Monday, 5 December 2016

Yuletide greetings.

Soon be nobody left now that Leonard Cohen is gone too... Someone else who had to deal with depression and his music soothed my troubled soul. Just sad to see that he got dragged back by religion towards the end after saying that he had tried many but cheerfulness always broke through. The year that a rubbish cover of his Hallelujah got to be the christmas number one song with another version I do not like also near the top and his own much better version somewhere in the top 40, I smiled for weeks.

Enough of that, no videos, I know that will loose readers faster than a post about US elections, so here we go.

Once you consider yourself transitioned you finally can start to discover yourself. All those years obsessing about, could I, should I transition, can blank you off from really knowing who you truly are.Then you start to wonder how you might have been if you had not spent so long conditioning yourself to survive.

I have always hated this time of year, not just because of the miserable cold and slippy walkways or the seasonal adaptive disorder which can push us in these high latitudes to a real winter gloom. What I have always hated is christmas. A fine pagan festival to welcome the return of the sun and lengthening days hijacked by illogical and oppressive religion and fairy stories
about virgin births and present giving. Now doubly hijacked by commerce trying to force everyone to over indulge in a glutenous orgy and waste funds which need to be borrowed to buy tat nobody really wants and in return receive tat you do not want yourself.

I grew up with mean selfish parents who were glad that my birthday was close enough after christmas to declare that only one decent present would come my way. What they could never know was that not only did they never give me one decent present, and not just because they could always fine a dodgy cheap version of anything, but that they could never imagine that their sensitive child wanted anything but brutish boys toys!

Even before I started going to school I was not able to show joy for any presents, quite obvious to us but a lifetime of wrong gendered presents is a lifetime of deep stabs to the heart and a lot of unwanted junk. I longed for a bicycle, even a “boy’s” one would have done, but they were as I said very mean and needed all the money they could get for spending in the pub! It was always a mystery as to why just about everyone else got a bike at sometime, even those who did not seem to have as comfortable a home as mine. Perhaps this year, in the spring I will buy myself one to explore the country lanes and tracks.

Even now I cannot reset my attitude to receiving presents, half a century of not knowing how to react. I have always loved giving presents, usually spending more than I can afford to get something that I would love to have received and can no longer afford to buy for myself… This year an invitation to a lunch party has arrived. At a time when others will be sitting down to their christmas meal I shall be with a large group of friends enjoying food and a little wine and best of all presence is requested but presents are banned!

Monday, 11 January 2016

David, my life saver dies...

Well the post about why I hate the christmas season and a lifetime of unsuitable presents increasing my dysphoria seems to have vanished! Just signing in her seems to have been made difficult by google who keep flipping me back to my everyday account... I have given up so many times when a post idea passed through my head, today I have persisted.

This is a sad day for many of us. Last year saw the passing of so many who had enriched our lives but this years list has started badly.

When I was living as a miss-assigned boy the presence of the Beatles on the pop scene allowed me to let my hair grow without too much fuss from parents, school was tougher... When David Bowie arrived with his Hunky Dory album I was saved! At last, here was proof that I might not be trapped in that stagnant societal role of dull male conformity. here was colour and the freedom to flounce even if the world could only see you as a strange boy. Those were the days of lyrics printed on the LP covers or as in this case on an LP sized sheet inside the sleeve. They would be poured over to decipher if they could be applied to your own situation and wow did they allow a shiver of self identity. Those words set me free and trapped me. I refused to conform so was always an outsider, once free i could not hide away.


I still don't know what I was waiting for
And my time was running wild
A million dead end streets
Every time I thought I'd got it made
It seemed the taste was not so sweet
So I turned my self to face me
But I'v never caught a glimpse
Of how the others must see the faker
I'm much to fast to take that test


I watch the rip lets change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence
so the days flow through my eyes
But the days still seem the same
And these children that you spit on
a they try to change their worlds
are immune to your consolations
They're quite aware of what they are going through

Don't tell them to grow up and grow out of it
where's your shame
You've left us up to our necks in it
Time may change them
But you can't trace time
Strange fascination, fascinating me
Changes are taking the pace I'm going through

Pretty soon you are going to get a little older
Time may change me
But I can't trace time

The words stay the same as time passes and interpretations shift but they still churn my insides...

My copy of The Man Who Sold The World is not my original with that iconic portrait of Bowie reclining in a gorgeous dress, a heart breaking picture if ever there was one. The track which always got me was "After All"

Please trip them gently, they don't like to fall, Oh
by jingo
There's no room for anger, we're all very small, Oh
by jingo
We're painting our faces and dressing in thoughts
from the skies
From paradise.
They think that we're holding a secretive ball.
Won't someone invite them
They're just taller children, that's all, after all.
Man is an obstacle, sad as the clown, Oh by jingo
So hold on to nothing, and he won't let you down,
Oh by jingo
Some people are marching together and some on
their own
Quite alone.
Others are running, the smaller ones crawl
But some sit in silence, they're just older children
That's all , after all.
I sing with impertinence, shading impermanent
With my words
I've borrowed your time and I'm sorry I called
But the thought just occurred that we're nobody's
children at all, after all.
Live till your rebirth and do what you will, Oh by jingo
Forget all I've said, please bear me no ill, Oh by
After all, after all.
Going to show my age now, looks like a day of spinning those LPs and shedding a tear for the one who helped free so many of us who felt themselves to be outsiders... 

Monday, 19 October 2015


I took an Autumn break to visit some friends, thankfully it was a warm week where I was finally able to open the store of summer clothes before they get packed away again. Sauntering along without a care in the world, with warm air playing on your legs beneath a floaty skirt is all it takes to remind you who you finally now are and everything it took was absolutely worth while.

Some people I know might have wondered if all that effort was worth it for someone who still lives a quiet life away from the hustle and bustle of a city life. Someone who is not out to enjoy all the possibilities available with that new life. The "sex" in transsexual is really all that people seem to latch on to! My change had nothing to do with sexual desires, it was all about finally giving up a life of pretence at being something I had know to be wrong for as long as I can remember. Just to be "me" was all I ever hoped for.

An online friend has a new profile picture with a beaming smile. Several months ago she changed from content with life to searching for a significant other. I am many years out of date with statistics but they used to show that more than sixty percent of us never get to use those cunningly crafted new parts to their fullest extent. We are warned that we may loose any desires we once had for sex, or not have enough sensitivity to make it enjoyable. Just finding a partner does not seem to be a problem for those who choose to use the internet. As with natal women the real problem seems to be when the desire is for a more complete relationship. The very world which now considers sex to be a game is stopping many from ever giving up the chance for yet another quick encounter... Even so it would seem that some of us can finally have it all as my friend has found.

In many ways I am delighted that I am not driven by desires to find such a partner as my friend, nearly all my natal women friends who are not in marriages or other relationships say that they too do "not want a man rummaging in their knickers" so I do not feel myself to be at all unusual in my contentment. It is some irritation that so much on film and television is obsessed with sex, and mostly casual sex at that, is an irritation, even finding a decent book to read is hard! Because I knew exactly who I was from an early age I assumed from the start that it was unlikely that sex would be playing a part in my life, of course we were never told that some people just do it for fun and have no concern for marriage, this was the late fifties after all! I shall never know if I conditioned myself to not expect to experience sex and therefore subdued my libido or if it was just extremely low naturally. It is still some surprise to me that I have actually experienced sex since I never went looking for it and would never even so much as have crossed a road to seek it. As it turned out women do not seem to like having to woo a male partner, the males are supposed to be masterful and get on with it. Darn it, I wanted hours of foreplay! I could go on but you probably have the picture by now, sorry not a pretty one.

I have had several months now wondering if my friends new life would stir up any envy or jealousy. All I feel is happiness for her and a little anxiousness that it will last for her.

Now if only my desire for cheese was as low as my libido...

Monday, 31 August 2015


Well, all that expectation for summer came to nothing! I still have not unpacked my summer clothes and there are distinct signs of autumn in the air. I thought that I was having a rare nightmare with a thundering machine noise on an early Sunday morning, you would think that a country girl would be used to the sounds of a combine harvester in a field a hundred yards from her bedroom. A cold wet summer has caused weeds to grow like fury and many things to fail to grow. On the bright side hedgerow blackberries are easy picking this year so I am not having any problems with my regularity...

When the phone rang recently it was a friend telling me that there was a "LGBTAI Pride March" being reported on the evening TV news. I can understand why he might have thought that I would be interested, there was a trans element present but not in a way that I am happy with. The G element was the usual wild carnival the public have come to expect and no doubt even makes many homosexual men cringe like I do about the T presentation.

The ever growing acronym for unrelated oppressed was once a handy shelter which now feels like the roof has blown off. Outrageous behaviour both amuses and horrifies the general public and does nothing to help educate or increase our acceptance in society. The bias is towards a different sexuality and behaviour but transsexuals have very little to do with that sex word which gets so many riled up and excited. Until we can be seen as separate from the wild excesses of Pride I feel our cause is now being held back. All the other letters, the Bs, Is As and Ls are probably all feeling the same, just nobody can come up with a new idea or even dare suggest it.

My friend now knows what I think of parades, now I have to try and convince him that I do not need to know about every incidence of the ever increasing reports of the stream of celebrity transitions. I am glad that the rest of the world sees them and soon will be bored into normality...

Sunday, 17 May 2015

First signs of warmth triggers memories.

How many decades did I live for the winter? We get long  dark winters and it costs a fortune to even try to stay warm but in many ways I was more content living with the gloom that matched how I felt.

The approach of warmer sunnier days held something of a dread for me as I knew a heart crushing feeling was just a short time away. As certain as flowers would start to bloom on the roadside verges and the fresh flush of green would soften the stark skeletons of the winter trees I knew that girls would be peeling back the layers in casual enjoyment of the warm suns rays. They would be exposing arms and legs to a fresh breeze and feeling the joy of a swish of a skirt.

If you had an M on your birth certificate until recent years even wearing shorts was frowned upon here, hard to imagine when so many  now take it for granted, dull clothes in dull colours was the norm. Girls on the other hand were free to enjoy the whole spectrum of colour and fabric choice, a freedom I longed for...

The sunny days are here at last and between the chill winds I have been out enjoying watching the year come back to life, at last I really feel alive. Being finally set free to enjoy so many small pleasures after a lifetime trapped playing an uncomfortable and unnatural roles hard to get those who have not ever had to question their own selves to understand.

I have a small patch I call a garden. The years of misery did not encourage me to do more than let it get overgrown, bouts of lethargy and depression hardly helped. Now I want something closer to a real garden with light and colour, perhaps not a show garden like those soon to be on show at events round the country, just something where I can sit and soak up the rays surrounded by some floral fragrances.

If you are yet to set out on the path to change I can highly recommend doing any heavy garden jobs before the testosterone fades away, everything seems to double in weight after transition!

Sunday, 12 April 2015

Praise for bloggers.

I have to admire those who are able to keep writing their blog posts, it is a lot harder even than I imagined. I often felt guilty being a reader and not a writer, not that I had much that I could have written about and could never be encouraged to write much at school so was not going to be making social observations like Jane Austin...

How times have changed. I am up with a grey dawn listening to the rain pattering on the skylight, frustrated that I am not able to get out and potter about in my small garden catching the enthusiastic weeds which are trying to pop up everywhere. A few years ago I was more likely to have been watching the dawn break while still reading freshly posted west coast blogs or occasionally chatting to the many brief online contacts that I made over the years.

If anything distinguishes my transition time from now it would be the nocturnal life then and the sleep deprivation! Thank goodness for all those bloggers able and willing to share their lives and experiences to help those countless lonely souls out there trying to sort out their own lives. Would I have made the leap without them showing the way and teaching me about the various systems I would have to navigate? I very much doubt it. I would probably still be lying awake at night head swirling with mixed thoughts. The various plans to end this life should it become absolutely intolerable and it seemed to be ever gradually heading that way, it was always a comfort to know that the emergency exit was prepared and waiting, this constrained and compromised life could be over and the turmoil ended…

As it is the blossoming internet presence  showed me that I was not alone, I had long suspected that there must be some others like me but surely few in number considering how little was ever written about us in print! What a surprise to find that there were so many and these were only the ones who felt confident enough to blog or comment, how many like me mostly keep in the shadows still dreaming of the person they know they should be, dreaming that one day someone would see them for who they were, perhaps love them for who they were and share some bodily warmth. Then somewhere there would be a mirror, my home was almost devoid of such horrors, and s scary reality would hit! A long lifetime of testosterone had surely permanently moulded those horrible masculine features onto my poor body, I could see all that behind the facial hair I hid behind. Some brave souls posted a visual history of their transformations that were a revelation. I could never have done it but here were gorgeous looking women who like me had lived out lives looking not too different from me! Soon video versions were appearing showing that it was not just a visual change but with the new look would come a new voice and freedom of mannerisms long held in check.

Slowly I made changes and cannot emphasise enough how much something like starting to remove facial hair can do to confidence that all is not lost. It is a long process and especially if you have lived long enough to have your hairs start to turn grey it can be a very long and expensive process which you will not be wanting to be doing if you finally take the plunge to step out into the world as your real self. Many women have a good few hairs on the chin but few have stubble! Once my face was revealed and framed by long hair a not so gradual change of clothing soon followed. The sky did not fall, cars did not skid and crash when drivers saw me crossing the road, OK some small children in supermarkets would look a bit confused at seeing  woman who was so all and not going to win a beauty contest, but lets face it that is young kids job to try and make sense of the world and catagorise everything!

It all seems so long ago now. With increasing media acceptance of transsexuals as not being alien horrors to be pointed at and stoned, I had been drawn back to the net to see what had happened to some of those I had encountered along the way. They used to say that once on the net, always on the net, but from what I have found many have been able to vanish without a trace. Many names I have to admit I have been unable to even remember since so much was wiped from my old computer and my dislike of facebook caused me to delete my account. I often wonder how they got on, are they like me finally comfortable in their own skin and able to finally function in the world, did they find love and happiness or just find that like most of us that mostly exists in romantic fiction. A good circle of friends can be more liberating than one exclusive and restrictive relationship. I have at least answered one of those nagging questions from the sleepless nights, nobody has fallen head over heels in love with this old lady except myself and with that I am more than content...

Sunday, 22 March 2015

Thoughts of Spring...

Thank goodness we have passed the equinox and the hope of spring weather lies ahead of us. All that bulky clothing to survive the winter can be soon be put away and lighter, looser and finer clothes can see the light of day again.

There has been a small avalanche of clothing catalogues through through the letter box recently. Perhaps there is murmuring out there along the lines of "she should be out enjoying the freedom to shop wherever she likes now" but like many of us, there is not always a lot to choose from in shops in larger sizes. You have to envy women in general and those of us who are of smaller stature, your choices for expressing you personality through your choice of clothing is almost limitless and styles available often more flattering than for those of us of larger stature. This does make real life shopping less of a joy and more of a frustration. Perhaps we once dreamed of being able to dress in something particularly feminine and flattering only to find that for many of us it remains still just a dream.

At least we have an easier access to some larger sizes, no matter where we live, by using the catalogues and online sites. I had always imagined that online sites would be better than a cheap catalogue through the door but have yet to find a single site which is not several times worse in presentation of garments. Where are the multiple views and embedded videos of the garments being worn by normal sized models? Where is the inspiration to part with my cash?

At this point I shall confess to have not spent anything on clothes for over a year now. Shocking I know. There are several reasons that many of the catalogues never even got a single glance before being recycled. Some companies had shown a change of direction away from a broader customer base, that was not a size reference really, the larger customers are often shunned even by companies which had constantly had to reply that my chosen styles had already sold out! The custom is there, they just do not really want to cater for us... Thankfully I do already have plenty of spring to autumn wear stored ready for use and what a lot of space it takes up compared to a few pairs of trousers and a small stack of tee shirts. Much of that clothing is for someone just slightly smaller than I am at the moment. If there is one thing I would like others to learn is that a change of body chemistry with HRT and the subsequent loss of muscle mass will have an effect on your metabolism. If you are not careful a weight gain will sneak up on you in a very short time, I am convinced that weight can be gained just by reading the calorie content printed on the packaging of some foods!

I am close to returning to the weight at which I am comfortable and I hope that the memory of how difficult it is to loose some weight compared to the extreme ease with which it can be gained will help me to maintain my most comfortable weight.

Perhaps I shall find something special to buy as a treat and reward in the near future. My real problem with clothes now is that I am no longer satisfied with reasonable clothes which fit, my tastes have sadly extended to classier clothes just beyond those which I can really afford. The future is for quality rather than quantity. I come from an age where clothes are worn until they are worn out and would never be consigned to a charity shop because they had not been worn for a year as is often suggested in magazines. My older clothes are just resting, awaiting their next outing.

My only piece of fashion advice would be to shun anything with a degree of elasticated waist, you will miss any warning signs of weight gain and curse the apparent comfort for a long time...

My only regret is leaving my transition too long and finding myself less able to indulge my desire for clothes as I once could have done...