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"I cant do physically being near someone for serious social interaction. I get nervous and anxious just thinking about it." -Warren Maybe it will be necessary to deal with this issue some, to pave the way for working on the gender identity issues....but work on it you should as Emma has indicated. I also do not envy what you're going through... but then, we really don't have to - we all are going through it to some degree. And some have already been through it. However, I do envy that you have the chance to take this thing by the horns at your age - most of us didn't have that opportunity when we were your age. -Mike

Hey Warren, I know it's weird to open up to a stranger, so please be patient and let him/her help. They will ask you questions and try to get a conversation going. Try to just go with the flow. Imagine, their whole focus is on you for your time. It will take a few meetings to break the ice, get to know each other, and see what you can do together. I am very impatient and want to "get it done," and I'll bet you will be too. Just try to let it happen at its own pace. It's totally okay to tell them if you're frustrated, impatient, pissed, anything. You may be reluctant to do this at first, we all are. But remember what Emma told you. She's there with you, my friend. Emma

I wouldnt know where to start on paper, to be honest. And its not that I mean to "play the game". It's sort of become my automatic social defense. I dont want to break out of my shell sometimes, so I just put the mask on and bull**** everyone into thinking I really dont give a ****. I dont want to waste my time and money (because I dont have much of them, to be honest) but me actually sitting down face to face with a total stranger and talking to them about all this is not going to go well. I cant do physically being near someone for serious social interaction. I get nervous and anxious just thinking about it. Thanks for the compliment though, Warren

Just because I know myself, I can honestly say I'll probably just throw my mask back on and play the whole "i dont need a therapist, im good, i promise" crap -_-

Hang in there, dude. Only 7 days to go...then you can dump all this square in the middle of your therapist's desk.

Tuesday the 18th. I cant make it any sooner because I have to work. As it is, I'll be losing at least three hours at work for the appointment.

Have you heard of Cheryl Strayed, who has a column called "Dear Sugar?" If not, I suggest you find out about her. Check out her book "Tiny Beautiful Things." In hindsight I wish I'd included it in my Suggested Reading post. Below is a letter to her and her response. (I didn't really send it, but it's in tune with others in her book.) I'll also add that I wrote this about a year ago. I'm posting it now to reinforce my positive feelings in myself and, I hope it might help others. Dear Sugar, My wife (I'll call her Mary) and I have been meeting with a therapist for over a year. It started out with only me seeing him, because although Mary and I have a great relationship and love each other very much, I'd lost interest in sex, was depressed, and Mary encouraged me to try - yet again - to get to the bottom of it. The main issue it seems is that I've been fascinated and ashamed of my fascination with girls and girly things since I was very small, which led to sexual fantasies and fixations that I've not been able to shake off. I told Mary about it a couple of times in the past and it pretty much shocked and disheartened her, so I rapidly withdrew into my shell. Now, though, we're talking about it more openly in our therapy meetings. I'm still quite sensitive about it (notice I'm calling it "it"), and pulling details out of me is tough. Despite Mary's recent assurances of her love and acceptance I get worried. I suppose I don't really trust her acceptance. I wouldn't blame her at all if, even hidden deep down, she wonders about how strange this all is. Might lead to all kinds of awkward and embarrassing moments for her. And, even if her acceptance is sincere, my shame makes it hard for me to accept her acceptance. You see, Sugar, I know I would appear pretty silly in female clothing without a lot of help and preparation. And even if I looked acceptable, where is all this going to lead? What do I really want? At the extreme let's say that I dress up and through practice and experience, learn to blend into society as a woman. I can go out and about, shop, doing whatever I want in public. Is that the goal? I don't think so since at the end I'm still me, unhappy in my own skin - or at least not loved by me. Do I want to be female? No, but there are times I wish I'd been born one. Perhaps then I could be me, happy? But I know that the grass isn't so much greener over there. Most would say my grass is already lush, green and well trimmed now. I really hate and am impatient with myself at times like this, and try to push feelings away. I don't know what to do to get better, and on top of my shame of myself in general I'm also ashamed that I even need to go see a therapist. I'm so sensitive, scared, and tired of living like this. I know you're going to say that I need to love the one I'm with (me). Maybe so but I've not figured out how. Screwed Up in the Bay Area Dear Screwed Up, Let's say you're playing poker and you were dealt two pairs, and a pretty good hand at that: kings and tens. Your other card is a queen. And not just any queen, it's the queen of hearts, the girliest card in the deck. What do you do? Throw in the queen hoping for a full house? Probably, since I'll bet you know how to play poker. But what if you then pulled the queen of diamonds? How might your hand have played out differently if you'd held that queen of hearts and played your hand another way? Answer: nothing, zilch, nada. Like it or not, you'd still be you. Look, honeypie, I can tell you've been around the block on this quite a few times. But mostly it's all been running around in your head, keeping you small and in hiding. Keep talking and opening up to Mary and your therapist. And I can also tell that you put your marriage with yourself on hold many moons ago, too. As if you're sleeping in separate bedrooms, sniping at each other, or not talking at all. Self-divorce isn't an option. You need to patch up your relationship with yourself. Get to know each other. Take yourself out on date nights. Become as fascinated with yourself as you are with things girly. Sugar loves you, and I'm sure Mary and your therapist and many others do too. You do need to learn to love the one you're with. It starts there. Sugar Photo: Another pair of pretty birds in that park in South Africa.

My agony and enduring bull**** continues. I had to park almost a mile away from work again today, because there were no parking spaces. Then listened to a fifteen minute speech from a manager about how I have no excuse, there is "always parking spaces". Get into work on time, thankfully. And slam my hand into a door. Yay... Move my rearend to the front line and start doing my job, and I accidentally drop a 50 pound box of canned goodes right on my foot. THANKS A LOT. Limping around, I get the usual "are you okay baby girl?" "what happened to your foot, girl?" "Darling, what'd you do?" or my favorite (sarcasm) "Woman, you gotta stop hurting yourself." GIRL. BABY GIRL. WOMAN. DONT ANY OF YOU SEE THAT YOU'RE KILLING ME!? It was so hard not to punch someone right square in the jaw and scream in their faces before cackling like a maniac and running away. Oh how I envisioned this.... So after I faked my smiles and did my chores, I went on to do the rest of my job. But I noticed that everyone's looking at me funny. Everyone's whispering when I'm "not looking". What is this? What's the big secret that no one is sharing? I ignored it. For now. But it was becoming maddening. Lunch hour. FINALLY. I made myself a wrap and threw random things in it, trying to stick to my diet and ignore all the other yummy looking food on the line. Get down to the table, and someone SOMEWHERE (i dont know where) snickers "Whats up, queer?" That's it. I'd had it. I'd finally broke. I turned right around, and walked out, and ate in the rain. Well, TRIED to eat. The wrap I'd grabbed, the ONLY food I'd grabbed, tasted like crap. By the time I hauled myself back inside, all the other food had already been cleaned up off the front line. No lunch for me I guess... I'm at that "I really dont f***ing care anymore" mode. Go back to work...my phone's dead. Great. Continue to work, ignore the snickering and whispering around me, buzzing like wasps in my brain. Pants keep falling down which is pissing me off. Shoelaces wont stay out of the way, boxers wont stay down below my f***ing belly.....it is NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT my day. I'm sore as hell from working out too much, I can barely lift a damn box, and I've got a constant headache for the past three weeks that now has decided to show its ugly face again. Went to make some tea and dumped the lava hot water on my hand. Went to grab a bite of something to eat so I dont throw up, and some ***hole took it before I could grab it. Munching on crackers and I nearly choke on one. Go to take a drink of water and I accidentally swallow a piece of ice that nearly slit my throat all the way down. FINALLY as the work day ended, I'm listening to my music in my headphones as I cleaned, thankfully I MIGHT leave actually on time today, when I get a message on my ipod. (I roleplay online through my messenger with a friend sometimes to help with stress and give me something to do, usually medieval based) Go to click to open it....nothing. Click it again.....nothing. Tear my whole freaking protective case off (because I JUST BOUGHT THIS ONE refurbished to replace my broken one) and guess what? Break? Catch a break? HA! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! right. My home button is broken for absolutely no f***ing reason at all, rending the WHOLE thing...absolutely freaking useless. THANK YOU UNIVERSE, MAY I HAVE ANOTHER? Universe: You have a flat tire by the way. THANK YOU. THANK YOU VERY MUCH. Now if I could just get rid of this damn headache, I can maybe pass out. But NOOOOOOO. We're out of tylenol. Warren of War

Warren, as one who played the "game" with the therapist for >30 years, let me tell you, it ain't worth it. I automatically put on a happy face. It's hard for me not to. But look how much life and time that has cost me? I'm very lucky to be here now and I don't envy what your are going through at your age. Please take full advantage of whatever they offer. Don't BS them. You'll just be wasting your time and money, and slowing your progress. It takes real courage to do this. I didn't have it. But look at what all you have done? You're awesome, Warren. Be courageous. I know you can. But the time with therapists is short, typically 50 minutes. So you need to be organized. Consider outlining (on paper) your story and what you want from him/her. And bring copies for both of you. Emma

Oh, Warren, I'm so sorry to hear this. You don't deserve any of this crap, no one does. I think you said that you're going to have a therapist appointment soon. When? I hope it's soon. I'm sure you need someone to talk to. Can you call them tomorrow to try to expedite the meeting? Emma

Yeah, Michael's awesome, isn't he? You are too, Warren.

Wish there were more "like buttons"

LOL... wow! You do not know how much I can relate to, and understand, the anger you describe, and that laces this blog entry (whether you intended for it to or not). But I also understand the other two emotions... tolerating things (just barely) as they are. And then the physical hurt, the pain that keeps me teetering on the edge of tears. But it seems that the anger is the worse. It's like I can do nothing about it but let it run it's course. On the days the anger has a death grip on my silicone huevos, I cannot read certain TGLB articles depending upon the topic, I cannot read certain posts here on the forums - sometimes none at all. All I can do is sign in and make sure no one has come here acting like an idiot, or trying to use our forums for their spam. To be "ma'am'ed" twists my insides into knots to the point that it sometimes makes me flinch. Someone (most often another man) innocently opening a door for me makes me wanna rip the door from it's hinges and beat the living crap out of him. Yeah...the anger... geez. The anger. <shaking head> I think only three things keep me from snapping: ................. My girlfriend. She somehow knows how to get my mind off things and calm me down. She is my one-woman support group. It seems she can make me smile on my worst days. ................. TG Guide. Knowing there are people here that can relate, and accept me for my true self. ................. And now I have another little furry child. Dogs (pets in general I guess) love you no matter what. To her, I'm just that human critter that loves her and that she can depend on. And if I tell her that I'm "Daddy," she doesn't question it, or look at me stupid, or try to tell me otherwise. -Michael

Dearest Warren, It's so good to see your latest post here. Your writing touches me. I do share your pain, worries, doubts, and sometimes, joys. I also wish there was a button one could push and instantly be done with it, either changing my DNA/sex/gender or society's beliefs/reactions or both. It is freaking frustrating that there isn't such a thing. About anger and sensitivity: I don't think it's testosterone but a natural reaction to the frustrations you feel. The situation we are in isn't fair at all. It seems to me that we can consider it in the "five stages of grief" model, where Anger is #2: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kübler-Ross_model Oh boy, we still have Bargaining and Depression to look forward to before reaching Acceptance. But hey, at least we're past Denial! The model isn't perfect for sure, and I believe we wax and wane between the stages all the time. But it helps me to have some sort of reference point. I was also feeling much the way you are the past few days. My wonderful therapist advised that I "listen to Emma," that she knows my heart. I still have my worries and hurts, but this helps me. So you, too: listen to Warren!. As you wrote, go be yourself, a transman. Replace Kristy's clothes and presence with Warren's. Be Warren, the guy who likes to get dirty, work on his car, works out. One piece of advice, perhaps worth 2c: don't drown Kristy. She's your heritage and will always be there for you deep down. It wasn't her fault either that you were born female. She loves you too. Be well, Warren, Emma