The Governor is NOT Going to Call

"You are what you is, and that's all it 'tis" -- Frank Zappa --

The old feelings of urgency have returned with a vengeance. I had hoped that the baseball season would give me a long reprieve, a chance to catch my breath and regain my equilibrium before pushing forward. Well, it worked for about six weeks, not the six months I'd counted on. Just more proof that this is really who I am (like I needed convincing).

With that urgency has come an increased desire to take hormones, or at least a T-blocker. OTC, of course. No need to get a doctor involved yet. I've discussed it with my therapist and a 360 friend. Much mystery remains for me.

Fear, as usual, holds me back for now. The biggest concern is detection. For instance, before starting, I'd need some assurance that the, ahem, Good Humor Man doesn't become Mr. Softee. Not that I would mind, but the wife would go ballistic. It's her favorite part of me, I guess.

There's probably nothing out there that will give me the subtle good feeling I'm looking for without affecting The Unit. I need to do more research, and any personal experiences shared would be welcomed. Herbs, Estroven, efficacy, side effects? Spill, girls...

Leslie in charge of my days and my nights. Dead guy walking.

The Need to Communicate

First, a quick update. Back on my birthday, my wife wrote me a note, dutifully transcribed in the "Happy Birthday?" entry. Despite a promise to my therapist to discuss the note's content with my wife, I have not done so. Things have been going well between us, and I hate to mess with a good thing. But I've had a burning urge to talk to her about it the last week, really about all that's going on in my other life. So I mentioned the note this morning. She barely remembers writing it. She said she'd rather go on pretending that we have an understanding. All I want to say to her is that I intend to continue being husband, lover, provider, and father to our kids, but that I need to give more attention to my female side as well. I must achieve a workable balance, but it's my problem, and I think it can be done. I think this needs to be said, and I still intend to do so.

This brings me to the reason for this entry. I have been feeling a burning need to connect to people online. 360 is a mess, but it has been hugely fulfilling to have friends to shares fears and dreams with. This week I've been actively looking for people with issues similar to my own, girls whose stories resonate with me.

In my guy life, I am very reserved and shy. I always say that you learn a whole lot more listening than talking. I think Leslie would do well to heed this advice as well. I feel like I've been rattling around in my own head for eight months, more concerned with my inner life. I want to reach out now and learn from others' lives. You can only stare at your own reflection for so long before boredom sets in. I'm good company, but I need to expand my horizons a bit.

I've done so many things since October, things I never envisioned... Joining a support group. Seeing a woman in the mirror after thirty years. Appearing as Leslie in front of living, breathing people. Wig shopping! But more than any of those, I have surprised myself in creating a page glorifying my exploits, and embracing writing (on the internet, no less) as a means toward my emotional fulfillment. I hated writing in my school years. The things I could've accomplished if I'd found my muse then.

So, comments, with this stupid avatar floating nearby, are coming soon to a blog near you.

Feeling vs. Thinking

"Maybe I think too much" -- Paul Simon --

So I'm sitting around tonight in a dress and heels. I feel so at peace, so right with the world. This is where I should be and how I should be.

But there's a nagging feeling behind the warm fuzzies, the sad sensation that this must come to an end, that freedom is fleeting, that I have to return to man-world shortly. I have years of this in-between awaiting me, maybe a lifetime. A solution to this dual lifestyle is forming in my head. I can see how it might play out. But without a winning lottery ticket or an unknown rich dead relative, I can't foresee much progress.

I need to learn to enjoy the moment, concentrate on the good feelings while I'm having them. This may be as much joy as I can ever wring out of my situation. The future can wait.

The Life Pursuit

"We all see the same sky" -- Belle and Sebastian

Alright, I hate having the last thing I said be so negative. What if I died tomorrow?
Regular visitors will know of my obsession with hair. I have begun to take care of both issues, body hair and a proper wig.

I broke out the depilatory Saturday for a small trial run. I tried a patch on my back about a week ago with nothing discernible happening. This time I attacked an area I could see, my upper arms. I think this is an area where I can avoid detection by the hair police. What I discovered is that rubbing the cream off is absolutely necessary. Rinsing won't do, despite what the picture on the bottle depicts. Aside from the smell, I was pleased with the result. I won't use it all the time, but when I take the full plunge (this fall?), this stuff will make the initial pass much faster.

Last Friday, I finally went to see Pam at the wig shop. Had to summon considerable courage to walk in, even with an appointment. I was very fortunate that my friend Cassie was there. She took me under her wing at my first support meeting, and she helped ease me here as well. As soon as hair was placed on my head, I began to enjoy myself. Kinda odd in boy-mode, but that wasn't an option. Really exciting to see myself in several very different looks. We didn't decide on anything on this visit, but Pam said she has some ideas. I'm sure a good wig will make a major difference in my attitude.

There. Something positive, just in case I die tomorrow...

Fear and Self-Loathing

"I know it takes a mess of courage to go against the grain"
"I Keep Faith" Billy Bragg

I've come to the realization that my life has largely been defined by fear, and likely will continue to be. Fear drives most of my major decisions. Fear of crossing people. Fear of offending. Fear of change. Fear of failure. Fear of success. Abject fear of most females since fifth grade.

Granted, this has been the bravest year of my life. I've done unfathomable things. I've appeared before others in female garb. I've bared my soul on the internet, albeit anonymously. I recently went to a wig shop in boy-mode, and will soon be purchasing hair that will help diminish my masculine face and enormous man-head. I did these things because I couldn't go on not doing them.

Leslie took over in the smoke-filled back rooms of my mind some time ago, making the decisions. But the same timid, sardonic ass continues to man the front desk 95% of the time. And he's not great at following through on orders from the CEO. Should've been fired long ago. Poor communication skills with the public. Apathetic. Talks back to the boss. He needs to go. But he's holding out for a pension.

At present, I'm fighting a little internal battle. My therapist asked, am I living for myself or for my wife? Clearly for the latter at this point. But why? Am I not deserving of happiness? Am I too timid to stand up for my needs and wants? Shouldn't I just give an ultimatum, that I require certain things to make life more than tolerable? Probably...

I've been invited to go out with the girls after the June support meeting. I think that sparked this confidence crisis. Part of me desperately wants to have fun as Leslie. I've never felt so at ease as when I've been living as Leslie. But the fears are even stronger than the desires. Fears of being ridiculed, or outed, or beaten. Irrational, I suppose, but very real to me, very visceral. This is my parents' legacy: always expect the worst.

Okay, the pity party is over. At least the public part of it.

The Bitch Is Back

Well, I guess I was a little out of control there. In guy-mode, for me, self-control is everything. No one ever accuses me of spontaneity.

But after being worried about my decreasing sense of being female for several weeks, it came back to me in a rush. Leslie is back and ready to rock!

The trigger was two feature-length pieces on All Things Considered last week. The subject was Gender Identity Disorder in children. Here are the links for the two stories:
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=90247842
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=90273278

These stories hit me hard, bringing back lots of feelings from my own childhood. This really brought out my emotional side, still in mint condition from lack of use. I've decided that the main difference between my male and female selves is the presence or absence of emotion. When I'm in my guy mind, I've always felt others' pain, but really couldn't fathom what I was feeling. In my Leslie mind, I feel highs and lows, joy and sorrow, but I do feel. When I achieve Leslie-ness, I know I'm in my right mind.

And so, these emotion-fraught stories kicked the girl back into the center ring of my psychic circus, where I would like her to stay. Even when I'm saddened by something, there's a twinge of happiness beneath it, because I'm just thrilled not being dead inside.

Then, Saturday night, I took the kids to Target to shop for their mother. I really enjoyed spending time in the shoe and women's departments. But it was hard to shop, because I wanted to be shopping for myself. I'm beginning to get the whole shopping thing. Imagining myself in the things I see is a big endorphin rush.

And finding those clothes at home sent me totally over the top. Today, I feel female, and I'm gonna revel in it.

The Motherlode

"Got the style, but not the grace. Got the clothes, but not the face"
"Big in Japan" Tom Waits

This qualifies as lighter fare, fluff even. I am in heaven. I have found a cache of clothes that are new to the household, probably castoffs from my wife's friend's daughter. Tops, skirts, dresses, many still with tags, sizes 7 and 9. This stuff skews a little young, but I am so going to claim a few things.

This laundry basket has been in my way for at least three weeks, but I never really noticed the contents. No one else is paying any mind to it, so I say it's unclaimed. I'm planting my flag here. This is bringing out the demented crossdresser in me. I've tried on two mid-calf length skirts while I've been writing...

Earlier tonight, I phoned my old buddy since fifth grade (Hi, Steve! Wave to all my friends!). We check in from time to time, and he's been reading my blog. He's been surprised by some of the content. It's like a different person writing it, he says. And it really is a different person than he grew up with.

You see, I told him of my crossdressing twenty years ago, about the same time as I told my wife. He was very surprised, but a whole lot more accepting than she was. Of course, he didn't have to live with me. The revelation only made me slightly stranger than before. He's never seen Leslie, and asked me to warn him if I ever get around to posting a picture. Seeing me dolled up would add a layer of weirdness, no?

Okay, back to the clothes! Oooooooooo, sparkly......

Meditatin' on Death

"Fifteen steps and then a sheer drop"
"Fifteen Steps" Radiohead --

Some recent news has me thinking about the end of life. One of the girls in my support group sent out an email saying she has inoperable cancer, and less than a year to live. I'm hopeful she'll beat the odds and give the doctors "what for", but we do all wind up in the same place eventually. This news, combined with an aunt's death and the eminent surgery of an online friend (non-life threatening, I think), has made me a little preoccupied.

And my thoughts are more about aftermath than death itself. Specifically, if I were to buy the farm without warning, how would my friends know it?

I am very much a fringe member of my support group. I don't go out clubbing with the core group. In fact, I've been to three meetings, just two in girl-mode. They don't know me outside of the meetings. They wouldn't know me from Adam (or Eve) if my obit showed up in the local paper, because I'm very protective of my anonymity.

I don't think I could count on my wife to go to a meeting to share the tragic tale of my premature demise. She'd want to forget I ever had such acquaintances, I suspect.

That leaves my therapist. She's really the only link between my two worlds. She's already assured me that she would surreptiously attend my funeral, and discreetly deposit some makeup items in my casket. Truly a friend. She'll have to tell my friends that I'm gone.

That just seems so sad and anticlimactic. Lonely lives of quiet desperation, followed by anonymous passings. My avatar would live on forever, a pathetic bid for immortality. You never die online, right?

Okay, this is not a cry for help. I am not currently depressed, and have no plans to die anytime soon. This is just an attempt to exorcise these thoughts by committing them to "paper."
Something lighter next time, I hope. Move along, nothing to see here...

Ode to the Wife

"The truth is the hardest thing to explain" -- Squeeze --

I've said some very unpleasant things about my wife in these pages. The feelings expressed were sincere at the time, and strongly felt. But I haven't written about her much when we are getting along well, and it's time to rectify that.

The fool loves me, and I don't always make it easy. I have had anger issues at times. In guy-mode (the only way she knows me), I am not good at expressing my feelings, though I'm markedly better of late. And then, from time to time, I throw the gender issues into the mix, and scare the hell out of her.

She is an outstanding mother. She is essentially a single mother during the week, as I work a shift where I only see the kids on the weekend. This is a great burden for her, but she only complains sporadically. She carts our oldest around to speech and occupational therapies, horseback riding and aquatic therapies, which will eventually bankrupt us. But she will not have her children shortchanged.

On the gender front, I've said before that we had a short experiment when I first revealed my crossdressing to her. I quickly failed the test, because I couldn't control the genie once it was out of the bottle. But during the short grace period, we went shopping together and she bought me a baby blue satin nightshirt. She thought it wasn't too feminine and she could tolerate me wearing it to bed. Even though we shut down the CD experiment, I continued to wear the nightshirt to bed for a couple of years. She really hated it, but didn't say so. Eventually, I figured out how unhappy it made her and stopped wearing it.

She believes that I can express my feminine side through more colorful guy clothes, and her gifts often reflect that. It's frequently stuff I wouldn't have chosen for myself, but these have often become some of my favorite things. So she understands my need to express that part of me, at least on some level. Maybe we can build on that.

A couple of weeks ago, she insisted on buying new facial moisturizer and hand lotion for me, as her sensitive nose was offended by the ones I had purchased. She referred to this as "buying your cosmetics," but without a hint of sarcasm or irony or hostility. Just a fact of life. This may seem small, maybe even to her, but for me this was a glimmer of hope. Maybe there is a middle ground, an understanding to be reached, a compromise to be found.

There have been many times that I haven't liked her, but I stayed because I always loved her. Maybe she can learn to live with Leslie, at least the idea of Leslie, some time soon.