That is what they heard as the guy say as he fell out the window. Passing every floor, he was heard to say "Tenth Floor, so far so good... "Ninth floor..."
I've been moved out of the house for about two weeks now. I'm having a hard time remembering what it was like to be the other guy. Like a bad dream remembered upon awakening.
I've been back to the "Soon to be ex-wife's house" (stbewh) and while we were cordial and communicative, the nightmare returned almost as soon as I crossed the threshold. I stopped being myself, Sandra. And once again became just a guy in drag.
I went from breathing to holding my breath. The sense of compression was almost palpable.
There are more issues involved here with the dissolution of my marriage of over twenty years, than me finally recognizing that I'm a transsexual and I must pursue my true gender identity. The other issues I really won't speak of here. It would be too long and boring anyway.
I have realized though that not only do I not want to go back, I *cannot* go back. The very house I used to live in is cursed. Attempting to kill my self esteem by making me call forward that pastiche persona evolved to keep me from getting beat up too bad because I wasn't like other boys. Doing so re-opens the hole I used to fall down. The clinical depression whose siren's song called me to suicide to end the pain. I can no more return to that than I would willingly drink acid.
Today when I got dressed, I decided not to use my forms and just see how I looked au natural. For the first time I filled my bra cups. Not overflowing of course, but no wrinkles in the cups either. That felt good when I put on one of my clingier tops and I looked at myself in the mirror and I had real curves.
Every day I go forward in this new life convinces me that this is the right path. Today I went out by myself to Target and started stocking up on those essential things a woman needs in her life. More clothes! And undies, jewelry, and makeup. I'm working my way up from the no-name trash makeup to the drug store variety though it may be a while before I'm using SmashBox on a regular basis. Can you say sticker shock?! Oh and the real reason I went out in the first place. To replace the coffee maker that was damaged when I moved out. I had to check my makeup about a dozen times before I left the house. I felt like I looked like a raccoon, but my friend assured me that I looked fine.
Going to the store really was fun! I felt comfortable and completely at ease. I must have cruised the aisles at least three times each. I was finally in my element. Doing things the way I always should have been doing them. I want to be accepted by society as a female and today I was. Not for the first time, because I have been shopping before, but those times I was with friends. This time was solo. And it felt really good. My friend just shook her head when I came in with an armload of bags saying "How quickly they leave the nest..."
My friend asks me what is stopping me from transitioning. I will be accepted at work, so what is the problem? Really, just not having a sufficiently large and compete wardrobe for a working woman. It was different when I was just going out two or three times a month. A half dozen outfits would be fine. Now it really isn't. Since I will soon be involved in a divorce, finances will get tight pretty quickly so I can't just go and drop a couple of thousand or more on clothes. So like anyone on a budget, I'll have to set limits and priorities. Even that kind of bowls me over. I'm having real world issues about living. And only parenthetically are they related to living as a woman. This is what I have been wanting all my life. Just to be a regular person in society. And very quickly I am. I no longer feel outcast, different or strange. I'm actually feeling *normal*. It's just that normal, for me, happens to be, among other things, being female. So what's the big deal?
None really...
-Sandy
I've been moved out of the house for about two weeks now. I'm having a hard time remembering what it was like to be the other guy. Like a bad dream remembered upon awakening.
I've been back to the "Soon to be ex-wife's house" (stbewh) and while we were cordial and communicative, the nightmare returned almost as soon as I crossed the threshold. I stopped being myself, Sandra. And once again became just a guy in drag.
I went from breathing to holding my breath. The sense of compression was almost palpable.
There are more issues involved here with the dissolution of my marriage of over twenty years, than me finally recognizing that I'm a transsexual and I must pursue my true gender identity. The other issues I really won't speak of here. It would be too long and boring anyway.
I have realized though that not only do I not want to go back, I *cannot* go back. The very house I used to live in is cursed. Attempting to kill my self esteem by making me call forward that pastiche persona evolved to keep me from getting beat up too bad because I wasn't like other boys. Doing so re-opens the hole I used to fall down. The clinical depression whose siren's song called me to suicide to end the pain. I can no more return to that than I would willingly drink acid.
Today when I got dressed, I decided not to use my forms and just see how I looked au natural. For the first time I filled my bra cups. Not overflowing of course, but no wrinkles in the cups either. That felt good when I put on one of my clingier tops and I looked at myself in the mirror and I had real curves.
Every day I go forward in this new life convinces me that this is the right path. Today I went out by myself to Target and started stocking up on those essential things a woman needs in her life. More clothes! And undies, jewelry, and makeup. I'm working my way up from the no-name trash makeup to the drug store variety though it may be a while before I'm using SmashBox on a regular basis. Can you say sticker shock?! Oh and the real reason I went out in the first place. To replace the coffee maker that was damaged when I moved out. I had to check my makeup about a dozen times before I left the house. I felt like I looked like a raccoon, but my friend assured me that I looked fine.
Going to the store really was fun! I felt comfortable and completely at ease. I must have cruised the aisles at least three times each. I was finally in my element. Doing things the way I always should have been doing them. I want to be accepted by society as a female and today I was. Not for the first time, because I have been shopping before, but those times I was with friends. This time was solo. And it felt really good. My friend just shook her head when I came in with an armload of bags saying "How quickly they leave the nest..."
My friend asks me what is stopping me from transitioning. I will be accepted at work, so what is the problem? Really, just not having a sufficiently large and compete wardrobe for a working woman. It was different when I was just going out two or three times a month. A half dozen outfits would be fine. Now it really isn't. Since I will soon be involved in a divorce, finances will get tight pretty quickly so I can't just go and drop a couple of thousand or more on clothes. So like anyone on a budget, I'll have to set limits and priorities. Even that kind of bowls me over. I'm having real world issues about living. And only parenthetically are they related to living as a woman. This is what I have been wanting all my life. Just to be a regular person in society. And very quickly I am. I no longer feel outcast, different or strange. I'm actually feeling *normal*. It's just that normal, for me, happens to be, among other things, being female. So what's the big deal?
None really...
-Sandy
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