Just My Imagination Running Away With Me

Alright, settle in for a slightly happier tale than most of late.

The wife spoke to me just over two weeks ago about hating everything that I was doing, regarding the TG stuff. That she notices much and hates all that she notices. I think I failed to mention the most cutting thing she said (an oversight!). She said that she had come to realize that not all of my embraces were about how sexy I think she is, or how much I love her. She had begun to recognize some hugs as me clinging to her like a lifeline. I didn't realize that this was a secret from her. What's wrong with that? Better or worse, right? I'm not allowed to feel vulnerable? Or, at least, not supposed to demonstrate it?

Okay, that's not the happier stuff, as you may have guessed. I just wanted to record that before I go on. I need to monsterfy her sometimes before I cut her some slack.

There has been a blatant (I thought) lack of affection since the talk. Today, however, after I took my boy to a scouting event in the afternoon and evening, she was very lovey and demonstrative. She wanted to go out, dress up a little, spend some quality time. She pointedly asked me before we left whether certain requisite items were stocked in the bedside table. Well, I knew where this night was going!

We had a nice meal and good conversation. When we got back out to the car, she planted a big kiss on me. The rest I'll leave to your fantasies.

I guess what I'm wondering is what I've been witnessing the last two weeks. Was there in fact a withholding of affection, or were other stresses besides me to blame? The fight with the school system was escalating during the period, culminating in a big meeting Thursday. Perhaps major stress plays on her moods the same way it would on me. Heaven knows that I withdraw regularly when I start sensing the end of my rope is near. Should I attribute the same fallabilities, the same humanity, to her actions? In this case, I think I must.

So, for now, the paranoia is back under control. See? Happier.

CD vs TG: I'd Rather Fight Than Switch

This weekend's theme around T-Central seems to be whether crossdressers should be considered women or not. I'll not weigh in on that. I only know about myself. Well, I think I know, but I need to analyze it fully first. Come on! It'll be fun!

I've never really thought of myself as a woman. I just always hated being male. Resigned to it, but not at all happy with it. I remember consciously wishing to change at age six or seven, but I think it was there unconsciously even before that. The definition of dysphoria is dissatisfaction, which fits me very well.

I am dissatisfied with my gender role. Obviously! I bend to my wife's will far too much. Maybe you've noticed. Henpecked? Pussy whipped? Naturally submissive? Bingo! Give that girl a cherut! I am compliant, but compensate by being passive aggressive. These are not "manly" characteristics. In matters sexual, I rarely initiate. I get the male role by default when we're underway, but that doesn't stop me from fantasizing other, very different things.

The reality of my situation is that I am a crossdresser because that is the best option open to me. It would take only a small push, some status change in some area of my life, to send me over into some manner of transition. I have no problem picturing myself living full-time as a woman. I picture it a lot, to be frank.

I'm not in any hurry to trade in my bat and balls for a catcher's mitt. "Mr. Johnson" has served me well. We've had lots of great times together, in both solo and tandem acts. Yet, I wouldn't hesitate to say goodbye if an alternative appeared. I could have a great time with an innie instead of an outie. Hmm, that kind of ambivalence will never get me a letter for SRS, will it?

Deep down, I want to be a woman. That doesn't make me a woman. I suspect that I never will be. Still, I keep trying to make progress toward that lofty goal. Maybe that one next thing will be adequate to slake the thirst I have. Just a little further, and I can be satisfied, perhaps.

Phoric? Benephoric? Cisphoric? What's the opposite of dysphoric?

Peaceful Queasy Feeling

Emotions, my emotions anyway, continue to puzzle me. I'm getting better at reading others, but I'm strangely disconnected from what I feel all too often.

I was just reading some comments and emails, and things just came together suddenly. Maybe this is what feminine intuition feels like. My epiphany is that I think the missus is going to go for "The Ultimatum" when leg shaving time comes around. Her recent behavior, shifting from seemingly tolerant to hates all of it, strikes me as a purposeful distancing from me. I suspect she's pulling away emotionally in preparation for a physical parting. No proof, mind you, but it feels like it's there nonetheless.

The subject of what she hates about my Leslieness has not come up again since our talk last week. She has been deeply involved in both her part-time job and her fight with the school system. I can't go into details, but she is broadening her attack into new and exciting areas. By which I mean, she's an ornery cuss with a big chip on her shoulder. Don't cross her, she'll make you sorry. I wonder how much of this stuff is her hostility toward my issues being directed at other targets. That only makes sense if I'm the center of the universe, I suppose. Not everything is about me.

It's just a sinking feeling that came on quite suddenly, but the pieces are there. I just don't know if I'm combining them with the right formula. Several explanations are possible and I've just latched onto the worst one. Paranoia will destroy ya, the Kinks sang. On the other hand, it allows me to prepare for the worst. Said like a true pessimist.

Tired of Trying

"It doesn't matter to you. It matters to me."
"So Cruel" U2

The progress was an illusion. I thought that tolerance was the new watchword, that inroads had been made. Nope. Nothing much has changed.

The missus was up when I came in from work, 1:30am Friday (well, technically Saturday). This is never a good sign. Just like last week on our walk, it was clear that talking was the primary motivator for the unusual behavior. She wore me down with minutiae about her struggles with the school district, me patiently listening, and thinking that I want to be winding down now, not tensed up.

After roughly an hour, the other shoe finally dropped. What did your counselor say about your dysphoria? Should I be expecting anything shocking? ("Anything shocking" is her euphemism for shaving my legs.) Um...I don't think so. (Backpedalling already. Grow a spine, Leslie!) Well, your expression when you say that tells me that you're holding something back. I don't know.

You get the gist. I wasn't prepared for a talk, and it showed. She proceeded to share with me that she's noticed that I'm doing a lot of things that she hates. She's kept silent about them, but she sees them and thinks I'm taking huge risks. For instance, keeping my toenails polished with an almost clear color might be questioned by the kids. She didn't go into the rest of her mental list, but I got the idea that it was extensive.

This was all discussed very quietly in even tones. She was proud not to have brought these things up for so long, to allow me my space. There is so much I need to say about that.

I thought that she was starting to get it. I knew she was seeing things, like an eyelash curler out on the bathroom sink, or the toenail polish, or the pantyhose hanging on the back of the bathroom door. I figured her silence meant that she was coming to grips with the accoutrements of my sartorial quirks. I saw the middle ground, so long sought, coming into focus. We could learn to live with this. Alas, no. She still hates all of it. Her words. Calmly spoken, but hers.

I have had the rug pulled out from under me. I don't know if we can make this work. If she will not come to understand that this need of mine won't be cured by changing or upping an anti-depressant (yes, she strongly advocated this), there may not be much future for us. If every aspect of my feminine self seems weird and unnatural to her, if I have to climb back into the box, I cannot stay for long. If I have to suppress this thing in me, it will begin to ooze out in the worst possible ways, perhaps costing me my job or my family. I've seen it overtake me before, and I was lucky to get past it with only marital discord and weight loss.

If she hates the Leslie in me, doesn't she just hate me?

What really bothers me is that I have been a markedly better husband the last year. I have taken a greater, more active interest in my family. I've done much better on gifting occasions, giving with more thought and less hurry. I have been demonstrably affectionate with her, in ways that I have never been, and I meant it. She was being less hostile about my inner female, and didn't mean it. Not a great trade. Give more, get nothing but false hope.

This will all have to be addressed, of course. I'm much too raw to attempt it now. Now, I'm just unburdening my heart here. Thanks for listening.

Succinct Wisdom

"I loved you more than I can tell,
But now it's stomping time."
"My Rival" Steely Dan

Badly in need of some good news, I was awakened this morning by my seldom used cell phone. My shoes were in! Shopping is great, but the arrival of your chosen items is headier stuff. I managed to pick them up on the way to work. Tried them on much later. One pair I love(!), the other has a lot of positives, very pretty. Tonight, I'm painting my toenails with my favorite mauve shade. On Thursday, I have a counseling session, and I think I'll model the shoes for her. We do things like that often. I'm free to be Leslie in whatever way I desire, however incongruous it might appear.

Hair removal had already been on my mind, but the sarcastic discouragement from the wife sent me to a whole 'nother level. Last winter's leg shaving let me find some equilibrium in an otherwise tough time. I really felt that I had found the plateau where I could tolerate the male stuff. The previous winter had been a very dark time. The longing to do more led me to engage in what passes for risky behavior in my timid world. But mostly, I just felt completely out of control, being driven by outside forces. I don't savor that feeling. For instance, I hardly ever drink for that reason. I like to have my wits about me, and feel that I'm running my own life, however far from the truth that might be.

So, I was feeling very dark Tuesday night, pre-shoes. I wrote to my therapist, reminding her that I've been writing extensively, and she might want to have a look at the blog before I come in. On Wednesday morning, she sent me a tiny little response. Wordy wisdom is fine, but it requires a long attention span. Succinct wisdom is truly a gift. Having read my latest blogs, my therapist managed to say it all in six words, two sentences. "Keep your sanity. Shave your legs." Now that's advice you can use. Between the new shoes and the new commitment to do what I need to do for my sanity, I'm feeling a lot better.

Not Looking Good For the Home Team

I am so tired of writing about this issue, but no amount of writing makes it go away. You, dear reader, may well be tired of it too. Only your hairdresser knows for sure. Read on at your own peril.

Finally feeling better after my support group meeting. I didn't feel like gender dysphoria was crushing me. I thought I might have some relief for a few days.

Today, Labor Day, we had some family over for my boy's birthday. We had the kid party last week, this one a quiet one for adults. We started the day cleaning like piranhas on a cow carcass, but less gentle. We don't do a lot of hosting, mostly out of embarrassment. Cesspool would be a step up for us. Panic allowed us to make some real headway on the environs. We can keep social services away for another month now.

It was a pleasant gathering, unusually well organized and executed by us. Got everything put back in its place afterward. The missus said she'd like to take a walk tonight after the kids were in bed. Fine by me, I need the exercise and like the company.

We walked a couple miles, and talked at length. Why is your knee bothering you? Well, I wore heels for three hours Saturday night. You'll be sorry when you have to have laparoscopy. That kind of banter, nothing heavy. I welcome that.

Then she asked, finally, about my recent bout with dysphoria. I had mentioned it more than once in the previous week, but no conversation had resulted. She was ready now. She wondered if I had talked to my therapist about it, what she had to say. I haven't seen her since it got bad. I'll be going Thursday. Is this about you wanting to shave your legs like last fall? Well, I am thinking about it but it's not the only thing. You know, that really worked out well for you last year.

My heart sank. I thought maybe this year would be different. I've been thinking that I'd go with an epilator this time, so that stubble would be less of an issue for both of us. I guess it will be the least of the issues. Last year, after several blowups on the subject, I just decided to go for it and face the consequences. It was very nearly a dealbreaker. I was starting to consider apartments, and distancing myself emotionally from her. Of course, she found and read my blog at about that same time. A very ugly period.

We got through it. By Christmas, I was as happy as I've ever been at that time of year. She was muddling along. She made an attempt to continue being intimate, even though she wasn't enthusiastic. By March, my self imposed deadline to stop shaving, we had gone about six weeks without "relations". So, that happy slice of life is what she was referring to.

Here's the deal. I desperately want to be able to wear clothing that bares my (bare) legs to the world. It likely dates back to my childhood. My mother wore dresses and skirts five days a week. She worked for insurance companies, and in the 60's and 70's, that was the dress code. Hemlines, hosiery, and heels are my gold standard. Less than that feels like less than full expression of myself. The infrequency of my dressing makes the need for complete immersion all the more critical to me. Cold weather is my best chance for fulfillment.

Sadly, it appears that a middle ground, a more understanding compromise, is not forthcoming. It's a tribute to my naivete that I keep building up my hopes each time the tide comes in and destroys what I've put together.

I'm tired of having to write this piece. I should be past this by now. She should be past this by now. Didn't I keep my word that I'd grow it back last spring? Nope, not good enough. Let's go through the old meat grinder again this year and see if we can survive it again.

Yep, Me Again

A promise is a promise. I said tomorrow, and tomorrow is now today, I think, so here is a new pic.

I'll not actively downplay any aspect of this, as I have chided others for making preemptive first strikes on their own images. I will note that I look absolutely blissful. I'm not accustomed to closeups. I tend to believe that I look more palatable at a distance.

If you look closely, you'll see a necklace belonging to my wife around my neck. I had her blessing to wear it; the necklace was not purloined! It's a serpentine chain, more fragile than the box chain she lent me before. Of course, I was in boy mode that night, so a more delicate chain was the right choice for this event.

Let's see...what else? Oh, the wig got a lot more attention from me before the meeting and it shows here. Love your wig, and it will love you.

As usual, thanks to Tina for capturing my pulchritude so well. Her GG friend, Lisa, also took a couple of images, which are still forthcoming. If I like something, I'll share. Thanks to all for the encouraging comments. I can't tell you how much your support means to me. I hope I give as good as I get.

Glad I Went

Pretty bummed all week. As support group time drew nearer, apathy was threatening to win out, even though lack of opportunity to fully express myself was a principle reason for the apathy. Notes from Shandy and Petra made me realize that I need to take advantage of the opportunites that are presented to me. That wasn't specifically what they said, but the thoughts they inspired.

My Leslie persona is not going away, so I'd better take care of her needs. Friday night, as I went through the motions of choosing clothes for the meeting, I started to feel a spark forming. I stayed up very late, got my wig combed out nicely, bleached my arm hair, and loaded my car's trunk. There's a lot of frontloading to make this gal look good.

Saturday night's meeting was nice. I felt like I looked my best, well worth the time and effort. I was starving, and 90% of the meeting was very business-related. Almost no time left over for socializing. Yet, Tina managed to twist my arm for some photos. I love that girl! I'll share a pic or two tomorrow. Got some nice hugs from my favorite people. In other words, I made a good decision to get off my duff and go. And a fine looking duff it was.