Friday, October 12th, 2001

• Finally, after 2 cancellations I saw my endo.
  First he had to cancel, then because of my car being in the shop for 4 days last week I had to cancel, but today I saw him. The results of my bloodwork were excellent. All stats in a good range and some in the excellent range. This is a real good thing. Even after all my drinking (that I stopped on 6/6/96) my liver is in great condition. This I am most thankful for. My years of drinking could have really messed me up in the liver department. When the "meat doctor" had "inspected" me in detox just over 5 years ago, my liver was way enlarged. I dunno how the body works, but I am glad that it is well now. My blood pressure is great also. How, I don't know. I must be a lot more resilient than I think I am. He checked my breasts and they are indeed growing. I am still not talking about it. I don't see enough to mention. I had wanted on my last appointment to up my spironolactone to 200 mgs a day. At that time he let me go to 150 until the bloodwork came back. For some reason, I didn't ask to go to 200 today. I don't even know why. Tis a mystery to me. Stupid. So, I am now on 5 mgs of Premarin and 150 mgs of spiro a day. My next appointment is on February 15th, 2002. I refilled my spiro today so that is taken care of for a while. I love going to my endo.

  My right ankle that I had mentioned in my last entry? Being swollen? It was swollen off and on for the next few days after the entry, but lately, it has not been. I am still keeping my eye on it. I did not tell my endo about it. I cannot afford to, financially.

  I haven't worn breast forms in months and months and months. . I can get away with it I think. I am not big, but I am there. Actually, what I have on my chest now is as much as I thought I would be happy with before starting HRT. Boy, was I ever wrong.

  One thing that I totally forgot to write in my last diary entry is that on September 27th, I reached 100 hours of electro. This doesn't really mean anything. It was just one of my goals. Now my next goal is 200 hours. Although, my electro person says that as far as my face and neck goes, it is all downhill from here and that I am past the halfway mark. But, that is just above the collar bone. I thanked my endo's receptionist today for calling in my Emla script so many times for me. I said to her I keep having to call because the script is usually made out for only one time, no refills. She said that she did not know how long I needed to keep having it refilled but apparently is was a lot more then she thought. I told her, yeah, probly another 2 years or so. Yep, when we move below the neck, there is more fun to be had. She will give me more refills from now on. She is also very nice. Anyway, 100 hours. Good deal, I am a big girl, no?

  As I have said before, I have always had an aversion to violence, but let me tell you, it is turning into a MAJOR aversion now. I used to face violence in all kinds of forms mostly "head on" just to prove to myself and others that I was a "man". I believed that this is what all men did. I still don't know if men can naturally handle violence a little more then women or they just have to do the same thing I did. Now get off my case. I am not saying that I am a woman because I can't deal with violence. I know that would be really lame. I am just saying how I feel. I don't know if it is the hormones, age, or that I am giving finally giving myself permission to feel this way in full bloom , but I just cannot deal with any violence. Don't say I have to, because I don't have to. It is not my fault. I get my news from the net where I can turn it on and off and don't have to see all the gruesome images that you see on television. I watched 5 minutes of the World Trade Center disaster video on TV and that was that. Too much for me. The only thing I watch on TV are kids shows, and I enjoy them. I know that violence is a fact of life. I also know that I cannot handle it. Whatever. Maybe in a few months Faces Of Death video numbers 1 through 5 will be really appealing to me. Is this a transition issue? I don't know.

  I went to a temp employment agency on Tuesday. I go back this next Monday for interviews. I have to get a job faster then fast now. Now why did I finally take some action? Was it because I need a job real bad? Nope. It was because I had a therapy appointment for the day after I went to the temp agency. I could not handle another 90 minutes of therapy unless I had done something to find employment. Lousy reason I know, but it worked. For you naysayers out there, therapy can be good in more ways then you think.

  I have been having a lot of problems sleeping lately and I am still taking the Trazadone on occasion. I set my alarm to go off three times so I do not oversleep. That stuff just keeps making me roll over and turn off the alarm even when I know I have to get up.

  I cannot go to my monthly meeting to see my friends this coming Saturday night. You see, I do not deserve to see my friends even once a month unless I at least have a job. That is this months rule. And no, I do not make the rules.

  I have not been "en femme" for a month. I kinda need to get out. Anyway.......

   

  Tits! When am I gonna grow tits? Tits and ass.
  Bought myself a fancy pair. Tightened up the derriere.
  Did the nose with it. All that goes with it.
  A CHORUS LINE

  Trish's Current HRT Statistics:
  Hormone Regiment: 5 mgs Premarin and 150 mgs spironolactone once a day.
  Emotions: 3 quarters way down, 1 quarter okay to good.
  Breasts: There is some there. My endo said today that they have definitely gotten larger. I told him I was discouraged. He said, "Yes, but I know you have realistic expectations." Oh great. I feel so much better.
  Hips, Thighs and Bottom: LOL (still.)
  Body Hair: Same as last. I have also been told that the hair on my head looks like it is filling in, but, I think it is just because it is longer now.
  Skin: I can't tell.
  Erection Count: Since (see below) masturbating? Zero (0), thank you.
  Masturbation and Sexual Desire: Once (1) - On October 2nd... I wrote about it on October 3rd. So, that is once since March. I hated it.
  Trish Bottom Line: I am trying. Same.

• Okay, time to face the music, or rather, the lack of it.
  My girls, Madonna and Cher, or to be more specific: My breasts. I had not taken any pictures for my personal HRT files since March of this year. At that time I had been on HRT for 9 months. The pictures I took sent me into a deep depression that I am still feeling to this day. But like I say, it is time to face the music for both myself, and for you. This is after all a transition diary and the physical changes are important. Today I have been on HRT for about 16 months. Let me show you my progress (yeah right) for this amount of time. I am trying to illustrate this in a modest yet effective manner. Here are "pictures" of Madonna: my left breast , one from August of 2000 and one from today. You can see, not much is going on. I felt I had to show what was happening with me physically, but believe me, when I am finished with this entry, I am putting it right out of my mind lest I will do something stupid. I know, again, breasts are not everything and we all know that breasts do not a woman make. Still.....

  I went to the temp employment agency last week for the interview. All was set and I am waiting on a call to be put to work. Nothing yet. I will hound them soon. It is getting real dicey here. The "lady I live with" is still insisting that I will be moving out and into my car in approximately 3 weeks.

  I have been taking the Trazadone that my endo prescribed to help me sleep, every night since my last entry. Without the Trazadone, sleep will not come. Sometimes I think that I don't have a problem with weight (these days) because I am constantly under stress and shake like a little Chihuahua dog on a regular basis. In actuality it is probably because I don't drink alcohol, I don't eat much meat, I don't eat cake, pie, ice cream, chocolate, candy of any kind, I don't eat much, period. At his point I am still eating two bean burritos and one taco from Taco Bell® a day and that is it. I am addicted to Diet Coke® though and always have some nearby.

  I am having a hard time forgiving myself for things I have done in the past. It does not help sleep to come. They are not all that bad of things, which is what makes it so bad. Why can't I forgive myself? I plan on bringing this up in therapy on the 29th.

  Hormones are having an effect on my emotions. I am feeling not "connected" to men anymore. This is not to say that I feel totally "connected" to women. I am an outsider to both. This is a hard place to be.

  My feelings towards men are changing. It is the damnedest thing and I would not really believe it if it were not happening to me. I am strangely attracted to them. Not quite an attraction in the fullest sense of the word, but my feeling towards the male of the species is definitely evolving. Where it will go, I do not know. All I know is, I have not felt like this ever before. Oh, I think that I have said before that I did always take to some guys in some strange way. It seems there was always at least one guy in my life that I felt close to, but it was like, I felt like the younger brother. It mattered not if they were much younger then I. That is what is changing, it is not the younger brother thing anymore. And as I said in my "Who I Am" page, since I was very young, since I can even remember, I always wanted an older sister. A connection? I don't know. Woes me, this shit is so complicated.

  I am on the outside of men looking in. I dunno. On the other side of the coin, I feel a part of the "women's club" now. I know that the general "women public" will not have me, but I feel part of it. My women friends, the genetic women I know, some will sometimes do things that I know mean that they have accepted me and trust me as female in their eyes. I cannot share these things. They are much too personal and much too precious, and I don't even know if they are aware that they are doing it. I have been "a guy" a long time. I know what woman will and will not do or say when in the company of a man. This acceptance is a gift that has been given to me that is sometimes, above all others.

  Wanna see me? Wanna see how I have seen myself since I was 15 years old? When I saw this picture, it struck me, that this is me, more or less. This is how I have seen me for 30 years, or at least, how I wanted to see me. I want more physically, but this is me. This picture was taken on Monday, October the 15th.

  In my last Transition Diary entry, I had said that I had not been "en femme" for a month. I was "en femme" last week for two days. I felt good. The above "This is me" picture was one of those days.

  Honesty can be a killer, some honesty more then others. Okay, her is a real hard one for me. Quite a few people have asked me both in real and virtual time about my hair. "Is it yours?", they ask. I skirt the issue, one or two in virtual time I have even lied to just get it over with, The answer is......... no, it is not my hair. In reality I suffer male pattern baldness. Not severe, but enough. My mom and a few of my friends have commented that since I have started HRT it seems to be coming back, or at least maybe not getting worse. I personally think that it is just because I am letting it grow out more. There, I said it. It is not my hair. Ouchie.... and damn. I am not going to talk a lot about this in the future, but there will be little updates here and there. It is kinda a bummer to think about, but it is a part of my transition and above all else, honesty.

  I have been moody lately online and I am not winning any friends. People think that I don't care. I do, I am just tired. I am finding that it is harder "giving back to the community" then I had thought it would be. I cannot save the world. I guess it is pretty egotistical of me to think that I can. So many reach for help and will not accept it. I keep trying to turn it around. I am jaded, and I am tired. I am not the same in real time. I care about my friends and I want to be with them. I want to have fun with them, help them, and let them help me. I am not the same in real time as I am online. Online it is just so easy to let go and say, screw it all.

  ...and there are so many good people, online.

   

  Don't let me hear you say life's taking you nowhere, angel.
  Come get up my baby.
  There's my baby, lost that's all. Once I'm begging you save her soul.
  David Bowie

• Just some stuff.
  I put on a tight fitting thermal undershirt tonight and you know what? I have breasts. Quite small, but I have breasts. ~smile~

  I went to the liquor store tonight to buy some Diet Coke®. Now, this liquor store that I go to is owned and operated by a man and his wife, or should I say, a woman and her husband (whatever), at least, I think they are married. Matters not. They are very nice people and always ask me how it is goin and stuff. Usually it is 50/50 as to who is going to be behind the counter when I go there. Tonight, it was the woman. We always make small talk, but sometimes it is a little "deeper" then small talk. Through our words we send little signals to each other about how things "really are". This has nothing to do with me "coming out" to her. I am pretty sure she knows that little ol' me is not quite "normal" anyway. What I am thinkin is that, tonight as always I had wished that we could talk for an hour. I don't ever feel this way when her husband is behind the counter. Now, just why is that? It gets me to thinkin. Is it just that I want to make "girlytalk"? Naw... If we were to talk for an hour, I don't care if we talk about football or car stuff, I just would enjoy it. Now, if her husband wanted to talk football and car stuff, ferget it. What is with that? I think I know. My heart tells me that it is just that I want to be with women. I know that this is coming off as cliché but it is just what my heart is telling me. It doesn't matter what we talk about. Of course, my preference is not football and cars, but whatever.

  Perhaps it has always been this way. I can say that things, some things are being defined for me as I go along this journey that I always had a hint of, but could never quite figure out.

  I have therapy in the morning. I have decided that I am going to share an issue with my therapist that I thought I never would. It is about a "fetish" that has plagued me since I can't even remember. I am pretty sure that it has nothing to do with any TS issues, but it is a part of me and might help go a long way in understanding who I am. This "fetish" is sexual for some people, and for others it is a need for warmth and security. For me it is/was both. I have not practiced it in over a year, probably closer to two. It holds not much interest for me anymore. It is there, but not like it was. This "fetish" hurts nobody, I have never practiced it with another person although that would be preferable (not many want to), and it is harmless unless as in so many other things, it runs your life. And for a time, it ran mine. I am not going to say now or ever what it is. There are only two people in my life that I have ever shared this information (not the act of) with, my wife and my big sister. Like transgender, there are many people who have come to terms with this "fetish" and have accepted themselves in the same way that I have accepted my being transgender. But I will never have self acceptance for this. It is embarrassing and to me, something to be ashamed of. It is not my fault, it was "given" to me, but I just can't accept it, and I don't want to accept it. I know that I should not feel this way, but I do. I want it to just go away. My hopes in sharing this with my therapist is not to come to terms with it, rather it is to just let my therapist know that it is there. So you can see that tomorrow, I have to be kinda brave and be out with it. I will let you know how it goes, if I go through with it.

  Three months ago I submitted my paper work for unemployment benefits and I still have not seen a dime. I was finally in contact with them this week and I am expecting to see some money very soon. Not much, but it will pay for Diet Coke® and perhaps some more Taco Bell®. This is good.

  I just a few days ago figured something out. When I was about 23 or 24, I lived with a woman for a time. She was about 29. I told her once that when she was nude, she reminded me of a young girl. I did not mean this in a bad way whatsoever. I was very attracted to her. It always seemed to bother her and she asked me more then once what I had meant, the time that I said that to her. I could never quite communicate it to her, for I wasn't sure why myself. It bothered her. I couldn't understand why. Now I do understand why, and this too, I would have a hard time communicating.

  Sometimes I just wish that I could tell my wife (the lady I live with), "Hey, you know what, hormone replacement therapy is not just depositing fatty lumps on my chest. I am (hopefully) experiencing many of the emotions and feelings that any woman would experience. Some of these are new for me and some have always been with me, but now they are being amplified like there is no tomorrow. So will you puh-leeeese just take that into consideration when communicating with me?" We have been separated for 6 years, she has her significant other who lives with us and she is no longer looking or needing me to be the "strong man" of the household. I don't play this role anymore except where my son is concerned. But, I guess this is just a little too much to ask for... Why should she care... So...... next.

  Okay, time to count blessings, even though I don't feel much like it.

  • My Mom -
    
  • My son -
    
  • Julie -
    
  • Hormone replacement therapy -
    
  • Electrolysis AND the person performing it -
    
  • Therapy AND my therapist -
    
  • My friends, both in real time and on the Internet -
    
  • I still have a warm bed to sleep in -
    
  • Acceptance -
    
  • Prayer -
    
  • My computer -
    
  • You -
    
  • The hope and belief that sexual reassignment surgery, if right for me, will happen eventually -
    

   

   

  .....and I ache just like a woman,
  but I break like a little girl....
  Bob Dylan

Monday, October 29th, 2001

• I didn't chicken out.
  As I wrote yesterday, I was going to tell my therapist about a "fetish" that I was ashamed of and could never accept, and today I did. I almost didn't do it, but he gave me the perfect segue. He said something about me and my "need to be taken care of". Bingo! I think that about covers the "warmth and security" I had mentioned that this "fetish" provides, or tries hard to. So, it went well and I think it will go a long way in helping him to understand where I might be coming from, coming from, whether I like coming from there or not. It is not by choice. It was kinda a, "Ah-ha" moment for him, or at least that is what it felt like. I feel very good about having shared it, and not because it is like a burden unloaded (it is not), but because he just might now know.... why I am..... the way I am.

  He wants "Trish" there at my next appointment in three weeks. I always go drab. He wants Trish there next time. Of course, it is what I want also, but I have to think about how it will effect those close to me, if the neighbors should see me as I leave and come back. It is so fucked to have to think about that, worry about that. It is just clothes, damnit.

  I want money. I want my therapy every two weeks back.

   

  That's all.

Sunday, November 4th, 2001

• Life is fucked.
  Life is no good. There are no rewards. That is the way it is for me. Maybe it is not that way for you. "Oh c'mon Trish, there are good things." No. Maybe for you, but not for me. Reward for me is a swift kick in the ass. My life was never good enough, and I never see it becoming good enough to overshadow all the bad. God, I wish I had the strength to kill myself.

   

  Hopefully it will come to me.

Thursday, November 8th, 2001

• This message is not for me.
  

  The above DO NOT TRANSITION animation is just a little reminder. It is too late for me. I already know that I have to transition, but if you don't have to, don't.

  Transition is not such a wonderful thing. I imagine that where it get's you is a wonderful thing.. But will I ever get there? Ah, therein lies the rub. Will Trish ever get there. And is the winning of the war worth all of the battles. Will I have fought all of these battles to enjoy the benefits for only a few short years, in a body that is less capable of living and enjoying life? I guess all of this is moot since there is no other way. But...... this is another thought that makes me just that much more tired..... of it all.

  Just because there is no other way, is it worth it.

  "Okay Trish, I am soooooo tired of all of your whining, bitching, babbling, complaining. Shit or get off the pot." I am afraid I just don't know what to say to that.

  I attended my TS suppport group for the first time in 3 weeks on Tuesday night. The first one I missed was because they didn't have it. The second one I missed was because I have my mind on so many things that it wasn't until the night after that I realized that I had missed it. I am going to miss the second Tri-Ess meeting in a row this coming weekend. That makes not seeing my friends for 2 months now. You know why I am not able to make it, it is not my choice. I want really badly to go the Christmas holiday meeting in December. It is a special time. They have dinner in a nice restaurant. A meal other then Taco Bell® is sounding really good.

  Let me first off say that when it comes to whatever it is Boy George and makeup or whatever is, I am not like him. When he first came upon the scene though, I didn't know this. That is really here nor there I guess, but I always thought he looked really good. One time when somebody had commented on his great appearance in makeup he said, and I paraphrase, "As a boy, I am not much to look at." Well, this goes for Trish also. As a matter of fact, for me, as a boy I am downright ugly. Now as a woman, people have said I look okay. People have actually said that I look nice. For the first time in my life I can be attractive. I don't want my transition to be over when I am 98. I want to be thought of as attractive..... desirable. I have never had this before. I know it is a small part of it all, and a vain part at that, but it is special to me. I don't want to miss out on this. Shit. I am getting older. I will probably write more of this the future, or at least touch upon it. This is a big issue for me. Life can be so special, but usually it is not. I like being thought of as attractive. I like it a lot. I want to have this if I can............. At least for a while.

  Oooookaaaayyyy.... Having said that.....
  A woman who wants a man would not want me. A woman who wants a woman would not want me. A man who wants a woman would not want me. A man who wants a man would not want me. It seems that the only option left is a person, man or woman who wants a "chick with a dick". That is not what I want to be seen as and is not what I want to be wanted for. I have to be careful. People will say that you are attractive and you are thinking, "Well, they think I am a nice looking woman." Wrong. They know that for a guy, you don't look as bad as you could, or they simply want a "chick with a dick". Gets to be that you don't know what to think. My penis is a piece of meat that is just good for nothing, and once more, it is in the way.

  Nobody would want me anyway. I am not going to run down all my physical ickities, but trust me, nobody would want me. This is not really self pity talk. Maybe, if all I wanted was a mate, it would be. But you see, and as I have said before, I have resigned myself to be alone for life. Therefore, I am used to the feelings. It is just not always that easy. So why am I writing this down. Maybe somebody else feels the same way and will feel less alone. I think there are way too many people in the same spot in life that I am in concentrating way to hard on trying to "find somebody". "Hey yah, my life is fucked up, let me fuck up yours also, and maybe you will fuck up mine some more after I fuck yours up." Like we need that.....

  I wonder what the breakdown is, those of us that call ourselves "pre-op"... How many are dreamers, how many are wishers, and how many are the gonnadoits. I am a dreamer, with a little wisher thrown in. It is really weird goin on about life with everybody talking like surgery is immanent for me and goin forward with everything like it is gonna happen, and knowing in all likelihood that in reality, if it is not handed to me, it probably never will happen. It is like the last time I was at my endo and he was doin his checkup deal on my breasts. He said, "They are a little asymmetrical but that can be corrected later." I am like, "It can?! Tell me? Tell me when? How?" Like he knows something that I don't. I know they will never be fixed and this hurts like fucking hell. I will never have sexual reassignment surgery, but I march forward as though I will, if not but just to dream. I cry. I can taste it. I want it so bad. It won't happen. Everybody takes for granted that it will, but except for a miracle, it won't.

  I am dropping Advil® like crazy and smoking way more then I can afford to, or should.

  My breasts are still sore everyday. I cherish what I have.

  A few days ago I finally received an unemployment check. My first since submitting my claim like 3 months or so ago. It is barely pocket money. I called the person at the temp employment agency that I signed on with. It is really a bad time. The jobs that are open would pay less then unemployment "benefits". It is a bad time. I have searched high and low for an opening. Nothing.

  Regarding hormones, thank goodness for credit cards. Regarding electrolysis, thank goodness for my electro person. "Ahhhh Trish, there are 2 things to be thankful for right there." YeahIknownowleavemealone.

  I am having my brows done royally now. I mean really done. I love my brows. This makes me feel good.

  I am really lonely. I am in one of those "in crowds at times, but still alone" modes. It takes more then just being around somebody to quench this feeling. I need a touch from a person who knows me and cares about me... But there are few, if any. I would give so much just to sleep in somebody's arms tonight. "Damn Trish, you don't want that. Remember the 'Oh what a tangled web we weave' stuff?" Yeah, I know.

  But on the other hand, tell me that I am shit, and I am shit. Tell me that I am a princess, and I am a princess. I got major problems.

  I am one mixed up freakin broad. Reference Jane Fonda's Gloria Beatty: 1935 via 1969. Bang.

  At my last therapy appointment, my therapist hinted at the idea that possibly I need all this turmoil in my life, that I need "the lady I live with"s shit to make me happy. I broke down and cried. I mean, that is sick. I mean really sick. If that is truly goin on, I am way sick. If that is goin on with me, I just dunno. It is just sick and it makes me sick. The thought that this could be true, saddens me to no end.

  I miss Angel. I really do. Damn.

  I am runnin off at the keyboard. The more I write tonight, the worse I feel. I am gonna make myself stop. What good is any of this doin anybody.

   

  "Hey dude, ya gotta light?"
  My name isn't dude, it's Trish.
  "Yeah whatever, ya got a light?"

Wednesday, November 14th, 2001

• As I sit here, I am eating some Rold Gold® pretzels baked into "holiday shapes".

  I just bought them at the liquor store and I searched high and low for pretzels in anything other then "holiday shapes". Tis the season is the last thing I want to be reminded of, let alone by a stupid pretzel. I want festive pretzels like at a party or something, when life is worth living. It must be so nice to have some fun on a semi regular basis and then go home to where nobody wants you to leave, where nobody abuses you mentally or otherwise. You know, normal. Where just because you have fun it does not mean you are a spoiled rotten lazy individual. I would like to have this.

  I had heard rumors that the Premarin supply is low or non existent all over the place and I run out of it after tomorrow, Thursday. So I called pharmacies yesterday asking if they had some. Nope, and they don't know when they will receive any. I called my endo to see if he would prescribe something else in the interim and I am awaiting a call back. After tomorrow it is crash city and it is not gonna be pleasant. I never thought I would stop taking horomones because there wasn't any. Who'd a thunk it.

  One good thing, I received a check from unemployment so this will buy me maybe another week or two, before being kicked out to my car. Wo, whoopeee. Ain't it grand.

  I accidentally stumbled upon a website last night that showed before, in-between and after pictures and such of sexual reassignment surgeries and breast augmentations. As the page was loading, my anxiety level began to rise. I clicked to close the browser and went outside for a cigarette. I sat on the verge of tears. I thought, do I have to live the rest of my life like this? Wanting something so bad and 24 hours a day being in pain over it? Oh this sucks. I didn't sign up for this.

  "Okay Trish, how in the name of my fiery domain did you last this long then. You are not so young a mortal you know. Why are you suddenly so preoccupied with this, this SRS, this happiness."

  Yeah, I know. But I did not know who I was until a relatively short time ago. I did not know things were possible for me. Now I know they are possible, but so out of reach. I mean, not even a "carrot on a string", but totally out of reach.

  "Do you really desire it Trish? I can make it so... but, I think I shan't. It would only serve to make you happy. Sigh. Besides Trish, you yourself have said that SRS is not important at this stage of the game."

  Okay then, make it stop hurting.

  "Why should I make it stop hurting Trish, you are so entertaining in this condition. You have so much more suffering to do before you are going to even be, how shall I say it.... um.... eligible, that's it... even be eligible. You know Trish, dues and the like. Seeing you like this is exquisite. Quite the way to pass time. Centuries have come and gone since I have enjoyed myself so immensely. Besides Trish, much to my enormous glee, you are still very much in the closet. What then makes you sooooo special as to think you should have this, sexual reassignment surgery?"

  The same thing that makes me think I should have ten toes, that's what.

  "Trish, such a silly mortal you are. Pish posh, such a trite thing to concern yourself with."

  Maybe I am silly, but it is not trite.

  "On the other hand so to speak, maybe I should make it so for you. Perhaps you would find it to be Hell on earth, and this too would satisfy me to no end."

  Try me.

  The mental abuse at home continues 24 hours a day. Negativity and no compassion whatsoever. It is happening as I type. The lady I live with, her idea of compassion is to not give me the 15th lash of a 15 lash sentence that she imposes on me daily. I have to get out of here. I just don't know how. I am so upset. Duh.

  I occasionally have people write to me and tell me that they like my website, that is has so much information for them. I................. just don't see it. I don't see what they see. It is kinda like, I see lot's of pre-ops, post-ops whatever... They are so together, they are so beautiful, and I admire them so much. They, do not know I exist. Then, on rare occasion all of a sudden, out of the blue one of them will say that they have been to my website and I am an inspiration to them. Whoa! Wait juuuuuust a minute! Back up! Hooooold on! No no no no no no no no nooooooooo..... It is waaaaayyyyy the other way around. You are my inspiration. If anybody is gonna be an insperator around here, it is not gonna be me. Who in their right mind would aspire to be like me? You don't wanna be like me or look like me or live my life. No fuckin way. I am a total mess inside and out. Pick another please. Believe me, it is in your best interest. Evidently, I give good illusion. Leave me alone.

  I am not a "survivor". There is no surviving going on here. The opposite of what I am doing is called dead. I am eating, evacuating and breathing (not necessarily in that order). "Surviving" is bullshit. You are either alive or you are not.. Besides, I am dying slowly (I say in my best Val Kilmer's Doc Holiday "what the fuck que sera sera whatever will be, will be" impersonation). Now that's funny.

  I have had thoughts of drinking alcohol. I am not going to. I don't want to mess up over 5 years of being clean/sober, but I have thought about it. I have laid in bed and fantasized about killing off a couple bottles of vodka straight from the horses mouth. The thought of doing this in the past made me sick to my stomach, but now it is having a calming effect on me, to taste the vodka in my mind, to feel it's quick effects, to finally be able to relax and have anxieties disappear for a while, to escape this shit life I am living. But I know that I would pay dearly for it and the only way to escape payment is to keep drinking. So I do as I learned in rehab and that is to "play the tape" all the way through and see what the end is going to be like. The thought of Trish lost in a bottle makes me so sad. An unbelievable sadness. I keep seeing Trish incoherent and dying and nobody can find me under the bridge. This is not how it was supposed to be. Perhaps I have fantasies of being rescued from underneath that bridge. Perhaps I have fantasies of being rescued and cared for period. So sue me.

  People in the chat rooms are hating me now. My attitude is becoming intolerable and old.

  I finally made the decision and told my Mom not to read my diary. She has not read any of it yet (that I know of), and I am pretty sure it would not be a good idea.

  When I think of having SRS, I think that there is one person that must be there for me for sure from beginning to end and that person is my Mom. And I know she would be, but I guess she will never have to worry about this.

  The lady I live with just harrased me again not two minutes ago about getting out of the house. Sorry, but she is a fucking cunt.

  You know what? Fuck all of this. God give me the strength to kill myself, tonight. Help me to fuck it all for reals. I don't give a fuck about what anybody thinks of me anymore. Why the fuck should I. Nothing fucking matters to anybody. Not enough anyway. Fuck this. I will never be happy. I will never have life. I will never. Keep kicking me when I am fucking down. Over here, you missed a spot. Kick fucking kick. Fuck this all. Yeah, it is just me. Fuck the rest of anybody.

  I am never going to have SRS. I am never going to come out at work. I am never going to live as female. I am never going to be taken to the ballet. Nobody is ever going to give me flowers. It is all just a really stupid dream. What made me think I could have ever pulled this off. I must be fucking crazy. I am just a fucking guy with a little less hair on his face now. Oh, and I got a dick. That is a biggie. No, my dick is not a biggie, the fact that I have one is a biggie, or was a biggie a few minutes ago. Fuck tranny, fuck t-girl or whatever the fuck I am or was or thought I am. Fucking dicks. I am a fucking guy alright. An asshole fucking guy. Fuck me. I am always............... gonna....................... have this................. fucking dick. I am gonna go find some fucking drugs.

   

  When you're a boy, you can buy a home of your own.
  When you're a boy, learn to drive and everything.

  You'll get your share when you're a boy.

  David Bowie

   

  Trish's Current HRT Statistics (11/14/01):
  Hormone Regiment: 5 mgs Premarin and 150 mgs spironolactone once a day.
  Emotions: Down down down.. Not due to hormones, just due to a shitty existence.
  Breasts: I have had "comments" in real time. Must be somethin there.
  Hips, Thighs and Bottom: If anything, they are disappearing.
  Body Hair: Same as last. I have also been told that the hair on my head looks like it is filling in, but, I think it is just because it is longer now.
  Skin: I can't tell.
  Erection Count: Since (see below) masturbating? Zero (0), thank you.
  Masturbation and Sexual Desire: Once (1) - On October 2nd... I wrote about it on October 3rd. So, that is once since March. I hated it.
  Trish Bottom Line: This sucks.

Thursday, November 15th, 2001

• Okay, here's the deal..
  I felt I had to do a follow up on yesterday's oh so glorious entry. I am still alive. I do not have the strength to quit, any of this. Of course, by now it is probably obvious that I would not off myself (yet) and also that I would not do drugs or drink. But man, did I feel like it, and I write what I feel. So, I don't mean to mislead or make threats of any harm I might do to myself. I write here how I feel., and I do not feel any better today. It would only take a small occurrence to make me go off again like last night. So if you are reading this like in the year 2112 or something, please stay with me. I do not mean to mislead you or offend you. I don't even know what I mean anymore. This too, I guess is obvious.

  Let me say that I feel real bad about using the word "cunt". In my eyes, that is the lowest most vile word you can use to describe a woman. To me it is so bad in fact, that maybe it should never ever be used ever anyway. But that is how I felt, and it is how I feel at this moment. I never delete or change anything that I have written, so cunt it is.

  I still feel like giving all of this up, but as long as I am breathing there is just no way I can. As long as I am alive there is no way that I cannot carry on with transition. I am with the hundreds of others I guess that pray now, to please take this away. There are two prayers. The first is, "Please God, let me wake up female." Well, we know that ain't gonna happen. So, time to start the second prayer option which is, "Please God, make me be happy being male. Let me just wake up with it, don't make me work for it, because I cannot." I guess there is one more option, "Please God, give me the strength to kill myself, and please don't let it hurt." I am gonna start throwing this one in too, although it is a pretty radical request. I hate this, this life. It use to be so wonderful. Read the first entries in my dairy. I can't believe I am the same person.

  I took my son to the book store just a while ago. We read books together and then he does his report for school. When he has a report to do, we usually spend about 90 minutes a night reading on his bed till the book is finished. Tonight, I was in no mood to go out or to be around anybody. But within about 10 minutes Trish was all happy face again and to my son I am sure I don't have a problem in the world. I put this happy face on all the time. I did not do it on purpose, I was just having a nice time with him. Is this a person who is ready to kill herself? I don't know.

  I called my endo today. He found some Premarin for me. A lower dose which means I have to take more and it is going to be more expensive then it is already. Fuck. Like I need this. I spoke to the pharmacist and he said that I am getting perhaps one of the last batches of Premarin in the United States until early next year. In about a week I will phone my endo and request that he get ready to prescribe something else. So, I have electro in the morning and then I will drive out to the pharmacy to pick up the Premarin. 140 miles later and $265 lighter in the pocket and I will be home. All this without a job for the last 8 months. Yeah, no fucking worries. Who wouldn't wanna rid themselves of this gender thing.

  The fact that I am spending all this money on transition when I am in dire financial straits can only mean one of two things. It is either very important to me, or I have lost my fucking mind. I dunno, maybe it is both.

  But, I am a guy. I can pretend all I want. I can say that the physical me doesn't matter and that what counts is what is between my ears. I can wear makeup. I can wear the clothes. I can do all kinds of things, but the bottom line is..... I am a guy. I have a penis and testicles (which I would rather call a dick and balls, an ugly effin dick and balls) and the hormones ain't exactly working wonders with me. I am a stupid guy. I have to go 4 days without shaving before electro now and the hair comes in. I am a guy. I have to shave my chest and stomach every single day. I am a guy. Everything points to the fact that I am a guy. For as long as I stand naked before the mirror and see a guy, for as long as the world greets me with yes sirs and no sirs, I will be a guy. Yet with all of this, I cannot stop what I am doing.

  Double edged sword my ass, it is a fucking nuclear weapon.

   

  You come out at night, that's when the energy comes and the dark side's light,
  and the vampires roam. You strut your rasta wear and your suicide poem,
  and a cross from a faith that died before Jesus came.
  Sarah McLachlan

Saturday, November 17th, 2001

• I went to therapy today.
  Very, very rough. Not fun. Not fun at all. I actually became angry with my therapist today for the first time. Pissed actually. Not really at him, I know he is doing what he has got to do and saying what he has got to say. Wouldn't be worth much if he just kissed Trish's butt . I love my therapist. But, it was hard to hear some of the things he said. I shouldn't say this, but one of the things he said to me came down to the fact that I seem to be only willing to do the things that I enjoy doing and my responsibilities are evading me. Yeah, that was a rough one to hear, even though I knew it was true before he said it. In my own defense, I will say that much of it seems to be emotionally out of my control. That, he takes issue with also. The "control" thing. We are each masters or mistresses of our own destinies. Unfortunately, I feel that I am not. Trish is not perfect. Who'd a thunk it. Damn. I am hating this. He knows how I feel. He knows what is written here. I told him that I sometimes leave his place wishing I had never brought up suicide because I am afraid of like being committed or something. And then I couldn't kill myself or transition. Whatever I guess. The important thing is that I am being honest. Fuckin honest.

  Damn. Once again please forgive me if I don't speak like much of a "lady" these days. I don't much feel like one. Guess you knew that.

  I picked up my Premarin on Friday. A lower dose at 1.25 mgs so I will have to take 4 instead of 2 a day. I have enough to last me for 45 days and it was a bit more expensive. The important thing is that I have it. It doesn't look like Premarin is going to be available for a while so I will call my endo in the next week to have something else prescribed. I am not taking any chances. Hopefully it will be less, rather then more expensive.

  I am now doubly upset that I missed my meeting last Saturday night as I learned today that my therapist spoke there. Oh well, I am still hoping for the Christmas dinner. My electro person said, "Trish, you are going to that dinner. There is no reason for you to miss it." Yeah. I wanna.

  Okay, something I did today reminded me of this and I don't think that I have ever written down my thoughts on it. Tattoos. Yeah, tattoos. I have 15. From my elbows to my shoulders. Nobody in real time or on my website has seen me with less then mid-length sleeves, unless we were like changing or something and even then, I try to be discreet. Now you know why. They are at least nice ones, at least, most of them are. Why did I get em. Believe it or not, I like, or liked tattoos. I did not get them young. I believe I have two reasons for being "inked". Number one, like I said, I like em. Number two, you tend to wanna prove things to yourself and the world, you kinda want to fit in. I mean, can you imagine little ol' Trish being tattooed by a Hell's Angel? Yep, most of em were done by none other. Made me feel good too. Not having my ass kicked by an Angel. You know, not being looked at like I was a woos. Proving my manhood and all. But heck, my money is green. You know how that is. Shopping for women's clothing, you only think the genetic female salespersons are being oh so accepting. In reality, a lot of the time it is because of the color of your money. Anyway, a short time back I happened along a conversation of a woman who was thinking of obtaining a tattoo. She is a post-op that I quite admire. She wanted her tattoo right in the middle of her cleavage. I asked her to puh-LEESE think twice about it. I more or less said to her, "Hey, I have 15 tattoos. Have you ever seen me with less then mid-length sleeves? I will never be able to wear strapless." She said, "That's sad." Hey, I had thought it was a bummer, but I never thought of it as "sad". I kinda didn't like being "pitied " for this. Oh well, I said, "If you are going to get a tattoo, at least think about placement. I believe that any woman who is fortunate enough to have a little cleavage at one time or another is going to want to show it off. You may be at an event or gathering where this is totally acceptable but the tattoo may not be. You will then have to keep your cleavage to yourself, and that is gonna hurt chya". I hope she listened. I think she did. I am so glad I was never fully "sleeved" like I intended at one time on doing. I am so glad that I never had any work done on my chest or anywhere near my now eensie breasts. Eensie breasts, now that is something to be sad about.

  I need to call my friend up, the guy I like that I met at the support group. I have not seen or talked to him in a while and I miss him. He said there is no problem with me crying on his shoulder and I think I really gotta take him up on that now.

  I am really tired. About 9 hours sleep total for the last 3 nights.
  But I don't like going to sleep, for I never know what tomorrow will bring.

   

  Give us a tantrum and a know it all grin, just when we need one, when the evening's thin.
  Oh you're a beautiful, a beautiful fucked up man, you're setting up your razor wire shrine.
  Sarah McLachlan

Monday, November 26th, 2001

• I went with my son to my Mom's for Thanksgiving weekend.
  ...drab of course. Being at my Mom's is so positive. If I were not drab, it would be major positive. As I say a lot, if I have to explain it, you won't get it. I should try to explain it though, I mean, it seems such a trifle thing, but it is not. Lemmie see. Yesterday, Sunday, a good girlfriend of my Mom's and hopefully a friend to me also came over to have dinner with us. She knows about Trish. She is fine with me, actually more then just fine I suppose. We have known each other since I was about 12. Anyway, I wanted to take pictures of everybody because I like to. This means that I am in some of the pictures also. Ack. Okay, number one: Drab I am uglier then shit (How can Trish be even slightly attractive when this guy is so ugly? I hate the reminder). Number two: Every picture that is taken of me drab is like, a waste. It is not me. It is like taking a picture of a non person. I have heard tell of folks who have transitioned and they have destroyed all pre-transition pictures of themselves. I will not do this. The pictures of me before I decided to try to transition are important. Not for me, but for like my Mom and my son. Now, since I have decided to try and make my life changes, any drab pictures taken of me are just like, moot. A waste. "Oh c'mon Trish, tis okay, no big deal." Yes it is a big deal. Spiritually, ya know? Hurts my spirit. I have heard of a culture where to take a picture of a person is not allowed because it is said that the picture will steal their soul or something like that. I feel kinda like that. Every drab picture that is taken of me sets me that far back. I want nobody to see me like that unless they have too, now or in the future. So being drab at my Mom's or anywhere else is not near as positive as it could be if I were, not drab. Sheesh, give yourself another big duh Trish. DUH. Even the best of times can fall into the negative alá drab.

  I used to try so hard not to use the word "hate". But no doubt about it, I hate some stuff.

  In the last week I came out to 2 very important people in my life, friends that I thought for sure I would be "leaving behind". He is an ex co-worker and very good friend outside of work and she is his wife. It is the classic tale of the two guy friends and the chapter where one of them dawns a dress and announces, "I want to be a woman." That could quite possibly have ended the tale right then and there but fortunately for me, it didn't. I don't know how the ending is going to turn out, but the story so far is a happy one. This, is so cool. I mean, I am lucky again. Major lucky. This was all done via email although we only live a few miles apart. Matters not. In the chance that they read this, this is not a message to them, it is my diary.

  Now, this brings up another phenomena that I have experienced. Often times when you come out to somebody who has known nobody but the "drab you", you slowly drift apart. It is not anybody's fault, it just seems to be a natural process. After all, to them you are not fully a man, and you most certainly are not fully a woman. So your men friends can no longer relate to you as a man, and the women have a hard time also. The men, there is just not much commonality anymore, and the women, I dunno, it is kinda like, well, to them you are not the man they knew and they really have a difficult if not impossible time thinking of you as a woman. Who can blame them. You know how we hope our relationship with our genetic women friends would evolve, but, you "put on a dress" and expect to be invited into their world? Would you expect them to share with you the things that they would have never shared with you as a man just because you "put on a dress"? And you know how we need that sharing, but I think not. Not to mention that it would be a hair wierd for your guy friends to see you follow their wives into the bedroom to share women things. An extreme example, but how many times did you go out to the garage with the guys? Well, things change, things change. Again though, who can blame them. It must be very odd for them. So to some friends you are not a man and not really a woman and the two of you sometimes drift apart. It doesn't have to be this way and hopefully it can be the exception to the rule. Whichever way the relationship goes, knowing that they are behind you, that they support you and that you can write or talk to them occasionally about times good or bad and not hide from them who you are can be good enough, not something to be taken for granted to be sure.

  This is quite the opposite of friends that know only Trish, friends that have never known the drab me. Oh, they have seen drab me, but they have not seen "the guy". "The guy" is gone and friends old or new won't see him again. Anyway, as far as I can tell, those that have known only Trish, men or women accept me as female and I can feel that. Not girly girlee games female (jeez), but female. Just female.

  This is all so complicated. Anybody who expects that their friends and/or relatives they had before they came out to understand them and accept them with no questions asked are, and I will be gentle with them here: They are freakin looney tunes. This is the way I see it. When you decide to transition/come out, your wives and husbands are being screwed. Your children are being screwed. Your mom and dad are being screwed. Your friends are being screwed. And if you are like me and didn't have a choice at a certain point as to whether or not to transition, you are being screwed. So you see, everybody is being screwed. Let me say this just once (maybe):

  IF YOU TRANSITION AND YOU ARE ABLE TO KEEP YOUR FRIENDS, SPOUSES AND SIGNIFICANT OTHERS YOU SHOULD BE HAPPIER THEN A PIG IN SHIT, BECAUSE EVERYBODY IS BEING SCREWED.
  THEY ARE BEING SCREWED OUT OF A PERSON THEY KNOW.
  THEY ARE BEING SCREWED OUT OF A PERSON THEY LOVE.
  AND YOU ARE BEING SCREWED OUT OF A "NORMAL" EXISTENCE
  (at least for a time, if you are lucky).

  Oh sure, it is still you and you are a good person. But it is not the you they know and many times it is not the you that they want or even want to know.

  I keep meaning to tell my guy friends that I have come out to that if I happen to go anyplace with them, I will not look at dresses, I won't pick up dolls, I won't ogle at the boys and even if I see that pink lipstick that I have been trying so hard to find again I won't even be tempted to look at it. I won't embarrass them ... I will not do the "man act", but at least while drab I won't "prance around like a foo foo in heat".. ("Ha... Foo foo in heat, good one, Trish."... Thanks.)... I would think that if you put the shoe on the other foot, the guys just might be a little nervous about this and not want to spend any time out with me for the "foo foo embarrassment factor" alone. Fair enough. I understand. Eeeks, this is gonna be quite difficult. I've been trying to locate that pink lipstick for a long time.

  Now..................... Let me confuse me even a little further.

  Sometimes, no, a lot of the time you just have to put your feet in the other persons shoes to stay out of Fantasyland. I am not saying that so that you can do as they say because you now understand how they feel... I am saying it so that you will know when it is a lost cause and therefore a good idea to get out of Dodge and leave that shit behind, unless....... YOU have a choice. Just don't bullshit yourself. Just think about the other person, not for them always, but for you. Keep it real.

  Oh, when I write "you", I mean "me", to me. It is just the way I write sometimes.

  About two years ago I wanted a lot to get a little Chihuahua dog to have and to love and to sleep with. I am so glad I didn't get the little Chihuahua dog. Even the responsibility of a little Chihuahua dog would have really put a crimp on transitioning. So many things....

  Now, the positive aspects of my Thanksgiving stay at my Mom's. I am staying close to my son, and sharing happy times. My Mom's support for me seems unwavering and sometimes seems to grow ever stronger. I sometimes think that she knows I will someday complete transition even when I have strong doubts (Trish has strong doubts about completing transition? Duh.). I need this and I don't think that I am dreaming just how strong her support for me is. Just being with my Mom, period. I was able to see my Mom's girlfriend and it had been much too long. Seven words: Five days in a positive, supportive atmosphere. I ate well, so well that I think I was oinking at the table. And the really good part of that is, I came back home 3 pounds lighter. Go figure.

  Oh, and we saw Harry Potter.

  I am not avoiding this. Do I still feel like it would be better to not be alive? Yes. At this point, yes. Makes me sad, but yes.

   

  Some would say I was a lost man in a lost world.
  You could say I lost my faith in the people on TV.
  You could say I'd lost my belief in our politicians.
  They all seemed like game show hosts to me.
  I could be lost inside their lies without a trace,
  but every time I close my eyes I see your face.
  Sting

Sunday, December 9th, 2001

• Well, I didn't go to my Christmas dinner.
  My kidsitter bailed as I was getting ready to go. So what else is new. I should not have been looking forward to it so much. Bad karma. "Ya shoulda oughta known better, Trish." Yep, when you are right, you're right.

  I had some major coming out with old friends in the last 3 weeks.

  I have therapy on Wednesday. I have electro on Thursday. I have a follow up with my cosmetic surgeon on Friday. So, this is good. A full week almost of workin on ol' Trish from the inside out. I am really dreading therapy. It is gonna be all about finding work. Anxiety city.

  I keep seeing pictures of girls with their new breast implants etc. all happy and stuff. SHIT. Man, I want some frills. Fuck. I am so tired of the necessities. Okay, so I am a selfish thankless bitch.

  Sorry, I keep tryin to find good stuff. If it has happened, you have read about it.

  Darn this is hard. People will not let me want to die. That is wrong. If I don't want to live, I don't want to live and it shouldn't matter how many starving children there are in some far off land or how many people died in the World Trade Center bombing. If I want not to live, that should be good enough. Everybody keeps saying that we are all different. Well, we are. And I want to die. At least let me have that.

  DOWn, DOwn, down.

   

  Dive! Dive! Dive!
  "Oh please can't we go up, Mr. Captain Sir?
  I am so tired of diving."

   

  Trish's Current HRT Statistics (12/09/01):
  Hormone Regiment: 5 mgs Premarin and 150 mgs spironolactone once a day.
  Emotions: Not great. Still very low most of the time.
  Breasts: Sore a lot. Not that sore today, but sore..
  Hips, Thighs and Bottom: I don't know.
  Body Hair: I think my pubic hair is getting softer, finer. I can't be sure as with everything else I see it everyday, but the other day for the first time it struck me as being finer.
  Skin: I think the pores on the back of my hands are getting smaller.
  Erection Count: Since (see below) masturbating? Zero (0), thank you.
  Masturbation and Sexual Desire: Once (1) - On October 2nd... I wrote about it on October 3rd. So, that is once since March. I hated it.
  Trish Bottom Line: Don't really want to be alive.

Thursday, December 13th, 2001

• This is all I needed, but....
  I went to electrolysis today. After we finished up I went out to my car to leave.... I put the key in the ignition and bingo, my car won't start. It is the same problem I had with it like 5 or 6 weeks ago that cost me $500 to repair. Yep, this is all I need, but I am not gonna go into all of that, just the good part here. "Good part Trish? Of this car crap?" Yeah, kinda. And for this you will have to keep in mind that:
  A. I am drab.

  B. I haven't shaved for 4 days.

  C. My face is red and fresh from lectro.

  So, I call the tow truck place to come and pick me up. A short time later the tow truck guy shows up and I point him around to where my car is. We talk about the problem for about 15 minutes before he decides it will not start and that it does need to go to the repair shop. He makes me aware of a stop that we might have to make along the way. He then says it is too tight of a squeeze for him to pull his tow truck into and my car will have to be pushed down a dirt road that has all kinds of holes and stuff in it so that he can load my car from the street. Not an easy push job. So he goes and pulls his truck as close as he can and comes back.

  Tow Truck Guy: Okay, get in and I will push.

  Trish: I motion that like I can help push and say like, Should I.....

  Tow Truck Guy: Naw, you just get in and steer..... I will push.

  I feel kinda funny about not helping him, but... oh well..... My car is loaded onto his truck and we drive. We make some small talk. Anyway, about 10 minutes into the drive he makes a call to the station that he is working out of. I can hear both sides of the conversation and it went like this:

  Tow Truck Guy: Hey Jim, we are on the road. It needed to be towed after all.

  Jim: Where are you taking it?

  Tow Truck Guy: She needs it taken to "So And So's" Garage.

  (She?! My ears perk up.)

  Jim: Has she been told about the possible stop you will have to make?

  Tow Truck Guy: Yep, she has been made aware.

  (She. There it is again. Now I am really listening. I am also thinking that I hope he
  doesn't find out I am a guy (at least to the world) and want to kick my butt for not helping to
  push.)

  Jim: Okay, 10/4.

  Tow Truck Guy: See ya in a bit.

  My tow truck driver thinks I am female, even after all this talking and stuff. Now mind you, I am dealing with car guys here and I am not exactly batting my eyes at them. That is to say, I am not like being a huge guy around them but I am not "Trish'ing out" either. The whole ride, he thought I was female.

  I like this. It felt good. I just don't see how it could happen, but I felt really good.

  The sting of the car expenses involved so far was lessened.

   

  Is this why I didn't have to help push?
  It could have been for insurance reasons I guess.
  I dunno.