out of bed, every time I feel it when I move, every time I have to look myself in the mirror and tuck that ugly piece of meat known as penis away so that I won't have to think about it and you won't know about it, I think to myself how unfair it is, how torturous it is to keep me in this condition.

  "Trish, are you actually crying unfair?"
  Yeah, I am. I really am.
  "You are totally opening yourself up to the old 'the world is unfair' thing you know."
  God.

  This is not self doubt about what I want/need. I know I want/need it. This is about just maybe I am not right in the head. I keep thinking to myself, "Trish, what say we decide that we can just do all of this and live without surgery. Let's just be happy with what we've got, leave it at that." I can't do it. I cannot stay like this. I just cannot. I just canfuckingnot stay like this, especially when I know that it is not necessary to stay like this.

  How much weight do I put on this issue without appearing to be obsessed, but keep it in the forefront? Do I just every once in a while say, "Oh, by the way, I still really want GRS." Or do I scream and stomp my feet. What is the in-between? This is getting very old. Seeing my penis hanging there for no good reason and just wanting it gone is getting very old. Trying to communicate in a constructive manner to those that will approve me that I feel this way is getting very old. All of this is getting very old. The problem is, is that it can't get old. It won't go away and something has to be done about it, and until that happens, old just doesn't matter. I am stuck here, just stuck and it is getting so old trying to get unstuck.

  ...but maybe I am just all wrong about this. And I am tired of crying about it. And I am tired of thinking about it. But I can't give up. Something won't let me. Something won't fucking let me give up, and I hate that something.

  "Maybe that something is your best friend, Trish."
  Wha... huh?
  "Trish, are you whining? The Trisher is whining? Tell me it isn't so."
  Yeah, I am whining. Question: Do I seem obsessed to you?
  "Yes, you seem obsessed, Trish."
  Oh great.
  "Oh great what."
  Nuthin, I guess it would be out of the realm of reality to think you would be on my side.
  "Trish, you have no idea."
  They all say that to me.

  Why do I have to write one million or more times on the chalkboard of life, "I know that Gender Reassignment Surgery is not the do all end all to happiness".

  ...and why am I writing about this again? Because it is a never ending hurt that I am afraid will never be corrected, so I vent.

  "Hang in there" they tell me. How can I help but not hang in there. It's hanging in there 24 hours a day like an executed inmate. The Penis Gallows. All that is missing are the wooden steps up to my crotch, the last rites and a phone call from a governor that will never come. A body that will never be buried hanging right there for me to keep hidden away. I stand as a relative, forever connected to the deceased and I am ashamed to be of the same blood.

  Maybe I just need some good drugs. That vicodin the dentist gave me just doesn't have that escape thing goin on, like alcohol does. Damn if I would not like to escape this for a while. It's not the first time I've wanted to escape as you know, and it's also not an option for an alcoholic. I am starting wonder if I am mentally unbalanced, but that is for my speculation and my speculation alone.

  I saw my son on Wednesday night as planned, but only for about an hour. Every time I leave there I feel really bad about something. He wants to show me this or that, just one last thing and I always have to say, "I gotta get on the road or I won't get home until way late." I feel so bad every time. I have come to the conclusion that this is not to be avoided. I don't live with him anymore. There is nothing I can do. There will be many days when there is just.... not... enough time.

  As I was laying in bed going to sleep the other night, I had thought I felt a small earthquake. I prayed that it was not stronger where my son lives. That really upsets me. When there was an earthquake I always had my son in my arms and under me in seconds flat, I don't care how big it was, it was seconds flat. And now I am not there to do that anymore, and that scares the shit out of me. I am no longer there to keep my son safe. That scares the shit out of me. It also pisses me off, and scares the shit out of me. That is one that will really make you feel out of your childs life, and scare the shit out of you.

  Whatever, enough.

   

  It's more to a song than, jewelry and clothes...
  DMX

---

Monday, February 10th, 2003

• 

  

  $10,000. That is what it is going to cost to fix my teeth. I went to the dentist this morning expecting to finish up the two root canals that were started two weeks ago. That is all I am going do, because then I am going to get my ass out of there and not go back until I have another bout with pain that has to be taken care of. Just get these two things taken care and get me outta there. $10,000 of my surgery money, for my teeth? I think not.

  "Not so fast there, Trish."
  What.
  "First, they will x-ray every tooth in your head and make pleasant chit-chat while you are full of as much anxiety as you can handle, scared and just want to get it over with. Then you must have a tour of the entire facility while making more pleasant chit-chat, then you must have the dentist review your x-rays, and poke at your teeth and gums while counting and dictating to his assistant, "Tooth one, bad, tooth two, gone, tooth 3, full facial maybe can save, tooth 4, root canal, tooth 5, ugh." and on and on and on. Then you will be told everything you will be needing to do to have a nice mouth again. Once that is all completed, you will be given a price for an uninsured patient, then you will make an appointment to start $10,000 worth of treatments."
  What the fuck?
  "Oh wait, it gets to be more fun then that. They will tell you that before they will complete work on one of the teeth that is already temporarily fixed that another one is so bad, they will to skip right to that one first. So much for just fixing the two teeth and getting out of there, ya think?"
  Fuuuuuuuuck me.
  "It looks that way, Trish."
  You're enjoying this, aren't you.

  So that's the way it looks and even though I told them, I am not going to do this they just won't hear it. I am going to just keep on "fire fighting" with my teeth on an as needed basis. They will not listen to me. I am like, "I DON'T HAVE ENOUGH MONEY TO DO SOMETHING I DON'T EVEN WANT TO DO ANYWAY!"

  And I felt bad.... They are so nice in there. I mean really nice. Nice teeth it what they do. It is like an insult to them that you do not want them to do their thing on you. Do you know how it feels to go in there and tell them "I don't want you to even touch my teeth until I am in such pain that I have no choice"? I feel like a disgusting creature. I feel like I am disgusting in there. "Tooth 18, gone... Tooth 19, gone... Tooth 20, holy shit."

  And between my drab name and the hair I have on my face for electrolysis this Wednesday and probably just because I look like a guy period, I am seen in there as male and it makes me want to puke. Literally puke. Vomit. Upchuck. Barf. Retch. Throw Buicks. After we had paid for today's service, feeling like shit I went to use the restroom. When I got back to the counter, my Mom and a few of the women that work there were looking at some lotions and such that a patient had brought in to sell. They are all "Ooooooo"ing and "Ahhhhhhhhh"ing around the basket of lotions and creams when one of them looked over at me and made the comment, "Look at (drab name me). He is like, what are they doing?? Crazy women lotion lovers." At that point I just turned and left. I wanted to get sick. All the teeth shit and now I am a guy to them that can't figure out why they are so excited about lotions. That was as much as I could handle. I didn't want to appear to be rude, but it was all I could do, just leave.

  Nobody will accept the fact that I will not trade fixing my teeth for GRS. I can pay for my teeth, but then who in the hell is going to pay for my GRS. It is slipping away. It is turning out to be that I will not be approved for GRS until I get my teeth fixed (as infected teeth can mess up my health) and if I have my teeth fixed what am I going to pay for GRS with. My health is going to suffer either way. I have heard all kinds of wacky and sad GRS stories, but this has got to be one of thee most fucked up take the cake ones to ever transpire.

  I hope I communicated that okay. It is confusing enough, but I am pissed and upset and anxious and it is like, "What the fuckin fuck." This is just so far from anything I ever expected to happen. I have the fucking money, I am qualified and it is going to just slip away. This is just beyond suck. What am I going to do. I just don't know. My priorities are not that fucked up. I look at a lot those that have had surgery and again I am like, "What the fuck. This is totally wrong."

  I am pissed, disillusioned, depressed and downright, what the fuck. I never thought my teeth would end up being a Harry Benjamin Standards of Care hoop that I would have to jump through.

  My whole life I have been scared shitless of the dentist, and now it comes down to me facing that fear to be approved for GRS. How fucking ironic is that. Thanks God. You really know how to make a point. Just incredible.

  "What are you most afraid of in life?", He asked the person. "Falling, like falling out of a plane from 10,000 feet in the air" came the reply. " He then asked, "What would make you happiest in life?" The person answered, "Well, I suppose it would be to live my life as fulfilled as possible, and to do all I can do to make it that way. " To which He said, "No worries then. You can have that, but first you must fall out of a plane from 10,000 feet in the air."

  Have you ever seen a grown man sit in a dentist chair and start to cry? Well, they almost did.

  I have an appointment with an oral surgeon set for March 15th to continue one of the root canals. My dentist gave me a prescription for valium to take right before I go back in. I hope this helps me.

  "Your overall health is more important to life then Gender Reassignment Surgery anyway, Trish."
  Oh good, I have a choice between physical health or mental health. I am so happy for me.
  "That's life, Trish."
  What life. Go to hell.

  And I don't want any post-ops telling me that I am putting too much importance on GRS. I have heard it all and I have honestly listened. I can listen no longer.

  Then again, maybe I am just imagining all of this. Maybe I will come back from a future therapy appointment and have all of this straightened out. But everything I have written here has been the way I at this point understand things to be.

  Of course there is more to life then surgery. But then why even come out of the closet if you can't take transition where you need to take it. Why even try to start a new life if you cannot transition to where you need to. Why start the process when transition will remain incomplete. Why have any goals at all. Why risk everything for something that will leave you feeling almost as incomplete as no transition at all.

  Just live with the dick. There are worse things I guess. Lot's of women have lived with dicks.

  A few of the information packets I requested and have received from GRS surgeons remain unopened. What would be the point.

  I am still awaiting a call back from my (apparently very busy) lawyer regarding legally changing my name to Trish. If I don't hear from him by Thursday, he will hear from me.

  If you think that anybody wants you to transition, you better effin think again.

  Maybe I should be called Trish-Put The Cart Before The Horse-Marie from here on out. I am glad I only told a handful of people that I was being approved for surgery. It feels like I told folks while in the first trimester that I was going to have a baby and then having a miscarriage. That may be a presumptuous analogy to some, but I have now been in both positions and it feels much the same. I have never heard anybody say that they had been approved for GRS and then have to take it back. I have heard of them backing out of it, but not the former.

  Scattered.

  Ladies and Gentlemen: For today, transition sucks. Quite a few things suck today. Wouldn't it be cool to have never been born. Yeah, it would. "It's a Wonderful Life" be damned.

   

  In "real time" I am not venting or sulking, too much. I am just venting and sulking here.
  In "real time" I must appear to have my shit together.
  Not having my shit together would buy me nothing.
  Trish

---

Friday, February 14th, 2003

• I don't like making entries in...

  ...my Transition Diary that are this short, but I have to update.

  I am not going to whine about Gender Reassignment Surgery anymore for a while.

  "Trish, you are so full of it."
  Hey, I am going to try. I will just keep working on whatever it is I need to do to be approved.
  "That's the spirit, Trish."
  Well, I can't stop, I cannot give up, so it is all I can do.

  This is important. I finally spoke to my lawyer today regarding legally changing my name to Trish-Marie Blahblahblah. He said he is pretty sure there will be no problems. He said that most likely I won't even have to appear. He is going to get the paperwork together, send it to me next week to sign and return. This is good news. I still have him on retainer and the money left in the retainer should cover this process and then some. Yes, I am excited.

  "Is that why you are not going to whine about GRS, Trish? A little carrot on a string diversion?"
  Not hardly. I just see no point in whining about GRS anymore (right now). I have vented. I have seen two more friends in the last week have GRS performed. I am just as if not more qualified. The only difference between them and I is, they are retired. They don't have to have employment to prove they can live in the real world. They do what they want to do, no strings. Oh, and they probably have pretty teeth.
  "Um, Trish... You are whining again."
  Oh yeah... You're right. Well you sucked me into that one.
  "..and it was so easy."

  And don't misunderstand me. I like my therapist. I love my therapist. I am just not loving the Harry Benjamin Standards Of Care right now.

  Anyway, next Friday, the 21st of February I have an appointment with both my therapist and my endocrinologist. This is good. Trish is going to present her ass off.

   

  Baubles bangles hear how they ring ching-a-lingle,
  baubles bangles bright shiny heads sparkles spangles,
  my heart will sing sing-a-linge,
  wearing baubles bangles and beads.
  Forrest Wright

---

Sunday, February 23rd, 2003

• Friday was a...

  ...good day. Up at 5:30 AM for a visit to my endocrinologist and therapy. Therapy was, for the most part, uneventful. I had said to my therapist at the end of the session that I wished there had been a little more depth to the things we had discussed. He said that it was good that at least every once in a while things can be a little lighthearted, an indication that at least something in this period of time is going well for me. I guess he is right. I also guess sometimes I don't feel right, or that I am accomplishing anything unless there is some sort of crisis to work through. I mean, things have to be real bad before they can be even slightly good, right? It is the bad that makes the good so good. I get real nervous if things swing my way for any extended period of time, even if it is just 24 to 48 hours.

  We spoke of Gender Reassignment Surgery again as though it is going to happen. But will it happen while I still have the money for it?. I also have not forgotten that I want to share with him something that had been done to me as a child that I think could have been the start of a fetish I have that I will never accept about myself. Talking about it seems to have been put on the back burner for me, for now, for whatever reason. But I have not forgotten. How could I forget that shit.

  I overheard my Mom speaking to a relative on the phone yesterday. She said, "No, I am afraid that I will not be able to make it. We will most likely be making a trip to Montreal later this year and I need to save for that." Well, aside from the fact that she will not have to worry about money as I will be paying for everything, everybody around me keeps acting like I am going to have this surgery. I think I am being gaslighted. It's weird. Oh well, enough about that, it is depressing to me, and quite old to you.

  "Old to who, Trish?"
  You.

  Before therapy I had gone to my endocrinologist appointment. This was good also. My endo sat down with me and asked, "So how are you feeling about your development." I gave him a disgusted look. We both knew right away that I was thinking about my chest, or lack of my chest. I told him "Up here, it's great" while pointing at my head. I then added, "But the rest? Ha... ha ha ha." I told him that my chest has stopped being sore for perhaps a week or so. Yeah, that's new news for my diary. He spoke of breast augmentation. I told him "Doc, breast augmentation is not on my list of surgery priorities, if ya know what I mean." (And he does.) So for now, without even a request from me he upped my daily estradiol intake from 8 mgs a day to 12. I am now into some major estrogen.

  Still at 6' (of course) I weighed in at 138 with all my clothes and my shoes on. My blood pressure was fine. He took blood from me this time and I will call next week for the results.

  Okay, I am about to write of another "to you a mundane and rehashed something I can only talk about in my Transition Diary" experience I had on Friday. You may wish to zone out now or just stop reading.
  "Trish? I wouldn't think of it, wouldn't miss it for the world."
  You are being sarcastic. One day we should have a sarcasm contest, the two of us.
  "Oh Trish, you hurt me with talk like that."
  As if.

  A week or two ago when my Mom and I were out at a department store I spotted a purse that I really liked, a lot. But, it was $40 so I passed. Well Friday I thought, screw it, I am going to go buy it. If at the end of the 135 mile drive back home I still feel like driving another 20 miles to the store, I will do just that, and I did.

  I brought the purse up to the counter and the salesperson behind it was a girl probably about 25 years old. She struck up a conversation with me:

  Her: It must be so nice (and here is where my head is at. I thought she was going to say "to have money for a new purse") to have such long legs.
  Me: Not really.
  Her: Why? Oh, I know... Clothes and stuff.
  Me: Yeah, among other things.
  Her: Boyfriends? Do you have a hard time finding boyfriends who are taller?
  Me: (I gave the now famous "Trish disgusted look") "Yeah, that's another one." (Well it is true, I have not had a relationship in eons as you know.)
  Her: My mom and my sister both have long legs and my hips stop right (as she pointed with her index finger) here.

  ..and with that, she reached over the counter, pulled a loose strand of hair from my shoulder and tossed it aside.

  Me: Thank you.

  She was very nice and there was a little more said between us but the bottom line is that the one on one that I had with her was just................ totally normal. A totally nice neither here nor there exchange. AND she reached out to me. People are not afraid of me anymore and I love it. Of course this is not all there is to living life as Trish, as female, but it is a normal part of life and speaks to how well I might be able get along in the world.

  Okay, you can zone back in again. I have for this entry finished with the "to you a mundane and rehashed something I can only talk about in my Transition Diary" experience thing.
  "I never left ya, Trish."
  Yer a pal.

  My lawyer's secretary called me on Thursday to verify a few things regarding my legal name change. Hopefully things are moving along. I will probably know a little more of where it stands this coming week. The more I think about it, the more I really want this to happen right now. It will make life easier, and it only makes sense, I mean after all, my name is Trish.

  Oh, and I also love the purse.

   

  Today I might be mad, tomorrow I'll be glad,
  I've got Friday on my mind.
  Harry Vanda and George Young

   

  Trish's Current HRT Statistics (02/23/03):
  Hormone Regiment: 12 mgs estradiol and 200 mgs spironolactone once a day.
  Emotions: Today, pretty good. Overall? Still struggling a little.
  Breasts: They have not been sore for about a week.
  Hips, Thighs and Bottom: Nope.
  Body Hair: Stable.
  Skin: Nothing.
  Erection Count: Discontinued for now... Since December 17th, 2001.
  Masturbation and Sexual Desire: Somewhat discontinued for now... Since December 17th, 2001.
  Trish Bottom Line: I can't relax until I have a date for Gender Reassignment Surgery.

---

Tuesday, February 25th, 2003

• Yes...

  ...even after 2 years and 8 months on Hormone Replacement Therapy, it is still possible to wake up at 7 AM with a raging erection (and having to pee like a racehorse). I guess it never ends. Isn't that wonderful?

   

  Good morning Mr. Ugly!
  Oh my! You are looking wonderful and healthy and chipper this morning!
  NOT.
  Go away.
  Disgustingly yours,
  Trish

---

Thursday, February 27th, 2003

• To a few...

  ...I am known as "Peaches". Why?

  Peaches, by Trish-Marie.
  Peaches.
  Whar might they be.
  I look down and see none.
  Wish I were a tree.
  

   

  Thank you.
  Trish

 

---

 

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