Saturday, 16 February 2008
social outcast.
There is a theme running through my head in regard to being a social outcast. Obviously there are some who deliberately choose to go down that road. There are those who, through circumstances in life become that way. Some, and here I would say, a minority; have been alienated, in one way or another, from the mainstream of society. In my own circumstances, as far back as I remember, this has always been the case. From very early home life I can distinctly remember not belonging. Institutional life started early. Again, the same pattern of events, being on the outside, looking in. Never belonging to the mainstream group of kids. It is a repetative pattern that has constantly dogged me. Right through my teens my attemps to belong, to be one of the gang, led me in to many scrapes. Often it meant being the butt of others people fun. That constant theme has led at times to extremes of behaviour. It has caused me much trouble, mental health problems and so forth. As I have grown older, so I have gradually pieced together a few answers. The aspurges syndrome, although probably in mild form, the gender issue; that did cause major issues. In all probablity there will be no light shining at the end of the tunnel. Today, I manage, to a certain degree. In many respects because I have become a better actor. Usually though I remain uncomfortable around people. yes, I can manage the everyday social pleasantaries, thereabouts. Still though I over compensate. Recently, invited to visit someone for a weekend; it somehow seemed crucial to buy presents, to leave cash. It is scary too, staying in someones home. What is home? For me, personally, home means only the place I am currently based at before moving on elswhere. Often I feel a degree of uncertaintity, at time bordering on panicky unsureness. Questions remain, I am getting older, obviously relationships are no go. In the cold light of day, I hope that when I start finding that I can no longer do the things I am doing now; when strength and ability are on the down hill run, then I hope for a swift end. Blunt but practical.
Thursday, 3 January 2008
Anger
The last few months have been chaotic. In July I was suspended after an altercation with a manager. Things snowballed, without going into all the gory details, things got traumatic. Severe allagations where made against me. The police where involved, I was arrested, banged up in the cells, fingerprinted, dna tested and so forth. Fortunately the crown prosecution service saw sense and threw the whole sorry mess out. There was a disciplinary hearing. My evidence,my whole defense was largely ignored or brushed aside. The fact that years back I was diagnosed with a mild form of aspurges syndrom, re, have difficulty in handling stress related incidents, find forming relationships extremely difficult which in turn means I have little choice but to remain largely a loner. Thus in relation to work I am not a 'team player'? All this was dragged up. Subsequently I was thrown out of my job. Yes, I appealed, that was grim. The senior manager who took the first hearing, sat right through the hearing, her disaproval of me was writ large. Her gloating look at the end was sickening.
Maybe it sounds like sour grapes but it was so evident that management just closed ranks. It was looked upon that I had challenged management and that was not permitted.
The knock on affects just keep on reverbarating. It is not the losing of my job that makes me angry. it is in the manor in which it was done. That was my first job in many years. I worked damned hard to make a go of things, to fit in to a society where largely I feel alienated. That in many respects is destroyed. Once more I am retreating from people, from a society which I do not understand. Once again I am wary, bitter, angry.
One thing I have discovered over the years is that there always a few people who become societies rejects. outcasts, they do not belong. Because they are, for many reasons, different. Society, ie the greater mass of people, view and treat them with suspicion. Sometimes ridicule them, or even persecute such individuals. Studying social history, it is evident that this has always been the case. In this country people where flogged, burned, drowned, tortured. Over time society became more humane. Often outcasts where simply locked up in lunatic asylums. Several years ago I had the opportunity to visit a small museum. Much of what was on view came from the old Bedlam in south London. At one time in Waterloo and then what is know the imperial war museum. The old staff uniforms, wooden staves to keep control of the inmates. Straight jackecomplete with ts and shackles. Among the exhibits where two square boxes maybe a foot or so in diameter and around three foot high. Each bore a brass plaque with the words, 'spare a thought for the poor lunatic'. This was due to the fact that rich Victorians used to visit the asylum for a Sunday afternoons entertainment. If the warders could persuade! a few inmates to 'perform', so much the better. It meant a bit of extra cash for in the warders pocket.
Hitler offered a solution by gassing any German with a mental health problem. Oh he dressed it up in all sorts of flowery speech but many psychiatric hospitals in Germany in the late 1930's had their inmates shipped off, never to be seen again.
Has society changed that much? To be honest I am not so sure. Yes, there is more understanding and tolerance. However, there is still a lot of misconceptions and deep rooted suspicions. From my side of things I must be honest, I am bitter. Having seen some of the worst mal practices of the mental health system. Cynical too. At times I question my very being, why do I bother? Often I feel at a loss, tip toeing around the edge of society but never really belonging. It is a different vocabulary. People talk of love, of affection. Sorry, what is love? That is an alian word. People hold hands, cuddle, make love, have relationships. That is not my world. Certainly I have worked hard on those areas. The physical, emotional and mental scars veriify that. The fact remains though, it is cold out here in the wilderness. People scare me. The word outcast springs to mind, one who is cast out or rejected by society. Well, maybe, maybe not. In all probality, it is case of never having belonged to the greater whole that makes up the mass we term as society. What is scary is that I am getting older. Lonliness bites deeper. The nearest I get to bridging the gap is in my hill walking activities. Even here though more often than not I walk solo. A few years back I was in one of the remoter parts of Scotland and found parts of a tent, a trecking pole and a few other bits. Reporting when I came out, I was informed that someone had vanished in that region a couple of years previously and had never been found. Sobering, it crosses my mind often. That could be me. If something happened who would know? Very few, who would care? A small minority.
Maybe it sounds like sour grapes but it was so evident that management just closed ranks. It was looked upon that I had challenged management and that was not permitted.
The knock on affects just keep on reverbarating. It is not the losing of my job that makes me angry. it is in the manor in which it was done. That was my first job in many years. I worked damned hard to make a go of things, to fit in to a society where largely I feel alienated. That in many respects is destroyed. Once more I am retreating from people, from a society which I do not understand. Once again I am wary, bitter, angry.
One thing I have discovered over the years is that there always a few people who become societies rejects. outcasts, they do not belong. Because they are, for many reasons, different. Society, ie the greater mass of people, view and treat them with suspicion. Sometimes ridicule them, or even persecute such individuals. Studying social history, it is evident that this has always been the case. In this country people where flogged, burned, drowned, tortured. Over time society became more humane. Often outcasts where simply locked up in lunatic asylums. Several years ago I had the opportunity to visit a small museum. Much of what was on view came from the old Bedlam in south London. At one time in Waterloo and then what is know the imperial war museum. The old staff uniforms, wooden staves to keep control of the inmates. Straight jackecomplete with ts and shackles. Among the exhibits where two square boxes maybe a foot or so in diameter and around three foot high. Each bore a brass plaque with the words, 'spare a thought for the poor lunatic'. This was due to the fact that rich Victorians used to visit the asylum for a Sunday afternoons entertainment. If the warders could persuade! a few inmates to 'perform', so much the better. It meant a bit of extra cash for in the warders pocket.
Hitler offered a solution by gassing any German with a mental health problem. Oh he dressed it up in all sorts of flowery speech but many psychiatric hospitals in Germany in the late 1930's had their inmates shipped off, never to be seen again.
Has society changed that much? To be honest I am not so sure. Yes, there is more understanding and tolerance. However, there is still a lot of misconceptions and deep rooted suspicions. From my side of things I must be honest, I am bitter. Having seen some of the worst mal practices of the mental health system. Cynical too. At times I question my very being, why do I bother? Often I feel at a loss, tip toeing around the edge of society but never really belonging. It is a different vocabulary. People talk of love, of affection. Sorry, what is love? That is an alian word. People hold hands, cuddle, make love, have relationships. That is not my world. Certainly I have worked hard on those areas. The physical, emotional and mental scars veriify that. The fact remains though, it is cold out here in the wilderness. People scare me. The word outcast springs to mind, one who is cast out or rejected by society. Well, maybe, maybe not. In all probality, it is case of never having belonged to the greater whole that makes up the mass we term as society. What is scary is that I am getting older. Lonliness bites deeper. The nearest I get to bridging the gap is in my hill walking activities. Even here though more often than not I walk solo. A few years back I was in one of the remoter parts of Scotland and found parts of a tent, a trecking pole and a few other bits. Reporting when I came out, I was informed that someone had vanished in that region a couple of years previously and had never been found. Sobering, it crosses my mind often. That could be me. If something happened who would know? Very few, who would care? A small minority.
Saturday, 15 December 2007
surgery over
Well, it is a while since I last posted on here. Due to computer troubles etc, I have been somewhat adrift.
While in hospital for the latest op I did scribble a few notes though.
Early in September the letter came through to notify me of the admission date for surgery. It was an early start to the day. I had to be on the plastic surgery admission ward to 0730am. Fortunately it was not crowded. To be honest though I was nervous. There is that common denominator of having to undress and put on the ubiquitous hospital gown. Deep joy though, the hospital provided gowns that fastened on the side, thus preserving dignity. Small details but they make a world of difference. Seeing the surgeon my trepidation grew. This was not going to be such a simple op as first thought. Many women have a boob job and think little of it. This was more complex. Basically, breast reconstruction. The surgeon had to incise old scar tissue and reopen old wounds. Also, he had to go below the chest muscles. The surgeon explained what it would mean, drainage tubes, more pain, longer healing. He was honest but gentle in his explantions,for which I was grateful. Once I had seen the clinical team, been marked up by felt tipped pen, came the long wait. I tried to read but could not concentrate. Not having had anything to eat or drink since the previous night, as per pre op instructions, my mouth was dry and I craved a cuppa. Finally, not long after 11 am, a theatre nurse came to collect me. I was surprised to be actually walked down to theatre. Odd, walking down hospital corridors and being in a lift naked except for a hospital gown and felt slippers. Led into the prep room, I am instructed to lie down on a trolley. A quick check by the anasthetic team and then another short walk actually in to theatre. Something I have never experienced before. I try and remain calm but suddenly reality bites, this is scary. Lying down on another trolley. People bustling around me. my gown is drawn down to my waist. There is little room for dignity in theatre. Sensors arestuck to my chest and back. There is almost a sense of panic, fear. My breathing is arratic. Overhead an array of surgical lights. I hear more people arriving. Out of my periphial vision I can see people, anonymous, shapless, dressed alike in blue hospital scrubs. A low murmur of voices. The clink of metal on metal makes me cringe. The anethatist looms over me, he wants me to gargle a local anathetic and then swallow it. Yuch, it is foul. I fail to gargle enough and have to endure a second dose, almost gagging on the awful taste. My throat goes so dry, sort of numb. My anxiety goes up a few more notches. Someone takes my hand, raising the vein. They talk soothingly as I automatically flinch when a canular needle is inserted. Then blackness, nothing.
As if from a great depth, I surface slowly, I can hear someone moaning. Dimly I am aware that it is me. Pain, pain, pain, hurting. I can hear myself mumbling, not aware of what I am saying. later I am told I was I was talking about my ice axe, it sems I thought I had had an accident with it???????????????? Blurred figures talking to me, as from a great distance. Slowly I become a little more aware of my suroundings. Someone explains they are administering more morphine to control the pain. Eventually it is decided I am recovered enough to be taken to the ward. I am giving a trigger device that controls my morphine input. it is pre set so that I am only allowed a limited dosage. The night is passed in a foggy nether world. The following morning I am given a blanket bath and allowed to rest. There are the constant two hour checks through the day. Slowly the pain settles down. The surgeon and his team do their rounds and he offers reassurance that the op went well. A couple of days later and I find that the dressings are actually hurting. it appears there was a reaction to the dressings. As they are peeled off, skin is removed too. large blisters have formed, some septic. Antibiotics are prescribed, along with all the other meds I am recieving. An infection in the actual wound causes concern slowly though, it begins to clear up. It was to come back several times over the next few weeks and after my discharge I had to change my own dressing and clean down. Drainage tubes where left in for twelve days and overall I was in hospital for 14 days. stitches where removed after three weeks. Support bras had to be worn 24/7 for three months and at times proved very uncomfortable. Things are still sore, recovery is slow. Regrets though, no, my only regret is that I was ever bulldozed in to ever having breast reduction. On that point I am bitter. All this could have been avoided.
While in hospital for the latest op I did scribble a few notes though.
Early in September the letter came through to notify me of the admission date for surgery. It was an early start to the day. I had to be on the plastic surgery admission ward to 0730am. Fortunately it was not crowded. To be honest though I was nervous. There is that common denominator of having to undress and put on the ubiquitous hospital gown. Deep joy though, the hospital provided gowns that fastened on the side, thus preserving dignity. Small details but they make a world of difference. Seeing the surgeon my trepidation grew. This was not going to be such a simple op as first thought. Many women have a boob job and think little of it. This was more complex. Basically, breast reconstruction. The surgeon had to incise old scar tissue and reopen old wounds. Also, he had to go below the chest muscles. The surgeon explained what it would mean, drainage tubes, more pain, longer healing. He was honest but gentle in his explantions,for which I was grateful. Once I had seen the clinical team, been marked up by felt tipped pen, came the long wait. I tried to read but could not concentrate. Not having had anything to eat or drink since the previous night, as per pre op instructions, my mouth was dry and I craved a cuppa. Finally, not long after 11 am, a theatre nurse came to collect me. I was surprised to be actually walked down to theatre. Odd, walking down hospital corridors and being in a lift naked except for a hospital gown and felt slippers. Led into the prep room, I am instructed to lie down on a trolley. A quick check by the anasthetic team and then another short walk actually in to theatre. Something I have never experienced before. I try and remain calm but suddenly reality bites, this is scary. Lying down on another trolley. People bustling around me. my gown is drawn down to my waist. There is little room for dignity in theatre. Sensors arestuck to my chest and back. There is almost a sense of panic, fear. My breathing is arratic. Overhead an array of surgical lights. I hear more people arriving. Out of my periphial vision I can see people, anonymous, shapless, dressed alike in blue hospital scrubs. A low murmur of voices. The clink of metal on metal makes me cringe. The anethatist looms over me, he wants me to gargle a local anathetic and then swallow it. Yuch, it is foul. I fail to gargle enough and have to endure a second dose, almost gagging on the awful taste. My throat goes so dry, sort of numb. My anxiety goes up a few more notches. Someone takes my hand, raising the vein. They talk soothingly as I automatically flinch when a canular needle is inserted. Then blackness, nothing.
As if from a great depth, I surface slowly, I can hear someone moaning. Dimly I am aware that it is me. Pain, pain, pain, hurting. I can hear myself mumbling, not aware of what I am saying. later I am told I was I was talking about my ice axe, it sems I thought I had had an accident with it???????????????? Blurred figures talking to me, as from a great distance. Slowly I become a little more aware of my suroundings. Someone explains they are administering more morphine to control the pain. Eventually it is decided I am recovered enough to be taken to the ward. I am giving a trigger device that controls my morphine input. it is pre set so that I am only allowed a limited dosage. The night is passed in a foggy nether world. The following morning I am given a blanket bath and allowed to rest. There are the constant two hour checks through the day. Slowly the pain settles down. The surgeon and his team do their rounds and he offers reassurance that the op went well. A couple of days later and I find that the dressings are actually hurting. it appears there was a reaction to the dressings. As they are peeled off, skin is removed too. large blisters have formed, some septic. Antibiotics are prescribed, along with all the other meds I am recieving. An infection in the actual wound causes concern slowly though, it begins to clear up. It was to come back several times over the next few weeks and after my discharge I had to change my own dressing and clean down. Drainage tubes where left in for twelve days and overall I was in hospital for 14 days. stitches where removed after three weeks. Support bras had to be worn 24/7 for three months and at times proved very uncomfortable. Things are still sore, recovery is slow. Regrets though, no, my only regret is that I was ever bulldozed in to ever having breast reduction. On that point I am bitter. All this could have been avoided.
Saturday, 8 September 2007
many years on
Finally I am due for breast surgery. This is such a muddled area. So many bad memories, so much confusion. Many years back it was recognised I was gender disphoric. However, the prevailing view was, 'society has decreed, thus there is nothing that can be done. That was a very turbulent time in my life and in many respects my life was not my own. Due to so called profesional people's ideas I actually had breast development. However, I was shunted in to a partial breast reduction. Pshycologically that was traumatic, very. Physically it was painful, not helped by the fact that I had an infection with it. Even now I am still tender in those areas. Another down side was the amount of scar tissue involved.
It is odd really, after all that, that even now I still want to go through breast reconstruction. Maybe so, but I feel driven. there is a compelling urge to have this done. How can I be half a woman? It is there in my mind. Like a nagging toothache. Going through life wearing prosthetics is not what I want. In some respects I am torn down the middle. The surgeon has already warned me, this is going to mean pain. He may have to cut through old scar tissue. Due to the fact that I am no longer as young as I was, healing is going to take that much longer. Oddly maybe, but one thing does through my mind, how well am I going to manage earing a rucksack again? From what I can find out, in all probability it will hurt for a while.
It is odd really, after all that, that even now I still want to go through breast reconstruction. Maybe so, but I feel driven. there is a compelling urge to have this done. How can I be half a woman? It is there in my mind. Like a nagging toothache. Going through life wearing prosthetics is not what I want. In some respects I am torn down the middle. The surgeon has already warned me, this is going to mean pain. He may have to cut through old scar tissue. Due to the fact that I am no longer as young as I was, healing is going to take that much longer. Oddly maybe, but one thing does through my mind, how well am I going to manage earing a rucksack again? From what I can find out, in all probability it will hurt for a while.
Saturday, 30 June 2007
random thoughts
Well, this side of things is my personal side. Thoughts, ponderings and so on. If you visit then please do so with consideration. Your comments are welcome but do remember these are sensitive issues.
Someone commented the other day about the fact that I had gone through surgery etc. They reflected the views of many, a,that it was a drastic step to take, b,that surgery was the b all of everything. Not so, it is only another step along the way. Another popular misconception that is that it is just a form of castration. A total misconception, the surgery is very complex, it is a complete restructuring of one's sexual organs. Basically, I have vagina, if I so wanted, could have sex as any other woman. That is what makes the op so complex. The surgery itself is only the start of a long and somewhat difficult process. After surgery the new vagina must be kept open, it needs to be stretched etc. The procedure is termed dilation. For the first few months it is an uncomfortable procedure. At first, while stitches are in place, painful and then slowly things ease. It has been a major learning curve in many areas, including personal hygene.Going for a pee on the hill has suddenly become more complex too.
Well, I did not intend to go there but so many people ask and are curious. Dilation is something I still have to do, even out on the hill.
It was mentioned just a few days back, "Well, you chose to go down that path" Yes, in some respects I did, in many ways though it was a question of driven by necessity. I would argue that no one in there right mind would go through this just for the heck of it. The screening process is very strict here in the UK. Ok, I know that one can go abroad. in fact I know of at least one person who has done so, paid huge sums of money and then realised they have made a mistake. Life can be tough living in the role society has allocated you when you know you are different, when you feel unable to fit. way back when I was a kid I knew something was different, wrong, whatever. I battled against that. One common problem with many transgender people is they over compensate in an attempt to fit. they go to extremes. Been there, done that, got the tee shirt; and suffered the consequences. Even joined the army and was thrown out as a danger and theat to the moral of the troops? true, I have seen the paperwork.
One problem I still have is that I am over sensitive, acutely self conscious. Often I wear a mask, I bluff, become an actor. I smile and present a face that says 'I am cool, am fine'. Inside though I am churning away. certain physical parts of me cause me problems, my hands and feet are a constant source of embarrassment. Sitting on the train not so long ago, hearing two guys discussing me quite openly. 'Paper bag job that one' 'Nah, that's a dyke, must be, got a face like the back end of bus.' Strueth wouldn't like to meet up with her on a dark night.'' Look at 'er though, she's built like a brick shit'ouse'. Confrontation solves nothing, it is a question of smile and say nothing. Even out on the hill I am uncertain of people.
There is facial reconstruction that can be carried out. To be honest though, at my age is it worth it? Apart from the cost, having spoken to several who have had it done.; the results of which are very good, but the pain and agony that follows reconstruction puts me off. A full facial op means every bone in the facial area is broken and re shaped, hundreds of stitches and staples are put in, inside the mouth too. A constant supply of pain killers have to be taken through a tube. Maybe vanity will win and I will go for a general face lift.
For me personally, relationships still suffer. that has been a problem all my life though. the difference now being that I am growing that much older and miss companionship. over the years I have worked hard to get this far, got on top of manic depression, have got to a stage of managing my own life far better than I used to; relationships are an area that still remains blank. Certainly I have tried and have payed a heavy price in the process.
Soon I must think seriously of quitting my job. having no reserve funds, no investments etc, makes this a major decision. Work though is becoming too much, too physical. I have lost strength and get tired more easily. The pyhsical demands of work are starting to affect my health.
Someone commented the other day about the fact that I had gone through surgery etc. They reflected the views of many, a,that it was a drastic step to take, b,that surgery was the b all of everything. Not so, it is only another step along the way. Another popular misconception that is that it is just a form of castration. A total misconception, the surgery is very complex, it is a complete restructuring of one's sexual organs. Basically, I have vagina, if I so wanted, could have sex as any other woman. That is what makes the op so complex. The surgery itself is only the start of a long and somewhat difficult process. After surgery the new vagina must be kept open, it needs to be stretched etc. The procedure is termed dilation. For the first few months it is an uncomfortable procedure. At first, while stitches are in place, painful and then slowly things ease. It has been a major learning curve in many areas, including personal hygene.Going for a pee on the hill has suddenly become more complex too.
Well, I did not intend to go there but so many people ask and are curious. Dilation is something I still have to do, even out on the hill.
It was mentioned just a few days back, "Well, you chose to go down that path" Yes, in some respects I did, in many ways though it was a question of driven by necessity. I would argue that no one in there right mind would go through this just for the heck of it. The screening process is very strict here in the UK. Ok, I know that one can go abroad. in fact I know of at least one person who has done so, paid huge sums of money and then realised they have made a mistake. Life can be tough living in the role society has allocated you when you know you are different, when you feel unable to fit. way back when I was a kid I knew something was different, wrong, whatever. I battled against that. One common problem with many transgender people is they over compensate in an attempt to fit. they go to extremes. Been there, done that, got the tee shirt; and suffered the consequences. Even joined the army and was thrown out as a danger and theat to the moral of the troops? true, I have seen the paperwork.
One problem I still have is that I am over sensitive, acutely self conscious. Often I wear a mask, I bluff, become an actor. I smile and present a face that says 'I am cool, am fine'. Inside though I am churning away. certain physical parts of me cause me problems, my hands and feet are a constant source of embarrassment. Sitting on the train not so long ago, hearing two guys discussing me quite openly. 'Paper bag job that one' 'Nah, that's a dyke, must be, got a face like the back end of bus.' Strueth wouldn't like to meet up with her on a dark night.'' Look at 'er though, she's built like a brick shit'ouse'. Confrontation solves nothing, it is a question of smile and say nothing. Even out on the hill I am uncertain of people.
There is facial reconstruction that can be carried out. To be honest though, at my age is it worth it? Apart from the cost, having spoken to several who have had it done.; the results of which are very good, but the pain and agony that follows reconstruction puts me off. A full facial op means every bone in the facial area is broken and re shaped, hundreds of stitches and staples are put in, inside the mouth too. A constant supply of pain killers have to be taken through a tube. Maybe vanity will win and I will go for a general face lift.
For me personally, relationships still suffer. that has been a problem all my life though. the difference now being that I am growing that much older and miss companionship. over the years I have worked hard to get this far, got on top of manic depression, have got to a stage of managing my own life far better than I used to; relationships are an area that still remains blank. Certainly I have tried and have payed a heavy price in the process.
Soon I must think seriously of quitting my job. having no reserve funds, no investments etc, makes this a major decision. Work though is becoming too much, too physical. I have lost strength and get tired more easily. The pyhsical demands of work are starting to affect my health.
Friday, 24 November 2006
Dawn's memories.
Well, this is new for me, at the moment trial an error.
For a start I am unsure how these blogs murged. It had been my intention to keep my outdoor blog as a seperate entity. This is a very personal and private part of me and to be honest I wanted to keep it apart from my other writings.
To kick off with let me say that I prefer to hear from other women and couples, really, if I must wear a label then it has to be lesbian.
Firstly let us get the shock horror bits out of the way. Me, who I am and was. I am a post op transgender woman. My background is murky and it has been a long and hard road getting to where I am today. Childhood abuse, institutions, getting gang banged when I was eleven and being put on the streets as a rent boy at the same age. Formal education finished at this time. Why is this relevant today? Simple, in some respects, it had been argued by those who know of these things that I was gender disphoric due to my background. however,despite the fact it was recognised by many that I was different., that there was traits that strongly suggested that all my leanings where feminine, nothing was done. basically I was supposed to fit the label society had decided upon. Unfortunately I refused to comply and fit snugly in to the pidgeon hole to which I had been consigned. my family broke up when I was a kid. That did not help matters. Institutional life was hell. Abuse, in many forms was the norm. It has led to many confusing aspects of my life that have taken many years to come to terms with. Sex was a big one. One of my labels was gay; and yet, at that time I hated men. Hated too what I had become, part of my learning had beenmanipulation making guys believe that they had a great time with me but, controlling the situation right through. Older men where easiest. At that period I knew nothing of women. Being labelled gay pushed me in to a situation with a woman. We where both naive and when it came to sex it was a fiasco. Enough said. my upbringing has left me suspicious of people, of relationships. Yes, I am wary of people. A lot I have come to terms with,have gained a BA Hons degree in social history. Along the way I have discovered new things and am making my way in life but there are huge gaps.
It has been several months now since surgery and things are gradually settling down. it is a relief that the op is finally over. That has taken a period of over twenty years to go through. Way back when it was realised I had a gender problem I was refused help. That still makes me angry. the fact that I was bulldozed in to a mastectomy is also a bitter pill to swallow. Currently I am waiting for an appointment to see a surgeon concerning breast augmentation. Truly speaking it is a psychological thing, I only feel half complete. This will mean another round of surgery but it must be done. The local council, after much contemplation, have agreed to fund me; which is a relief. They looked at my background history and overturned two previous refusals.In some areas though, I still struggle. On the hill I can manage thereabouts with people. However, when it comes down to day to day stuff I find it extremely difficult. my people skills are zilch. That shows up a lot in the work place. Pressure from people and the nature of the job does mean difficulties. I become very defensive, get argumentative and so on. So far two written warnings, and a couple of verbal warnings. On a more personal level relationships are zero. Yes, I have tried desperately, but have never been successful. Life shuttles between work and my flat.
There is another website of my mine. That is very private a few women have visited but I prefer to keep it women only at the moment. Ask if you are a woman.
Well I did warn this was a more personal side of me. My first post op trip away was a tad scary. There is a daily routine I have to folow, dilation. My dilation equipment is quite heavy thus I had to shop around managed to purchase lighter stuff from the USA. It also means carrying lots of baby wipes, ky jelly etc. a new learning experience. Each session lasts almost an hour, hence a book is essential too. My first trip away was at Easter, oh my, it was cold, I really got the shivers. Confidence is still shaky at the moment.
For a start I am unsure how these blogs murged. It had been my intention to keep my outdoor blog as a seperate entity. This is a very personal and private part of me and to be honest I wanted to keep it apart from my other writings.
To kick off with let me say that I prefer to hear from other women and couples, really, if I must wear a label then it has to be lesbian.
Firstly let us get the shock horror bits out of the way. Me, who I am and was. I am a post op transgender woman. My background is murky and it has been a long and hard road getting to where I am today. Childhood abuse, institutions, getting gang banged when I was eleven and being put on the streets as a rent boy at the same age. Formal education finished at this time. Why is this relevant today? Simple, in some respects, it had been argued by those who know of these things that I was gender disphoric due to my background. however,despite the fact it was recognised by many that I was different., that there was traits that strongly suggested that all my leanings where feminine, nothing was done. basically I was supposed to fit the label society had decided upon. Unfortunately I refused to comply and fit snugly in to the pidgeon hole to which I had been consigned. my family broke up when I was a kid. That did not help matters. Institutional life was hell. Abuse, in many forms was the norm. It has led to many confusing aspects of my life that have taken many years to come to terms with. Sex was a big one. One of my labels was gay; and yet, at that time I hated men. Hated too what I had become, part of my learning had beenmanipulation making guys believe that they had a great time with me but, controlling the situation right through. Older men where easiest. At that period I knew nothing of women. Being labelled gay pushed me in to a situation with a woman. We where both naive and when it came to sex it was a fiasco. Enough said. my upbringing has left me suspicious of people, of relationships. Yes, I am wary of people. A lot I have come to terms with,have gained a BA Hons degree in social history. Along the way I have discovered new things and am making my way in life but there are huge gaps.
It has been several months now since surgery and things are gradually settling down. it is a relief that the op is finally over. That has taken a period of over twenty years to go through. Way back when it was realised I had a gender problem I was refused help. That still makes me angry. the fact that I was bulldozed in to a mastectomy is also a bitter pill to swallow. Currently I am waiting for an appointment to see a surgeon concerning breast augmentation. Truly speaking it is a psychological thing, I only feel half complete. This will mean another round of surgery but it must be done. The local council, after much contemplation, have agreed to fund me; which is a relief. They looked at my background history and overturned two previous refusals.In some areas though, I still struggle. On the hill I can manage thereabouts with people. However, when it comes down to day to day stuff I find it extremely difficult. my people skills are zilch. That shows up a lot in the work place. Pressure from people and the nature of the job does mean difficulties. I become very defensive, get argumentative and so on. So far two written warnings, and a couple of verbal warnings. On a more personal level relationships are zero. Yes, I have tried desperately, but have never been successful. Life shuttles between work and my flat.
There is another website of my mine. That is very private a few women have visited but I prefer to keep it women only at the moment. Ask if you are a woman.
Well I did warn this was a more personal side of me. My first post op trip away was a tad scary. There is a daily routine I have to folow, dilation. My dilation equipment is quite heavy thus I had to shop around managed to purchase lighter stuff from the USA. It also means carrying lots of baby wipes, ky jelly etc. a new learning experience. Each session lasts almost an hour, hence a book is essential too. My first trip away was at Easter, oh my, it was cold, I really got the shivers. Confidence is still shaky at the moment.
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