Trish-Marie's Transition Diary, Part 7.

Wednesday, January 16th, 2002

I am drab and haven't shaved for two days... and my watch died.....
.....so I decided to go over to K-Mart and buy a new one with some birthday money that my mom gave me. (My Mom has been giving me birthday and Christmas money over the years and I have been stockpiling it. I am a pack rat. Oh well, that is another story.) But before I went to K-Mart I needed to go over and pick my son up at school and take him to tutoring.
My son gets in the car and we are driving "oh so school parking lot" slowly when he spots his math teacher. My son waves to him, and his teacher comes over to the car. "Hi ______", and this must be your mom", he says as he reaches towards the car to take my hand. An "enchanted moment" (as Doc Holiday would say) and another slightly uncomfortable one. "I am his father." Well, I had to say it.
Later, over at the K-Mart jewelry counter I had spotted a simple yet pretty Timex® watch that I decided was right for ol' Trish. Finally after some time (you know how jewelry counter service goes), the K-Mart jewelry counter woman shows up and says to another customer who was waiting along side of me, "I think she was first (as she pointed at me). I will be with you in a moment."
During the first encounter I was wearing my biker guy sunglasses and the second one I was not.
They say, and I believe it to be true, that love strikes when you are not looking for it. It has been the same way with these "ma'am encounters". It always happens when I am not even thinking about it. I will take what I can get. I know I keep writing of these encounters and you are all like, "Okay Trish... Enough already. What are you trying to prove?" I dunno. Maybe I am trying to prove something.... to myself. These are affirmations that I am changing. If you had seen me 3 or so years ago you would know that I was not a person that would be mistaken for female and I looked like I would not care for it too much if I was. When these affirmations are commonplace and not exceptions to the rule, I will not write of them anymore. Hopefully that will be sooner then later. But really, this is so cool. I did not need a dress, and I did not need makeup. Very cool. To me, very cool. This is what I need.
Okay, I am gonna tell a little tale "out of school" here. I shouldn't, but I am.... I was just talking to my mom on the phone about the math teacher and K-Mart, and she said, Well, did you have yer boobs out??" Ha Mom... I said, "What boobs?!?!" Love my Mom.
I have been taking the estradiol now since January 1st. 16 days. My breasts are not sore now for the first time in 17 months. This cannot be a good thing. Oh shit, backsliding? I hope not. I mean I really hope not. I could not handle not making progress in this area. I am too old to be messing around. Paranoia. I have also been having what I think are hot flashes. They have been happening for about 6 or 7 days. At first I thought it was the floor heater in my room. I keep my room pretty warm because I am cold constantly. But after about 3 days of this it dawned on me that maybe it is the estradiol. You know, one minute I am like all regular and the next minute I am sweating, like "Who turned up the oven?" type sweating. Four or five minutes later, normal again. I would call and ask my endo about this, but I don't want to have to cut back or anything and I can't afford to see him or have any bloodwork done right now. I will wait until my next appointment on February the 15th. I will also remember this time to request that my spiro daily intake be upped to 200 mgs from the 150 I am taking now.
Update: My right ankle still swells. But I think I have narrowed it down to the wearing of a certain pair of tennis shoes. They are not even high tops and they are not tight. I don't really understand. I take them off at bedtime of course and when I get up in the morning my ankle is pretty much down to normal again. I will continue to monitor.
I wish that I could write about going someplace, or going full time or just something other then all these internal feelings for a change. I mean, something fun for somebody else to read. Nothing is happening though. Not going anyplace, not doing anything. No meeting new people in real time, no visiting with friends. No dinners, no evenings out. Not even a trip to the laundromat or library or an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.
This is important. When I stop and think about the original goals that I had set for myself a little over two years ago in October of 1999, I am right on target. Right on schedule. But I have become impatient and I want more then I thought I did back then. Back then my intentions were not so much to go full time as they were to just be the best Trish I could be when I could be Trish. Things change. At that time, I didn't even know what was possible for me. Now I do know and I want full time. I want surgery. But like I said, as far as my original plan goes, I am right on target. So, should I be unhappy?
A good friend had once said to me that she has seen more then one girl get "caught up" in transition. That is, after starting the process it just kind of takes on a life of it's own and you are just along for the ride. Many things my friend has said stay with me, but this is one of the things that is ever present. I always keep this in mind. Am I just getting "caught up" in transition? Am I doing this for the right reasons? Is it really what I want and/or need to do? Or am I just along for the ride. Nope, I know that what I am doing is right for me. It is my heart that tells me this.
I am probably repeating many things over and over in My Transition Diary. Please bear with me. It is a long process and I have many of the same thoughts over and over. I can't even remember sometimes if I have written of them before.
Remember that scene from the movie "Silence of the Lambs" when the killer person stood nude before the mirror, reached around from behind and pulled his penis back in a manner that would make him appear to have a vagina, to see what he would look like? Why in the heck did they have to turn that into such a sick morbid disgusting perverted thing to do. I have done it. But now I would feel sick and twisted if I were to do it. I know it is a weird thing to do anyway and it is not like I did it every night before bed, but perchance to dream I suppose.....
P.S. Regarding the "Lambs" thing... As Homer Simpson once said, "Did I really write that or just think it. DOH! I better think of a lie, fast." Ha.

You wear nothing but you wear it so well.
The Dave Matthews Band

Saturday, January 19th, 2002

"Roses are red, violets are blue.
If there was only one thing I could ever do,
it was fool the fuck outta you."
Trish

Fuck you then. Fuck you all...
I was always a whimp, but I was tired of being treated like one, tired of being hurt, tired of being scared and this is where and how my life started to change.
When I was 13, I was at the Boys Club. I was just coming out of the building and onto the basketball court when a basketball came flying towards me with a boy not far behind. In an effort to help stop the ball and prevent the boy from having to run a mile, I tried to catch it. Of course it went right through my hands and dropped into a trashcan that was close by. The boy looked at me with dagger eyes and said, "If you ever, do anything like that again, I-will-kick-your-ass." And he meant it.
It was at that moment, and with my full awareness that I decided, "Fuck me? No, I think not. Fuck you."
Enough of this shit already.
Never again will would attempt to "catch the ball". And here were my new rules:

Never catch the ball. Let it drop into the fuckin can. Let the ball fly. They will never know that you are not capable of catching it, only that you are too fucking cool to even bother.

If you can help it, do not smile, ever.
If you can help it, do not let anybody in, ever.
Stay drugged up and/or drunk.. You won't feel a thing, nobody will even be able to communicate with you and at the same time, they will think you are hip.
Do not talk a whole lot, and if you do, say "fuck" all the time.
Oh, you don't like me? Fuck you. Of course, I did not say this, but they could see it, and they were afraid to even ask me why.
NEVER let anybody in.
From the moment I put all of this into effect, nobody ever touched me again, with the exception of a huge biker at some outdoor festival when I was 18, and some bikers and their "bitches"(hey, that's what they called em) at a party when I was about 23. But hey, those guys are crazy anyway.
I also lost out on a lot. People were afraid of approaching me. People in the credit union thought I was there to rob them and they said so, as they were relieved to find I was not. Every time I went out, every store I went into I was watched and followed, sometimes to the point where I didn't even really want to go into them anymore. I am also pretty sure I may have missed out on some love, pure love. No, I know I did.
As I wrote before, a little over 5 years ago I finally sought professional help for my transgender issues which led me to detox/rehab via the cities finest, I cleaned up and here I am. It was a big decision that I had to make as to whether or not to drop the facade, to let Trish show. I was scared, I mean really scared. It would mean, that people could once again hurt me. You can have no idea how frightened I was at the thought of people seeing me.
It was a little more difficult dropping the façade then it was dropping a basketball, but drop it I did, and I am glad.
Some people don't seem to understand. Upon hearing of some of my "escapades", the people that I sometimes associated with, the situations and places that I put myself in, they say, "Ah Trish, so you are a tough little booger. This whole girlee thing is an act. I see." No, you don't see. You don't seem to understand that this façade was in place so that nobody would see me. Say one mean thing to me or hit me and the walls would have come tumbling down in a split second. Why do you think I had to use the façade? Don't you know what the word façade means? It was my plan to make you afraid of me first. It was my plan to have you not even start with me. Because if you started, I was dead. I was scared the whole fucking time. Why do you think I am still alive after some of the shit I dealt with. It is because I was scared enough to know when to get out. Inside, I am the same now as I was then, or I was the same then as I am now, or somethin.
During the "Time of the Facade", the people I did let in, the people that I did smile with were quite surprised at finding the person underneath to not be anything like the image I portrayed. They were hard pressed to convince others that I was not the scary guy that I appeared to be. But I personally did not give a shit, or at least.................. that is what I told them.
One recent chilly morning I drove through a fast food restaurant to buy a Diet Coke®. The girl at the window asked me how I was and I said I was fine. I asked her the same and she said her hands were freezing. And with that she took my hand into hers to feel. This is new to me. This would have never happened in the "Time of the Façade".
People look at me now and they are not afraid. People smile at me and say hello. And as you see, people have actually touched me. And as time goes by, more and more of what they see is who I am.

....along the coach roads I did ride,
with sword and pistol by my side.
The Highwayman

Thursday, January 24th, 2002

Guess what!!!!
I got a job! Now I don't have to worry about hormones or electro or my therapy or my endo payments. I can move out of Hell house and have my own place with a room for myself and a room for my son. I can start on my way to full time! I can once again sleep without taking the Trazadone. Oh! And I can eat! And last night I went to a small gathering of friends. We watched a really great video and had popcorn and next week we are going to go out for a walk at the mall or something and I even think that I can go to the Cotillion in San Francisco now... How cool... I can start to go full time. It is all coming together... You just have to have faith.
I wish even a small part of that last paragraph were true.
"Oh shit, here it comes."
Many people in my position might go out for the evening, or go see a friend, or get stoned, or get drunk if for nothing else then to forget all of this for a few hours. I do not have any of these options open to me. I am stuck here with my thoughts. I have no way to forget, even for a short time.
"Yep. I thought so."
My unemployment benefits are coming to an end. I am down to the last money I have. There is nothing to look forward to. There is only the fear of what little I have left being taken away. I sit here in my little room day after day after day, and now, without any heat and I am cold. I just payed bills and my Visa and it is looking very bad. I wince and my heart sinks at the thought of spending a single dime.
"So put a jacket on, you idiot. And don't spend a dime then."
Hey, I am dressed for a snowstorm, and I spend money just sitting here staring at the ceiling.
There is nobody in real time to talk to, nobody who has a stake in Trish's life anyway.
"Who's fault is that."
Not mine. I tried. Look where it has gotten me.
"Oh fuck Trish, don't you ever ever stop this self pity?"
Whatever. And don't cuss at me.
I can talk to my mom, but that is different. My son still thinks I have not a care in the world. The lady I live with only cares how I will affect her financially. In my room, in my car, by myself I am the face of despair and hopelessness. Around others, I put on the happy face, I can't help it. Jekyll and Trish. It is all up to me. I have been in a constant state of anxiety for 3 days now. 3 days of nothing but paranoia and absolute depression. I am now praying every night that I am taken in my sleep. I can't do it myself. I wish I could.
"Oh, the suicide dance again. You make me laugh with that. Let's dance Trish. C'mon, do ya really want to dance?"
Yes, I do. But I have two left feet.
"You pussy."
Idiot.
"Pussy."
Shutup. And don't use the "P" word. That is major crass.
"That is all you will understand."
Shutup.
I don't know if I am more scared of what I feel I might have to do, or the fact that I am unable to do it. Or maybe I am scared that I actually might be getting the strength. I dunno. I am so confused and lame, what else would you expect from me. I am turning out to be quite the loser. When the chips are down, Trish can't come through. I am fucked.
"Ha, yeah... If nothing else Trish, you are proving to be a loser just because you say it so much. Weaklings are pathetic. You tend to make me want to vomit. Why can't you be strong for once."
I want to lean and I want to cry. I want to go critical on your shoulder and get it all out. I want to be your baby.
"Okay, you can cry on my shoulder and I will even care, but you will owe me bigtime."
I have nothing to give.
I talk to myself, out loud, constantly, more and more and more. I am sure the neighbors think me to be batty as I sit on my front porch and smoke and cry and laugh and curse my life and "the gift" at all hours of the day and night. It sounds comical, but I assure you... it is not.
"Hey Trish, didn't I just hear a noise from the other room? I love the way that makes you jump and shake. It is like you think something bad is about to happen."
Yeah, funny, huh..
Being alone, it is what I wanted anyway. I benefit from it, and I lose from it. With the good comes the bad.
"Hey Trish, is this turning into a 'I wish I had somebody' thing here?"
No.
"Oh good, because it is starting to sound like you regret your decision to be and stay alone."
No, I am regretting being alive, period.
"Whoops, there she goes again. Sorry I asked."
I am such a mess. I am such an extreme..... emotional..... mess.
Oh, and me?
"Yes Trish?"
Shut the fuck up. I am tired of listening to you.
"You're getting to be a pretty old subject yourself there, Trish. Ask anybody. Tell ya what, you can have the last word today.. Lot's of room for ya..... . Take it."

You can have my isolation, you can have the hate that it brings.
You can have my absence of faith, you can have my everything.
NIN

Thursday, January 31st, 2002

How do you manage to wear that face.
What is with you? You have it bad but you keep saying, "Tomorrow will be a better day." What is with you? You have no money. You have no more hormones. You have had to put electro aside. You have no real home. Your future looks dim, and yet you say, "Tomorrow will be a better day". How do you do it?? How in the hell do you do that? I just don't understand. I hate you for that. I hate you for that. Why can't I do that?? Why can't I do that. What is wrong with me.
God I hate my life. Fuck me.

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake,
that would be good.
Trish

Trish's Current HRT Statistics (01/31/02):
Hormone Regiment: 4 mgs estradiol and 150 mgs spironolactone once a day.
Emotions: In the shitter.
Breasts: Not sore at all. Nothing.
Hips, Thighs and Bottom: Don't make me laugh. You couldn't anyway.
Body Hair: I am afraid it will start coming back.
Skin: Nothing.
Erection Count: Discontinued for now... Since December 17th, 2001.
Masturbation and Sexual Desire: Discontinued for now... Since December 17th, 2001.
Trish Bottom Line: Kill me God. Everything hurts. Please don't let my death be the same.

Sunday, Febrruary 3rd, 2002

It's not this way for girls..
So I said to my therapist last Monday, I think what is bothering me is not so much the fact that I can't have gender reassignment surgery or breast augmentation like yesterday as it is that I am not at the point where I am ready for it. That is a very misleading statement. It is true and it is not true. Oh, I am ready for it, but the world is not ready for it. I am not ready for it as far as the world is concerned. It's not this way for girls. Girls are born physically as girls and are seen by the world as girls from the minute they arrive from the womb. They are looked at by the world as girls from the moment the doctor announces, "It's a girl." For me? The doctor saw a penis and said "It's a boy" and that was that. Nowadays nobody can see my penis as did the doctor who delivered me and declared "It's a boy", but the symbol of the phallic has been replaced by all the testosterone influence my body had undergone for all these years. By way of this influence the world sees me as a guy and in order for that to change I have so much work to do. In other words, at this point such things as breast augmentation are unreal expectations because I can't go running around the world looking like a well endowed guy. Well, actually I could. But that is where myself and some others differ. I am not going to complicate my life even more by running around looking like God knows what.
"Well Trish, I don't give a crap what anybody thinks about me. I am going to live my life the way I want."
And that is the way I feel too, to a certain extent.
Some respect me for this line of "I am not going to do anything crazy" thinking and some do not. Some say that if the pain is as bad as I say it to be, that I would do anything to end it and so I am a fake and a whiner. Others think that my cautious way of proceeding is smart and that I am doing it right, no matter the pain. Some think that my not wanting to do anything that would harm my son's mental well being is a good thing, and some think it is an excuse. What do I think? I think I do not want to live dangerously and where my son is concerned, at this point love rules the roost. That could change depending on desperation level.
I had heard a post-op woman say not too long ago, "I gave myself 5 years. If I was not able to pass and function in society as a woman at the end of that time, I would call transition off." Good deal. However, as this woman has certainly met that goal I don't know if it was "bravado" speaking or not. Had she not met that goal, would she have actually called it quits? I feel the same way and wish I could set this goal. I am not a strong enough person to go on the rest of my life trying to function and get along in the world as a woman when the world keeps looking at me as a guy in a dress. Yeah, screw the world and I will live the way I want, but not under those circumstances. The occasional being read and sideways look is okay, but a continual day after day "being read festival" would suck. I am also not strong enough to set the "5 year or call it quits" goal.
On the other hand, what in the heck am I thinking? My goals/expectations over the last two years have changed so much. I was pretty sure and was psyching myself out that I was not ever going to pass as a woman. Something now is giving me some hope I guess. Could it be the "dressed as a boy ma'aam encounters"? Could it be the comments I have had in real time made by the one or two that I am sure are not bullshitting me? Could it be the "taken by surprise glances in the mirror" thing? I don't know, but I am thinking that I may have a chance. If I pass, most excellent. If I don't, I am doomed to this limbo that I am living in now.
Although it would not be ideal, if I were forced to live as a man for the rest of my life, it would still make me most happy to have surgery. That's right, nobody else can see what is in my pants. So what does it matter to them. It is my body, and I need a vagina. Nobody would ever see it. This will not happen for more then one reason.
Unfortunately, I have to prove that having a vagina is the right thing for me. It is not like I can try one on for a while and if it doesn't work out, take my penis back, God forbid. Nobody is willing to take the risk and just give me a vagina because they are either 1., afraid of losing something themselves if it is a mistake, or 2., for the ones that truly care, if it was a mistake they would have a hard time with it emotionally. Nobody will just take my word for it and give me a vagina. Now the only way to prove that I am really "deserving" of a vagina is to play this "dress up" game for a certain amount of time. So once again, so much depends on the clothes. Can I function in society as a woman, and I can't do that in guy clothes. Jeez, the clothes. I can't have a vagina unless I dress up. I am not saying that a certain amount of guidelines is not a good thing. I am not saying this at all. But look into my eyes. I am not fucking around here. You should know this by now. I am willing to take the risk (there is no risk) and I will sign anything that says it.
Whatever, and don't get me wrong. I want to be a woman. I want to be seen as a woman. Is this all confusing to you? It is just my writing and communication skills. Wanting/needing to have a vagina is at least one thing that is not confusing to me. It is so fucking primal that it is pitiful.
Somebody had said to me recently, "Hey Trish, I think you are attractive even with small breasts or none at all." Well, left handed compliment or not, I replied, "It's a girl thing." I know that is cliché, but I am truly understanding and feeling this more and more as time goes by. The need for boobs is a girl thing.
So my original point is, I am ready for surgery. But if I want to proceed safely and get to where I need to be with the best results, I have to realize that the world is not. This really sucks. I am having a hard time accepting this and it is going to fuck with me. No resolution here, just a revelation....... however simple minded it is.
Sometime back I had written that my therapist had commented that I must be getting something out of living under the less then ideal circumstances here at "home". I interpreted that to mean that I was somehow psychologically satisfied by being miserable. I think that is sick and it worried me. It made me want to be ill. We discussed this again on Monday and what he really meant was that I had weighed my options and that I was choosing the lesser of two evils, thus, getting something out of living under the less then ideal circumstances here at "home". I felt much better about this.
Today's entry doesn't mean much. It is just the old rehash. I need to be seen as I woman and I need to have a vagina. And if I am not seen as a woman, I still need to have a vagina. And by writing all of this I am probably screwing myself out of ever having a vagina. I hope I don't look back on all this someday and say to myself, "I should have bought em with crackers, and sold em with cheese."
The lady I live with had told me on Monday that she, her girlfriend and my son would be going out of town for 4 days starting this last Friday. This would be great. It would give me a chance to do Trish, maybe get out of this house. But I told myself not to look forward to it because these things don't usually work out. And once again I was right. The night before they were to leave, my son caught a cold and so he stayed home. To add insult to injury, I now have the cold and another raging toothache. Hey, a Transition Diary entry would not be complete without this last paragraph.
I just took a little break from writing and went to Jack In The Box® for a Diet Coke®. I need the ice for my toothache. Anyway, I thought to myself, why not do this: I have always wanted to be a giraffe, at least for one day. So I decided that for this trip to Jack In The Box® I would be a giraffe. Between my ears, I am a giraffe. I don't really look like one, but what does that matter, it is what is between the ears that counts. So I get to Jack In The Box® and order my Diet Coke®. The Jack In The Box® guy says, "Thank you for your order sir." Sir?? What kind if shit is that?? I am a giraffe! What is the matter with your vision Mr. Jack In The Box® guy? Gee, I guess it didn't really matter what was between my ears. I never got to know what it is like to be a giraffe. Not much peace of mind there.
Somebody had asked me if they could use this as I wrote it sometime back. However, I don't think they are going to, so I am going to put it here:
If you feel inside that you are a monkey, don't think that you can wear clothes of any kind, use your thumbs with skill and expect to be seen by the world as a monkey. It ain't gonna happen. If it is okay with you that only you know that you are a monkey, then like I keep saying, great! But when you go to the park, don't expect anybody to lead you to the monkey bars unless you ask where they are and when you go to the zoo and stand next to the monkey cage, nobody is gonna ask, "Say little feller, how did you get out?"
Thinking you are a monkey is not enough, if you want to be seen as a monkey. If on the other hand, you want to think of yourself as an undercover monkey and get off on the fact that everybody thinks you are human but you know you are a monkey deep inside, that's cool too. Trish is not big on being an "undercover monkey".
Okay, let me think of some good things............ Oh, there is one really good thing, but I can't talk about it here other then to say, Thank you.... I hold onto your words like a security blanket. It helps me to be at peace when I am anxious and afraid.

Well, I'm stuck in the middle with you, and I'm wonderin' what it is I should do.
Is it cool to go to sleep on the floor? I don't think that I can take it anymore.
Clowns to left of me, jokers to the right, here am I stuck in the middle with you.
Stealer's Wheel

Tuesday, February 12th, 2002

I wanted to look like some guys.
While driving to my electrolysis appointment this morning I spotted a guy waiting to cross the street. "Now there is one guy I am glad I don't look like", I thought to myself. This led to deeper thinking about the subject of why do I/did I even think that way. All of my life I had seen guys that I thought looked "cool", so I would do my best outwardly to copy them. Grow my hair like them, my beard and mustache or no beard and mustache like them, dress like them, act and move like them, talk like them. This could have been anybody from androgyny boy to macho man. I was to the best of my ability able to achieve this a lot of the time. I was never as cute or as handsome as them by a long shot, but I did manage to communicate what I was trying to be. However, this was only on the outside. I could have been Johnny Depp's twin and I would still have woken up in the morning feeling just... well... off, not right. And Johnny Depp is not off.... Johnny Depp is "da man". But, I don't care if I would have been his clone. It still would have never felt right, you are just going to have to go with me on this. (Johnny Depp: Actor... the cat's meow... cool... handsome... cute... whatever...)
Interjection:
I heard one of my friends once describe pre-transition life as always feeling kinda grimy, like you had perpetually just finished working under a car. This is about the best description I have ever heard. It just always feels, "grimy". You know guys are not grimy, but we feel that way. I don't care if we are freshly scrubbed squeaky clean from the shower. Ya feel grimy. You can never get away from the "grimy" feeling. You know? Just... off... not right.
Anyway..
Now I am starting to look like Trish. I can think of no woman that I dress like, do my hair like, act like, or talk like (although there are some I try hard not to be like). Years ago I had tried to look like others, but I am not talented enough and there is not that much to work with anyway. But this is mostly okay. I am Trish. I don't have to try to be somebody else. I am just me. And it feels right to be just me. I don't have to be somebody else. Me is finally good enough, at least for me... inside... It is still far from perfect, but I understand it now.
Sure, I have friends that I do try to emulate, but only their grace, charm and values. I am not saying that I have grace and charm (I have some values), I am just saying that there are woman I admire and try just a hair to emulate in some way. Don't laugh.
I guess my little point to this entry is, the "cool guy" thing added to the overall confusion I had about myself. Subconsciously or not I just took it for granted that I must have wanted to be a guy. I mean, look at all the guys I thought were neat and tried so hard to be like. I thought that had meant that I want to be a guy. But this morning as I observed the guy I would not want to look like crossing the street I realized that sure, just because I think some guys are neat looking, it doesn't mean I wanted to be one. I think some animals look cool too, but I am not an animal... Oh wait, not a good analogy... I think some vegetables look cool too, but I am definitely not a... no, strike that one also... I think some fruits look cool but... Oh never mind, you know what I mean.
Not one guy image I put on felt like my skin. Trish is my skin.
But then, you could say that Trish is just another image I am wearing and not really me either. I mean, I am not physically a woman. So I guess that shoots the shit out of a lot of what I just wrote... Oh well....

an•a•lyze \"a-n€l-'ïz\ an•a•lyzed an•a•lyz•ing [prob. irreg. fr. analysis]
(1587) verb transitive
1 : to study or determine the nature and relationship of the parts of by analysis
2 : Sometimes just not an effin good thing to do.
Other fun:
My toothache pretty much (knock on wood) has gone away. It majorly took me out of action for about 4 days.
I am down to 133 pounds. I am 6 feet tall. This is okay in one respect as I am always concerned with my weight anyway. But the last couple of pounds has been through not eating much. It's a money thing. It's a no job thing. But 133 pounds is okay. Better a little less then a little more. Actually, a lot better.
The money is just about all gone. I don't want to be around when certain people discover this. I have an appointment with my endocrinologist on Friday. I hope he is not planning on bloodwork. I was supposed to tell my therapist yesterday that I could no longer come. I had planned this for over a week. My brain would not let my mouth say the words. Or maybe it was my heart breaking at the thought of it.
I don't know what I am doing.
Oh, I got it... I think some cars are cool, but I am not a car. This I am sure of.

Cos you're a cool cat. Tapping on the toe with a new hat.
Just cruising - driving along like the swing king.
Queen

Friday, February 15, 2002

Uno, dos, one, two, tres, quatro...

Matty told Hatty... about a thing she saw.
Had two big horns... and a wooly jaw.
Wooly bully, wooly bully.
The above is about the only gossip I have to report, and I got that from Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs. I myself still haven't gone out or done anything. So for now, more internal stuff..
This morning I went to my endocrinologist appointment...
All is well in that department. Blood pressure, etc., all fine. Beats the heck out of me how my blood pressure is fine, but this is good. And yeah, I have lost weight, 6 to 8 pounds. My scale says 133 today without clothes, his scale said 142 fully clothed. My scale was not inexpensive, so whatever. Thank goodness he didn't request bloodwork today. I was getting all ready to tell him that I just can't pay for it. He knows my situation. I am pretty dog gone honest with him, to my detriment or not, I don't know. I also discussed with him my disheartenment over physical development. He managed to put my mind at ease at least temporarily. These things take time. He didn't say to me, "Well, I know you have realistic expectations" like he had said to me once before. That comment did not do me much good. I don't know... I mean I feel pretty good when I leave his office, then I start playing the "what if" game with myself... What if this is not working.. What of that doesn't do this.... I am my own worst enemy, You would think that knowing this would help me to combat it... It doesn't.
I did manage to get my spironolactone upped from 150 to 175 mgs a day. So this is good. I didn't ask either the pharmacy or my endo about the availability of Premarin now. I can't afford it. Some day I will get back on Premarin (regardless of animal activists) and I hope that someday is sooner rather then later. So I am still taking the estradiol and he refilled me for the next 4 months. All on the credit card. I also managed to get my estradiol upped. Instead of 4 mgs a day, I will be taking 6.
One other thing... It seems that the tenderness that I have lost in my breasts has now moved to my testicles (yes, the dreaded T word). I knew from talking to people that this was nothing to be concerned about, and I am not... I mean they can turn blue and fall off for all I care, but I made sure to let my endo know about it. It is kind of a bummer though. It can really hurt when you sit down and stuff. Plus they are saying, "Hey! We're still here!" Yeah, okay....
I like reading the Patient Consultation form for my estradiol. It says:

Why is it prescribed?
For symptoms associated with menopause and
other female hormonal associated conditions.
Female, ya know? It doesn't say anything about football injuries or anything male related. It is all female. It just makes me feel good.
Regarding my thoughts on using Premarin (pregnant mare urine) and how the drug is obtained: This is a shit world. If there were another substance that would aid in changing my body more to the way I feel it should be, I would take it. But if it is between my body, and the horse, I am sorry... the horse loses. Don't think I don't feel bad about it. I do. That is all I will say about this, for now anyway.
My next endo appointment is in 4 months.
I know that hormones are working for me emotionally. I am pretty sure that if my life was not in the shape it is in, I would be happy. But look at my life. Loss of job, possible loss of child, losing a place to live soon and broke. Who would be happy? Hormones haven't made me the emotional wreck I am, life has. Believe me, I have questioned whether or not hormones could be helping to make me feel so lousy. I don't question it anymore though.
Unless I am in my car with the heater on or in the shower with hot hot water or in direct sunlight I am cold constantly.... Freezing.
I love how these things evolve. Things like how your purse takes on "your smell" after a time. Things like how your clothes start to smell like you. Things like how your dresser drawers do the same. Good smell, pretty smell. Things evolve. You can't really force them, they just do. All those years of wearing guy underwear. You go to the doctor, you go to wherever and it doesn't matter a whole hell of a lot, you just grab a pair and go. But now, I find my underwear drawer arranged like this: Underwear for everyday, underwear for like trips to the doctor and underwear for in-between everyday and like trips to the doctor. Oh, and also the spot for my favorite underwear, not to say that some everyday underwear can't be favorites. I digress. Stupid thing to mention I guess... Just thinking out loud. Things evolve. Just happens. I like it.

Doctor doctor, please. Oh, the mess I'm in.
UFO

Trish's Current HRT Statistics (02/15/02):
Hormone Regiment: 6 mgs estradiol and 175 mgs spironolactone once a day.
Emotions: Pretty much still in the shitter.
Breasts: Not sore at all. Nothing. Tenderness has moved to testicles since starting estradiol.
Hips, Thighs and Bottom: I am losing weight (not eating), not gaining curves..
Body Hair: Arm and leg hair seem to still be getting lighter.
Skin: I don't know.
Erection Count: Discontinued for now... Since December 17th, 2001.
Masturbation and Sexual Desire: Discontinued for now... Since December 17th, 2001.
Trish Bottom Line: I want to be alive, but I don't want to be alive, if you can understand that.

Sunday, February 17th, 2002

Sometimes I just don't know...
...if having my Transition Diary, my pictures and exposing myself like I do on the Internet is such a good idea. I just read something that makes me think it is not. I so often think that I will take everything off my site that is like hearts and flowers and just leave bare bones text and a picture, real cut and dry.
I really wish that my life were such that it inspired a photo and maybe these words:

"Hi, my name is Trish. This is my dog Blinkie whom I love very much and these are my two goldfish. I love the movie Bambi and my favorite stageplay is Death Of A Salesman".
When I first revamped my website is was close to that, but then I just seem to keep adding stuff again, stuff I like and stuff I just seem to have to write.... I can't help it. It is like... I dunno.... So I carry on...
I have a picture that I really like. It is a picture of a nude woman lying on her back stretched out on a sofa. The photo is in color and it is contemporary. It really could be any woman. Last night I looked at it again. I thought to myself, how wonderful it would be to crawl up next to her and just nuzzle. To get real close, to just be there. Oh god. But then, oops, here came "that thing" again. I have written a couple of times before the words: "I have always been jealous of women's bodies. For most of my life, I thought I wanted to be with a woman's body. Turns out, I want to be a woman's body." Man, how do I explain this.
It is like, I want to be next to her. But then that is not enough. I want to be so close to her as to be one with her. But then, that is not enough. I want to be inside of her, not as in intercourse, but inside of her. But then, that is not enough. I want to be her. To be next to her, to be one with her, to be so close as to merge with her, it is just not enough. I need it for myself. There is something just always out of reach. It is an emotion that I guess I cannot explain. I want to be with her. But it is never enough. It always leaves me totally empty. So here I am, I cannot be with her without being left feeling empty. And I cannot be her. The hole. I am back to the hole. Do you see what I mean? Can you understand? That hole? "That thing"?
I remember, being with a woman, lying on my back with her over me and reaching up to touch her breasts. I wondered why it would never satisfy me as it seemed to satisfy so many others. I really wanted it to. It took me so long to figure it out. Why could I not appreciate them. Why could I not be totally fulfilled to kiss them, to hold them, to caress them. Why was something missing. I know why. Jealousy.
You can interpret what I just wrote about breasts in a few ways. One being shallow. "So ya want tits." Another being sexual. And the third being a little more spiritual then the first two. I choose number three with a touch of number one thrown in for good measure. I think that sometimes my writing form may tend to sound romantic and filled with flights of fantasy. Believe me my fellow earthalites, this shit is neither romantic or fantastic. This shit sucks.
I mean, it sure would be a lot easier if I derived total satisfaction thusly: "Wo dude! She had tits out to here and man it was like... Oh shit. I banged em from here to midnite! I have NEVER had such a great time! Rocks off???? Shit yeah!!!" Oh jeez... Just writing that makes me cringe... But ya gotta admit, it would be a whole lot easier then the shit some of us go through. "Easier maybe Trish, but really.." Yeah, I know... Pretty terrible.
In a best case scenario, perhaps someday I will lay with you as a whole.

No matter how hard I would swim with you, I could not make it to your shore.
I am probably killing my transition future with this kind of shit.
Trish

Wednesday, February 20th, 2002

100 things that I hate:

1. My life.
2. The fact that everyday I get up, more bad shit happens.
3. Trish.
3b. The "gift".
4. The way I can't come through.
5. The fact that I can't do what is important.
6. The way I am running out of tears.
7. The way the thought of offing myself makes me so sad.
8. Smoking.
9. Being unwanted in my home.
10. My broke down car.
11. Me.
12. The way I can't do it, end it, right now, at this very moment.
13. Headaches.
14. Sounds from the other parts of the house.
15. Fantasy "transsexuals" and the way they cheapen shit.
16. Egotistical mother fuckers.
16b. How I can't tell the above people to "shut the fuck up for 10 minutes".
17. Liars and fakes.
18. People who use 20 different names in a chat room. They are chickenshit assholes.
19. Day to day nothingness.
20. Hunger.
21. My chickenshit self.
22. Me.
23. Trish
24. Me.
25. Trish.
26. Feeling okay about myself one minute, and like shit the next.
27. Trish.
28. Me.
29. The way I give a shit how my son feels.
30. Addiction.
31. The invention of marriage.
32. My aversion to the sight of blood.
33. The state of the world. Why can't everybody just grow the fuck up.
34. Having absolutely nothing to look forward to.
35. Being an emotional prisoner to sick fucks.
36. Going to bed.
37. Waking the fuck up again.
38. Trish-Marie.
39. Egotistical lying fakes.
40. The way people are taken in by egotistical lying fakes.
41. My fucking balls.
42. My fucking dick.
43. The thought of living forever with my fucking balls and my fucking dick.
44. No job.
45. The way that somebody in my life can go off on me at anytime of the day or night.
46. Fucking Trish.
47. This whole fucking thing.
48 People who can wear a happy face while their life goes down the shitter.
49. Having no place to go where I can be fulfilled in the slightest.
50. Being seen as a chick with a dick.
51. Water saving toilets and the way they fuck up your plumbing.
52. Not having money to fix the plumbing fucked up by water saving toilets.
53. Sitting with my legs apart.
54. My dick.
55. Me.
56. Trish.
57. Still having to present as a man, living in-between, especially for employment. It is more hell then you can ever imagine.
58. Me.
59. My guts.
60. My fucking guts.
61. My mother fucking guts.
62. Being alone.
63. Not being alone.
64. My left testicle.
65. My right testicle.
66. My face.
67. My brain.
68. My lack of intelligence and memory retention.
69. My hypocrisy.
70. Being scared.
71. Having to be scared.
72. This chair.
73. This room.
74. This house.
75. Motherfuckermotherfuckermotherfuckermotherfuckermotherfuckermotherfucker.
76. My teeth.
77. How I hate my dad and how I don't hate my dad.
78. Lip service.
79. How I can't get drunker then shit without saying bye-bye to everything.
80. Desire in any form whatsoever.
81. Erections.
82. The desire to penetrate when I know it is all wrong.
83. The fact that I cannot be penatrated.
84. Being this freak.
85. Things coming to a head without ever losing pressure.
86. Paranoia.
87. Anxiety.
88. Being a shithole.
89. Trish-Marie.
90. Being out so many places, yet still in the closet.

"Nobody ever said life was fair, Trish."
Oh yeah, and I will tell ya what, fuck you.
91. This person in my Diary that keeps talking to me. What a pain in the ass.
92. Going to the bathroom.
93. Being cold.
94. Strong people who think they are the shits and cannot fathom why you can't get your act together..
95. People who think my weaknesses are me trying to act the "oh so frail little girl" part. Faaa-uck you.
96. The fear that my computer will break down.
97. Just about everything I write.
98. How my website smiles in most places while I am on the verge of whatever.
99. Not being able to touch you, and not wanting the end results if I could, anyway.
100. Wanting to fuck.
101. Wanting to be fucked.

"Um, Trish... You always say you are being fucked.."
Different kind of fuck and you know it....
102. Night turning to day, and day turning to night.
103. How I give a shit that parts of this list are crude and offensive.
104. People that are supposedly "like me" that show their tits all over the Internet.
105. My never ending need for lotion. It is an obsession.
106. Crowds.
107. Listening to post-ops gloat when they know it is killing us.
108. Post-ops who forget what it was like and where their fucking ass use to be.
109. The dues we have to pay just to try and be normal. Fuck you.
110. What is between my ears.
111. Knowing now what is possible.
112. What happened just two minutes ago.
113. Everything.
114. Not even being able to come close to listing everything I hate.
115. Love.
116. Trish-Marie and 95% of what she has brought to me..
117. Having the tool in my lap, at this minute, and not being able to pull the fucking trigger.

Okay, so it was a 117 things instead of 100.
Trish

Tuesday, February 26th, 2002

Ha ha ha.
Ha ha ha ha ha. Ha, ha ha ha ha ha ha? Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha. Ha hahahahahahaha. Ha, ha ha ha. Ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Ha ha, ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Ha. Ha ha ha ha.
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha, ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
Ha? Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha. Ha. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
Ha ha ha.

Ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha ha.
Ha ha ha ha.
HAHAHA

Thursday, February 28th, 2002

Fact is fact.
How much can one person take. How long can you go without a single solitary bit of encouragement. How many times does a person have to fail and be treated as a failure before they realize it is not just coincidence. I am becoming lethargic, actually that is between bits of hysteria. Fits of laughing to the point where you expect somebody to come and slap you across the face and insist that you wake up. But there is no waking up. This is it. I failed again this morning.
There is no reason to exist. I am a nothing in this shell that never fit right in the first place. I wake every day to the same nothingness that was yesterday, and all my efforts to make it different fail, as does everything I have ever attempted. I am a half ass'd nothing and half ass'd at everything.
I am not a person to love and I am not a person to love. It ends in heartache every time, no matter the dynamics. I have failed at every relationship.
I am on my way to failing Trish, the person who least deserves this. Trish is good. Trish is honest, Trish loves so deep and she is the only part of me that I ever loved. But Trish is not allowed to live, and apparently she probably never will be. You can keep your "in between the ears" stuff. It is not good enough.
I keep telling God that if he is trying to teach me something, I don't need to learn it. His only response, within minutes usually is another kick to my ribs that translate to: he hates me.
The days of "This is sooooo kewl" and "Oh, how pretty" seem to be for the most part behind me.
Fact is fact me broothas and sistahs.
There are things you don't know.
Now if you will excuse me, I think I will take the only escape available to me and masturbate myself into oblivion. You can take that however you think I mean it.

The previews to The Trish Chronicles were very promising.
However, the movie itself has been received poorly.
The reviews have been less then complimentary.
The Lemon Guide