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Today went much better. I had my moments but I was able to finally focus on work somewhat. I feel like I am putting on such an act all around it's crazy. But at least I wasn't going crazy or out of my mind. Anyways, I was contacted again by the therapist who closed her practice. She referred me to two people. I called one to set up an appointment after doing some research. I'll do more tonight. Last night I talked with my wife more. I told her more about myself. And dressing when I was much younger. She was surprised by this. But not in a bad way. I think that she was glad that I told her. Tomorrow is the Transgender Day of Rememberance (or Awareness). There is an outing in Oakton, VA. I wil probably not go because of schedule conflicts. But it is a day to remember all of those who came before us and to remember that we are all representatives of the TG community. We need to represent that community well. Because so many have sacrificed a lot in order to make the gains that we have seen recently. I am going to be out-of-town next week for Thanksgiving week, visiting my mom in Perrysburg OH with my family. She knows about me dressing from a very young age. However thinks that I gave it up. My sister knows though. I am going to sit down with my mom and tell her what is going on and happening with me. I just want her to know and want to find out if I have her support. So I want to gradually tell people. But not go crazy about it. Maybe one person every month or two. Just so I won't have a million bombs blowing up in my face at one time. Score: Female 2.5 Male 0.5 --Lisa

“You are just uncomfortable with your body.” She said as if her words could solve all my problems. As if my dysfunctions could be solved by her petty words of wisdom. “You’re going be in that body for the rest of your life, lady. You have to learn to love it girl.” She says. As if my imagined self-loathing could be cured by a campy nineties feel good seminar created by femi-nazis to create militaristic men hating clones. Like a lobbyist levying her private greed as my public need she says, “Who would want to be a boy anyway?” Her tone is condescending and cold, she’s a killer queen. She knows all without doubt. Men are miscreants. Boys are bothersome. Transgendered people got too confused playing dress up. “But, I am not a girl.” I interject. My voice is small, meek, more of a grumble in gravelly whisper than an actual voice. “Well, you certainly aren’t a boy.” Like she knows me better than I know myself. Like she’s the world’s foremost expert on Gender. As if she knows all future advances in medical science. As if she knows everything. Her words echo across my mind and against every grain in my body like sand paper on glass. “How do you know?” I say louder. I’m confident now and angry. “Oh I know.” With a haughty confidence. She is stubborn arrogance that knows no bounds. She is society, and I am just a confused silly little man.

This reminds me of a poem-rant I wrote once when I was ticked with the world, angry enough at the time to chew 16-penny nails. All I could do was hammer on the keyboard. Anything else would have landed me in jail...

Emma, I'm a really big people watcher. And when I see women who dress a certain way, professionally it reminds me that I want and need to be them. Socially as well. I worry about regrets a little. But for me this isn't a race. I've been dealing with this so long, I want to make sure it is addressed and addressed properly on my terms and no one elses. Which means if I transition, I will start HRT but be in stealth until I line everything up. I don't want to crash and burn or haphazardly go about it. If you want to talk, please message me. I am also on Facebook. --Lisa