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JayM

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Blog Entries posted by JayM

  1. JayM

    Tempus Fugit

    By JayM,

    I haven't been around for a while (sorry!) because I've been burying myself in work (lot and lots of it) and in other stuff, to occupy my mind, or to distract myself from unwanted thoughts to be more precise.
    Been doing a bit of training for ATH (Action for Trans* Health) here in the UK - training to become an Advocate. I'm also volunteering for the Trans* programme at the LGBT Foundation here in Manchester, so I have been spending a fair amount of time hanging around the LGBT Foundation headquarters on Richmond Street. I was there all day yesterday. That's where the monthly FTM group meets although it seems like months since I've been to one of those (but it hasn't been months at all).
    I've been preparing a bunch of articles and stuff for LGBT HM to be posted on our company LGBT+ internal website, and also preparing information and biographies of notable trans* people for the week leading up to 31 March (International Transgender Day of Awareness) - the plan is to have a different article and a different bio uploaded to the site each day of the week leading to ITDoA.
    I've done all this (and I am continuing to do it) because I still have my writer's block 
    If I can't write something, I send myself crazy.
    I hope everyone is doing ok... xxx
  2. JayM
    I have been quiet over the past few months. I have visited the site but have not written anything. Not commented on anything, not added an entry to the blog, etc. All I've done is read what others are writing about. I've noticed a few people sign off lately; saying goodbye; moving on. I've wondered about their reasons for leaving. I've also wondered what I'm doing here. 
    To be honest, one of the things that has bothered me is whether it's safe to post here. I've thought about the way the political landscape has changed in the USA and what that might mean for people who are based in the USA - and also what it might mean for people like me who are not based in the USA but whose words are, in all likelihood, being stored in a US data centre as I type. Am I being paranoid? Probably. Do I have cause to be paranoid? Not sure, yet. Probably not. But I am also wondering whether I have anything useful or interesting to say anymore.
    I could tell people about how I've visited the gender specialists three times since i last added an entry to this blog, and how I have another two appointments lined up - one later this week and one next month. I could talk about the fact that my GP still isn't prescribing my testosterone and I'm still getting it via a private prescription, and that my GP has received written instructions from the gender specialists about what to prescribe and how to monitor my blood, but that she still doesn't seem inclined to do it. I could talk about my relationship with my husband, or my brother, or how things are going at work, or how one phone call from me to the psychologist at the gender clinic is all it would take to set up a referral to a surgeon for top surgery. 
    But I don't really want to. I've realised that I'm being self-indulgent on here. I've recently read through some of my previous posts and it seems to me that I've felt sorry for myself quite a lot and I don't want to do that anymore.
    Everyone has problems. Everyone has things they need to work out or work through. I have it quite easy, really. I have a good life and I have family and friends who care about me and respect me. When I come here I seem to forget that and I only dwell on the negatives. I've used this site to moan and complain when, really, I have nothing to moan or complain about. 
    I wish everyone well. I hope you all get what you want out of life and I hope your journeys progress the way you want them to. I hope the destination is as wonderful as you envisage it to be. 
    Peace and long life.

     
  3. JayM

    Tiring week over

    By JayM,

    I've just spent a week away from home, working. Early starts: late finishes. Not so much sleep over the past few days but it was a good week, nevertheless. 
    I've spent the last few evenings in the company of my team mates and my manager. It was the first time we had all managed to get together like that for a couple of years. And it was great to see their initial reactions to my appearance were positive. It was great to experience their total acceptance of who I am first-hand, in the flesh, because while we've all interacted over the phone many times, that was the first time I've been in their presence since I began to transition. 
    I'm lucky to work with people like that. I'm also lucky to work for the company that I work for. The acceptance is almost universal. Over the course of this week, I met many of the other employees and had to introduce myself and talk to them; the vast majority were strangers to me before this week. Not one person looked at me oddly when I gave them my name. Not one person avoided me when they realised I was transgender. Everyone behaved impeccably towards me.
    This week has boosted my confidence and self-esteem enormously. 
    Peace and love to everyone.
  4. JayM
    Yep, changes are afoot.
    I did notice something Monday morning that surprised me. But I'm not going to explain anything about that here. Suffice it to say that there was a noticeable difference in something after only two doses and I spotted it as I was getting ready to administer dose three.
    Today is Tuesday and I've had only four doses of the hormone. I can say with certainty that my appetite has increased. I feel hungry all the time so I'm going to have to watch that carefully.
    The headache must have been a coincidence. I haven't had one since the other day. I'm relieved about that. 
    I have noticed that I smell different. And that the skin on my face is different. I don't know whether it's just my imagination, but I think it is also affecting my sleep. But generally speaking, I'm happy with how things are going after such a short time.
     
  5. JayM

    Time flies...

    By JayM,

    I can't believe it's been so long since I last wrote something here. In fact, it's been weeks since I even visited this site. I seem to have got caught up in so much stuff that I've been too busy to spend time on the internet. I've missed it, though.
    Yesterday was TDOR and I was surprised that our company LGBT network didn't even mention it. They always make a big thing out of IDAHOT and Coming Out Day and the various Pride celebrations around the country and other days that stand out as something to be celebrated or remembered or promoted. But yesterday? Nothing. So I wrote something on our company LGBT notice board and a bunch of other members jumped on there and complained about the lack of shouting too. So I don't think the network will make that mistake next year.
    Tomorrow is Sunday, and where I live there's going to be a big memorial event for TDOR. There will be readings and prayers (although I'm not religious) and a candlelit vigil and a bunch of people will walk through the city to gather at the trans* memorial in the park. I attended this event last year, but I stood on the fringes and I wasn't trying to be involved in any way. I just quietly stood at the edge of it all and paid my respects in silence, and then I went home. Tomorrow, it'll be different. I am going as myself, for the first time. I've also persuaded my husband to join me. If I'd asked him last year he would have laughed and said no. This year, he didn't hesitate to say yes. And then afterwards we will spend the evening with a bunch of other people like me. That will be a big step for him, because he hasn't really been involved with other trans* people before.
    I have to say, his support, just lately, has been amazing. He's the one who keeps telling me to get back in touch with my doctor and ask where my referral to the GIC is up to. He's the one who, last night, helped me clear out every single piece of female clothing I still owned and stuff it into bags and take them to the charity shop. He's the one who is correcting people, before I even get a chance to open my mouth, when they misgender me. After more years together - and sometimes apart - than I would care to admit (because then people would know just how old we are), he has finally accepted me.
  6. JayM

    A Good Day

    By JayM,

    I logged on here a couple of hours ago to post something, because it's been a few days since I last visited this site. I've been busy at work this week and too lazy to log on in the evenings. And I started reading instead of writing. And then I got totally distracted by a Twitter notification *rolls eyes*
    Last week, one of my all-time music heroes favourited one of my tweets and I was beside myself with excitement and glee (I know, I'm easily pleased!)
    Tonight it happened again. Different all-time music hero, same effect *rolls eyes once more*
    Is it just me? Or do other people do that? (Get excited, I mean, not roll their eyes...)
    I wanted to tell someone. I wanted to tell anyone who would listen. "He favourited my tweet! HE favourited my tweet! He read my ****ing tweet!"
    Anyway... I took part in that call at work today. The one where I talked to over 100 strangers about being transgender. I was nervous as hell last night (couldn't sleep), worried in case I was going to make a fool of myself. I was nervous as I waited for my turn to speak. And then when I opened my mouth I just couldn't shut up. I talked about some of the things I've already blogged about here - my mother, my brother, my husband, how they accepted me (or not) and how I've spent half my life hiding what I was and how I can't do that any more. I told everyone that I have to be me at work from now on; that I can't hide it any more. It's too tiring; it's too draining to lock it all away. I hinted that I'll probably be transitioning while I work there (and of course that's entirely dependent on whether I get the help I need from the medical profession - I have an appointment next Monday and my husband is coming with me).
    After the call, I was flooded with emails from people who had heard me speak. All of them were using words like "inspirational", "brave", "role model" and I felt like a fraud while reading them. How could they possibly think those things when I'm guilty of denying all of this for so long, terrified of how people would react? I can't get my head around it. I was even asked to attend a meeting in December to talk about the subject again in front of a bunch of execs - C-level suits. I quickly declined that offer.
    But the best thing to come out of it was an email from a guy I met in February. We attended a course together back then and he had told me how, after years of marriage (to a woman) he had finally admitted he was gay and they had amicably divorced and he had turned his life around. He heard me speaking on the call today and wrote to me to congratulate me. It really meant a lot to me to read his words. Back in February, I had been calling him brave and today he used that word on me. I accepted that word from him, because I admire him. It was him, and people like him, who had made me realise that I needed to do something with my own life and that it was always possible to turn your life around. It's never too late to do something that will help you reach for your dreams.
  7. JayM

    Oh, and talking of...

    By JayM,

    ...Smashwords... because I just did...
    I just went on there to check on my story downloads - and they have almost doubled since I last looked at the stats. 
    I've never uploaded a pic on here before so I hope it works.  Knowing me, I've probably got it wrong.
    But this is some of that positive reinforcement we could all use now and then. I took a leaf out of someone else's book on here because, well, why not!
    It made me feel good, seeing those download stats. We all need to know we're loved, don't we?

  8. JayM

    Small Packages

    By JayM,

    The title of the blog entry... it's not what you think.  
    When I arrived home from work Friday there was a small package waiting for me. Upon opening it, I found thirty smaller packages inside. Well, sachets. My first month's hormone prescription, in thirty neat little packets. As today is Sunday, I've used it twice. And now I have a banging headache and I'm wondering whether it's the T, because that was one of the listed side-effects. It's noted among the many side-effects that could assail me. Of course, the headache could be a complete coincidence. I'll just have to wait and see.
    It feels good to be finally, officially, changing, even though I'm not stupid enough to think any changes have actually taken place after just two doses. But you know what I mean... If anyone knows what I mean, it's likely to be someone reading this.  
    I'm looking forward to seeing a little redistribution of body fat, and I'm looking forward to noting any changes to my voice. Some of my friends assume that what I'm most looking forward to is growing a beard. But that's not top of the list. I'm assured, by people who have been there & done that, that I'll change my mind. But I am looking forward to shaving properly - or, as someone else suggested I'd soon get fed up of shaving, maybe I'm looking forward to getting fed up of shaving.  I shave already - have done for a while - but there's not a lot to remove so I only do it a couple of times per week. So I'm looking forward to having to do it on a daily basis, but that's probably way off in the future.
    In the meantime, I'll just make a note of anything else that I see happening, to my body or my disposition, over the next few months. And I'll check in regularly on here.
    To anyone who reads this, have a great week.
     
  9. JayM

    Busy week, again

    By JayM,

    Monday morning, first thing, I had an appointment with a GP. Not my GP but one at my practice. She was lovely. She was also not 100% surprised when I told her I was trans and that I wanted her to refer me to a GIC. She said that I was the third person in the past couple of months who had approached her about the same thing.
    There's more of us around, these days, it seems... Personally, I think it's just people like me, getting braver or at least less scared to poke their head above the parapet.
    The doc then went on to suggest that "Gender Services" in my area (those were her words, not mine) are really poor (I knew that already, of course, having done some research) and that it would take a while to get an appointment with gender identity specialists, but, in the meantime she would do two things. Firstly, she would get me an appointment with a psychologist, asap. I kind of expected that, although I'm not too thrilled about the thought of analysing my life with a stranger, only to have to do it all again when I do get to sit in front of a gender specialist. Secondly, the doc said she would call a meeting with all the other docs in the practice and work on a strategy for trans people who approach them in future, because she knows these docs are not being as useful as they should be right now. She wants to get all the GPs together to agree to a unified approach and get them all up to speed on what's available, what they should be doing, providing, etc. Which can't be a bad thing. So, although I'm still no better off, the fact that I turned up on Monday and she knew she couldn't help immediately means she has been spurred on to do something about it. Hopefully that will happen. I'm gonna make another appointment to see her in a couple of weeks.
    Monday night, I attended my first FtM group meeting at the local LGBT centre. There were around eighteen of us, and when the guy who was running it asked, "Who's new tonight?" around half of us stuck our hands up. So I didn't feel out of place on that front. I did feel out of place on the age front - they were all so much younger than me. But I was pretty pleased about that, in a funny way. Because, when I thought about it, that meant they had most of their lives ahead of them to live in the way they were supposed to live - as men. Me? I've lived over half my life already. Faking it as a woman. 
    It was a really good evening. Everyone was so nice and friendly. I'm going to make it a regular thing. They also have social evenings where significant others can join. My husband's looking forward to that.
    Work was crazily busy this week. Again. For two solid weeks, I've hardly had time to breathe. I've been falling asleep in front of the TV at night. But I feel more relaxed, even with the pressure of the workload. I'm sleeping better than I have in ages.
    The "coming out" call at work (the one I did last week) was recorded at the time, and this week the LGBT network sent out the replay details to everyone, so I've had a few more emails, messages and phone calls about it. All very positive and encouraging, which was nice. They're going to run a follow up call in early December and they've invited external speakers from Stonewall and GIRES as well as other helpful bodies who can provide advice. I've been invited to take part again; they want to run a Q&A session. Goodness only knows what kind of questions I'll be asked. Hopefully only polite ones.
    Since I started to come out more and more, I've had a couple of awkward questions. Well, frankly, rude questions. One person asked me how I have sex.  I told them it was none of their business. Another asked me how big my d**k is. For a moment, I was tempted to ask, "Which one?" Just to confuse them. In the end, I settled for, "It'll never be as big as yours, because you're just one huge d**k, aren't you?"
    I know, I know. I need to get myself in check. I'm sure I'll be asked worse things than that before all this is over. 
  10. JayM

    My Body and My Mind

    By JayM,

    I haven’t had very much sex in my life. Not compared to others. I haven’t had many partners. I don’t like having sex.

    I don’t like my body. In fact, I hate my body and everything it stands for. For me, it’s just wrong. I don’t like to be photographed. I don’t like to look at photos if I'm in them. I don’t like to see myself in the mirror. I don’t like people looking at me. I don’t like people to see my body and I don’t like people to touch my body.

    My body is a constant reminder of the fact that I'm female. There have been many times when the sensation of someone touching me has made me feel physically sick. There have been times when I have pushed my husband’s hands away, as he will confirm. And I know how that must have seemed to him. He would have taken that as a rejection; an invalidation of his prowess, his masculinity, his love. And I hate myself for that. It was never my intention to treat him so badly. I loved him. I thought I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. And part of that life would include sex and I thought I could do it, if I loved him enough.

    But I've failed. He will confirm that we haven’t had anywhere near the amount of sex that a normal, happily married couple should have. I know that. I'm well aware of it. It’s just another thing to feel guilty about. But I still can’t bring myself to do it, even if it would ease the guilt a little. It isn't his fault. It’s mine. He’s a good lover. He’s attentive and caring. I'm the one who is useless in bed.

    My body has been fat and it has been thin. At one point I was a UK woman’s size eighteen and I didn't care. Because it meant that people wouldn't look at me. Or, if they did look at me, they would probably look with disgust. And I deserved that. Because my body is disgusting. Around a year ago, people started to tell me I was too thin. I know that I had lost a lot of weight but I wasn't concerned and I didn't care because it didn't make my body any nicer. Not to me, anyway. But when they told me I was too thin, I weighed myself and found that I was less than nine and a half stone. What’s that in American terms? 130 lb maybe. I hadn't been that light since I was twelve or thirteen. So I started to eat more to put some weight back on. Not to make myself feel better, but to shut people up. Because, if they were pointing out that I was thin, then they were looking at my body. They were noticing me. I don’t like to be noticed.

    Not wishing to be noticed has caused problems at work. In a company where you’re supposed to sell yourself to get ahead, to get promotions, to receive praise and rewards, I have avoided it. I know my pay packet has suffered because of it. I know there are people who work there, who have been there for much less time than I have, who earn plenty more than I do. But that’s because they seek out the opportunities to get themselves noticed. They are welcome to the additional money. They have sold themselves to earn it.

    My manager is frustrated by my lack of enthusiasm to try to progress and “put myself out there” to be noticed. But he doesn't understand how much I hate standing in front of a room full of people and speaking or presenting on a topic. He doesn't understand why I don’t want to do it. He thinks I'm shy or nervous about public speaking, but that’s not it at all. Years and years of hiding myself away so that people don’t see the things I don’t want them to see, that’s the reason. I've taught myself to stay in the shadows and it’s a hard habit to unlearn.

    I know what they see and what they perceive. They see a woman and they treat me accordingly. I don’t want to be treated like that, but at the same time, years of hiding and denying (even to myself at times) what I am means I'm still too scared to fully come out and tell people about me. So, what do I do? I get annoyed when I perceive that I'm being treated as a woman. Which is ridiculous, I know, because why would they act any differently when they don’t know? I have never really allowed anyone to know the real me. That’s what it boils down to. And that is nobody’s fault but mine.

    So how, after all these years of pretending, denying, faking, do I finally come clean? I don’t know. My main fear, now, is that people just won’t believe me. Why should they? I've done a pretty good job over the years of covering all of it up. It started with my mother refusing to discuss it. She denied it all those years ago, and that, combined with Paula’s rejection, made me think it was safer to keep all of it to myself.

    So I suppressed it all for a while. Only when I went to university did I allow a little of the real me to show. I even saw a doctor, while I was there, and tried to explain it all. And I was surprised to find they were sympathetic. I began to be more male. I dressed accordingly; I behaved more like I really wanted to behave. But people started asking questions and I still wasn't comfortable with the idea of telling them what I was and it stressed me out. I failed my exams. I retook them and failed them again. I failed at university. And at the time, I blamed it on the fact that I was trying to be more “me”.

    I had to go back home to the parents, because I hadn't gained the qualifications I needed and I had no job prospects. And I had to put away the men’s clothes. I gave them away to charity shops. I was miserable. I managed to secure poor jobs that didn't pay very well and I had no prospects. I met other people with poor jobs and no prospects and problems of their own. I fell in with that crowd. They were a bunch of people who saw themselves as misfits, and I was definitely one of those. I had always been a misfit so finally I fitted in somewhere. I used to drink with them. I used to take drugs with them. A pattern of behaviour that I can see now was very destructive and didn't help anything at all. But, if nothing else, it gave me something more to be ashamed of.

    Shame and guilt. Fairly constant companions, really. Shame at what I was. Guilt at the way I have treated people over the years, because of what I was, or because I was so busy denying what I was.

    My temper is terrible. I explode when I'm angry. I can get annoyed at the most insignificant and trivial things. Meaningless things. I get offended at things that I perceive as a slight, even when it’s pretty obvious that they were never intended as a slight. I'm the only one who would ever have seen them that way and maybe it’s because I was looking for them. Looking for them to prove what I already know; that I'm not a nice person and that I'm unworthy of anything other than slights. I read a book, a while back, where the author suggested it’s all about validation, or lack of validation. Not receiving the validation that a person needs causes anger; regular invalidation turns that anger to a deep seated rage. I realise that I need validation of what I am but I don’t receive it. Well, I wouldn't receive it, if nobody knows what they’re supposed to be validating; I understand that now.

    So I've caused this mess. I have failed to progress at work. I have failed in my marriage. I have failed at multiple relationships - with family and friends. I have always failed to hold onto friends. That’s probably because I'm not a very nice person, deep down. I have twisted myself into this bitter, resentful, quick-tempered individual who locks away feelings until they find the wrong kind of outlet. I have lied, I have covered up, I have faked and I have denied. How can people like me if they don’t even know me? How can I expect people to love me if they have never known the real me? I'm essentially unlovable.

  11. JayM

    GIC

    By JayM,

    I went to my first appointment with the head psychiatrist at a well known GIC this week. He has already written his report, sent me a copy and asked for my permission to forward it to my GP and to the head psychologist at the GIC.
    Of course, I gave my permission and now I'm waiting for an appointment with said psychologist.
    The psychiatrist was nothing like I'd imagined and the session or interview or whatever you want to call it went well. Better than I'd anticipated.
    He's already said he wants to increase my T dosage. And he didn't question my sincerity or motives. Or try to trip me up.
    I'm getting treatment, officially, it would seem.
    Yay!   
     
  12. JayM

    Phoenix

    By JayM,

    The avatar image on my profile - here and elsewhere - is a phoenix. I have a reason for that. Well, two reasons.
    After my mother died, I began to feel freer, more able to express myself. My husband said I changed after she died, and he was right, but not for the reasons he'd assumed. Because my mum was the person who knew, most of my life, what I was frightened to tell others (and I was frightened to tell others because of her), he assumed I had lost an ally when she died. But I hadn't. I didn't see her as an ally. I saw her as the reason I hadn't done things I'd wanted to do. I saw her as my blocker.
    It was like I was reborn after she'd gone.
    It's awful to admit that out loud but I know it's true. I didn't want her to go but when it actually happened and there was nothing I could do about it, I took advantage of it. Not altogether consciously, but I did. I started to express the real me more and more each passing day.
    Unfortunately, that coincided with my relationship with my husband getting worse. Or, more probably, our relationship got worse because I was feeling freer to express myself - and my husband didn't like the changes. And we didn't communicate well, which made things even worse. We had stopped communicating properly years ago and had become entrenched in a relationship where we took each other for granted, stuck to the same routine, started to ignore each other.
    My husband dislikes tattoos. Intensely. For years, I thought I didn't like them too. But over the last couple of years, I've changed my mind about that. Eventually it got to the stage where I was seriously considering getting a tattoo. The only thing that stopped me was the knowledge that my husband didn't like them. But when our relationship got so bad that I started thinking about moving out, I realised I didn't need his permission anyway. It's my body, not his.
    I don't know why it took me so long to work that out.
    I got my first tattoo in July. It's a phoenix. It's around 8-9" long by around 4-5" wide, spread across my right shoulder blade, in red, orange and yellow. The tip of one wing peeks over the top of my shoulder, pointing at my clavicle. The artist did a great job and I love it. 
    I told my husband I was going to get the tattoo. He huffed and didn't respond. When I got back from the studio, I asked, "Do you want to see it?" He said, "No." So I didn't show it to him.
    After our lengthy discussions on Thursday, when we cleared the air and came to an understanding of each others' views and thoughts, when he told me he would support whatever I did, we went to bed. For the first time in over a year. He saw my tattoo for the first time. Grudgingly, he said it was good.
    I'm considering getting a dragon on my left shoulder. That's mainly because I was born in the Chinese Year of the Dragon. as was my mother.
    The other reason I use a picture of a phoenix as my avatar image all over the web is because there's no way in hell I'd ever post a photo of me. Not that there are many photos of me to choose from, anyway.
  13. JayM

    Training

    By JayM,

    I'm currently heading home after day 1 of a two day training course. 
    The training is in mental health first aid. Not only is it fascinating and educational, but it's also enlightening from the perspective of my own mind.
    I've learned a lot today. About how to spot signs that a person's mental health may be taking a dip. And that includes my own. 
    Day 2 promises to be just as educational. The trainer appeared to be a little worried that she might have stressed us out and she has sent us home with homework: take an hour when you get home to do something that you enjoy.
    I'll be getting on my bike. And I'll be asking my husband how his day has gone. And I'll be taking the time to listen to what he really says. I think he's under stress too at the moment. I think I've neglected him somewhat recently.
    Time to start to put that right.
  14. JayM

    Therapy? No

    By JayM,

    I no longer have any desire to see a "therapist". I think it will perpetuate the medical profession's opinion that I somehow have a mental illness if I sign up for that. It's hard enough to get the medical types to take us seriously as it is. I have friends to talk to, I have my husband, and I have my FTM support group. For now, that will suffice, I think. At one point, I thought it might have been a good idea to talk to a stranger about stuff, but... no. I don't want to. Not anymore.
    I know that at some point, I will have to sit in front of one, while they ask me probing and insensitive questions about my sex life, my sexuality, my body image, my feelings, what I had for breakfast. But I'm prepared for that because it's part of the process I have to undertake, if I'm ever going to get the treatment I need, want, desire, whatever you wanna call it. I've heard horrible stories about the kind of questions they ask and how seemingly irrelevant they can be. And having to answer questions like that makes me shiver. But it has to be done at some point. I'm resigned to that.
    Until that day comes, I'll stick to my current support network.
  15. JayM
    Yesterday I went to three different banks to ask for a name change on their systems. And I went to the bank we have our mortgage with for the same purpose. I had my Deed Poll certificate in a cardboard envelope inside a plastic bag (because it was raining). For some reason I don't want to get that certificate creased or folded yet  but I'm sure the novelty will wear off at some point.
    Bank number one: I nervously watched the expression of the guy behind the counter as I asked for the name change and handed over my certificate. Not a flicker of anything appeared on his face when he read it. He just took the certificate, tapped away on his computer, told me he was just going to step away to take a copy of the Deed Poll and then he brought it back and handed it over with a smile. "That's all done," he said. "I'm going to order you a new card now. Would you like it to say Mr <first name> <initial> <last name> or just Mr <initial> <initial> <last name>?"
    I hadn't even considered that. I asked for just initials. "Great," he said. "That's all ordered for you now, Mr M*****. Have a nice day!"
    So simple. Five minutes flat and it was all done. I'll get a new card in a few days with my new name on it and I'm looking forward to seeing it. And he called me 'Mr' without batting an eyelid!
    Bank number two: The lady behind the counter looked really young. Early twenties, if that. Again, I watched her face carefully to see what she might be thinking as I handed over the certificate and explained what I wanted. She smiled and got on with the job of changing my name on the mortgage account, chatting away to me about the horrible weather as she was doing it. This took a little longer than at the first bank and she explained that the system was really slow for some reason. But within ten minutes, it was all completed.
    Bank number three: I dashed to the third bank which was only a few hundred yards down the road. It was quicker in there. I had already found a change of name form online and filled it out and so I took that with me and handed it over with the certificate. The guy copied it, stamped the copy on the back and signed it and then he said. "Right, you can leave that with me. I'll send these to the department that does this stuff for us. Your new card will arrive within a few days. Is there anything else I can do for you today?" I said no and wished him a pleasant afternoon. He grinned and said, "You too!"
    It was only when I got outside again that I realised I hadn't even bothered to look for any kind of a reaction from him. And he hadn't given any, except a nice smile.
    Bank number four was closed by the time I arrived. But three out of four ain't bad!
    I know these people get paid to do a job and be pleasant to their customers and all that, but I was convinced at the start of the day that I'd get some kind of funny look from someone. But I didn't. And next week I'll have new cards to prove my name really has changed. Not only my name, but my title.
    #CallMeMister 
  16. JayM

    Clarification

    By JayM,

    I thought I'd better clarify that last entry. Because, if anyone has been reading these entries, they might have noticed that, a few posts back, I was bemoaning the lengthy wait I had ahead of me for an appointment at the Gender Identity Clinic, and how it had pushed me to seek a T prescription from somewhere else in the meantime.
    Well, I did seek a T prescription, from a private source, and I received one. And I've been taking it for almost two months. No ill-effects, so far, but not a lot else happening, either. I feel good, and I've noticed a little redistribution of body fat, and perhaps a slight increase in muscle mass - but I've been working out so that muscle might be because of that.
    The T prescription was sought with the full knowledge of my GP - in fact, it was her idea for me to try to find some private treatment. And I decided that, if I was going to get interim private treatment, while waiting for the GIC to send for me, I might as well consider private treatment for the whole lot.
    And that's where the last entry comes in. The psychiatrist and the psychologist I mentioned in the last entry both work at one of the top GICs in this country, but I'm not on the waiting list for that particular GIC - instead, I've gone to them privately. And now I'm being officially, properly assessed by that GIC - and, judging by the report that the psychiatrist has written, he has few, if any, qualms about treating me. He believes me; he's not doubting the things I've told him; he's not questioning whether I have 'gender dysphoria' - and in the initial interview, he didn't give me a hard time or try to catch me out or ask any of the horrible questions that I had assumed he would.
    I've heard horror stories about how people are treated at GICs - about how they try to disprove your story or try to catch you in a lie or tell you you're not what you say you are. I didn't get any of that. Instead, I got a doctor who was sympathetic, maybe even empathetic, and when I left his office I felt happier than I've felt all year. I think I even had a stupid grin on my face as I walked out of the hospital.
    The night before, I hadn't slept. I had been too busy worrying about how it was all going to pan out. That night, I slept like a log.
    I'm still waiting for the second appointment - the one with the psychologist. I've called her number and left messages, and I've emailed her. But I'm not so worried anymore. I know the appointment will happen at some point fairly soon. And then I'll see where we go from there.
    In the meantime I reckon I need to go back to my GP and get her up to speed. She'll be getting a copy of the psychiatrist's report soon. He wants some blood tests - of course - to see what my hormone levels are, amongst other things. And so I'll have to get those done too.
    And then, I suppose I need to consider taking myself off the waiting list for the original GIC. I've been on that waiting list for eight months. But I've kind of jumped the queue now, having managed to get myself into this other GIC. It's amazing what throwing a little money around can do. I'm lucky that I can afford it. I find it annoying that private treatment can be obtained within a couple of weeks whereas NHS treatment can take years to materialise. I feel really bad for people who can't afford to do what I've just done. I also feel a little bad that it will appear to others that I've jumped the queue - but at the same time, I will be freeing up one spot on the waiting list, so that's the thought that is consoling me at the moment. The NHS system is in such a mess that just freeing up one spot for someone else to get assessed and treated a little sooner is probably a good thing.
    But I ain't removing myself from that waiting list until I'm sure I'm going to get proper treatment privately.
     
  17. JayM

    Coming Out at Work

    By JayM,

    After my mother died, I spent a few months feeling guilty and a few months thinking about myself - perfectly selfishly, I realise. I needed to get my head around a few things.

    At work, the company started to make a big thing of diversity. The law was changing; gay marriage was grabbing all the headlines because it looked as though it was going to be legalised in the UK. Trans issues were also hitting the headlines. A few high profile sportsmen had come out as gay. The whole LGBT+ thing was out in the open, on the television, in the newspapers - and at work.

    In 2013 I joined the company LGBT network. I didn't tell anyone, but those who were also members of the network could see that I had joined. I started to get involved on the network discussion board. So, effectively, I came out to other members of the network. Initially, I just hinted that I was bisexual. I involved myself in discussions about that topic. Later, I admitted that I had an interest in the “T” as well as the “B”. Eventually, I openly discussed being transgender as well as bisexual, within the confines of the network’s private discussion board.

    One day, I accidentally let something slip to a member of the team I work for, via something I said in an email. Panicking, and worried in case he said anything to the rest of the team, I immediately sent him another email, saying something along the lines of, “I think I just outed myself. How good are you at keeping secrets?” He responded by sending me a photo of him and his boyfriend. We had a short discussion and he told me that our manager was perfectly fine with him, when he’d come out. So before the end of the day, I came out to my manager.

    It took quite a while before I had the courage to come out to the rest of the team, but I did. And there wasn't one negative response. In fact, two were extremely positive. One guy told me that my revelation to him had inspired him. So much so, that while he usually ensures his nail polish is removed before turning up for work Monday mornings, that weekend he made the decision to leave it on, and the following Monday he arrived at work sporting sparkly blue nails.

    The man I had been most worried about telling sent me an email, simply saying, “High five!” and then he followed it up with another email saying, “That must have felt like jumping out of a plane without a parachute and then discovering you could fly. I'm so pleased for you.”

    Not one negative comment. Not one rejection. Plenty of support. I can’t explain how that made me feel.

    Contrast that with another time that I plucked up the courage to tell someone at work that I was bisexual. This was back in 2002. My husband and I had split up for a while and I had begun chatting with strangers online, partly because I was bored and miserable, partly for other reasons. Through the online chats I got to know someone called Sam that, initially, I thought was male but turned out to be female. She asked me out and I said yes.

    Back at work, a day or two later, at lunchtime, a colleague asked me what I had planned for the weekend. I thought about what I should say and then decided on the truth. I told her I was going out to meet a woman for drinks. She didn't say anything, so I asked, “Did you hear me?” to which she replied, “Yes, I heard. Do you mean like a date?” I nodded. She stood and walked away and she avoided contact with me after that. I don’t believe we have ever spoken since. I know she saw me as a woman (obviously) and therefore was probably shocked that I was meeting a woman. But that made me keep my mouth shut for another eleven years.

  18. JayM

    Early Years and Discoveries

    By JayM,

    It wasn’t until I was seven years old that I had it pointed out to me that I was different. Prior to that, I had never considered myself to be anything other than a happy child who played with all the boys who were my friends, and I enjoyed life. I hadn’t ever consciously thought there was anything odd about the fact that all my friends were boys, just as I hadn’t ever consciously thought that I didn’t behave like a typical girl. Looking back, I know now that it could have seemed odd to others but it never occurred to me that anything was amiss. I didn’t play with dolls and tea sets, even though my parents had given me plenty. I spent my days playing in the mud with the boys, climbing trees and making dens and I used their toys; the cars and fire engines and toy swords and guns that boys were given to play with. And I was perfectly happy with that until I was seven, when the mother of one of my friends pulled me away from the game we were all playing and she took me home, where she handed me over to my own mother and said she thought there was something wrong with it.

    I overheard the whole conversation even though I don’t believe they thought I could hear it. Or maybe they didn’t consider that I would understand what they were saying. But I did. My friend’s mother told my mother that it was wrong that I played with the boys. My mother defended me at the time - I remember so clearly - by saying I was “just a tomboy” and that there was nothing wrong with that. She said I was too young to know any better and I would grow out of it. And she told my friend’s mother to mind her own business. Their voices became raised and I recall feeling guilty because I had caused the argument.

    I wasn’t allowed to play at that boy’s house again.

    When it dawned on me that someone had thought my behaviour was wrong, and that I had been punished for it by losing a friend - my playmate - I began to change. I didn’t go in the opposite direction; I didn’t suddenly start playing with the girls’ toys, or take up any girly hobbies. Instead, I just stopped playing with my friends. I became introverted, although I didn’t know it at the time. I didn’t realise that until years later. Instead of playing, I used to read. I kept myself to myself. I kept my thoughts to myself. Realising that I missed the boys made me realise I missed what we’d had; that camaraderie that we had shared, the comfort of being with people like me - because I had thought they were like me and I was like them. That was when I first began to really consider that boys and girls were different and that we had our roles to play and that I wasn’t fitting at all well with the “girl” role I had been given. The role that was expected of me, I realised. I remember thinking how unfair it was.

    At ten years old, I hit puberty. I can’t possibly put down in writing how disgusted it made me feel. There was so much wrong with it. I found the whole thing gruesome and it made me feel dirty and I didn’t want it. As my body began to change I began to hate everything about it and I began to hate myself. That hatred of my own body has never gone away. I don’t like to have my photograph taken. I don’t like to be filmed. I don’t like to look at myself in the mirror. And, as my partners over the years can attest, I have never liked other people seeing my body or touching my body.

    At school, my friends were still male. The people I talked to, connected with, were male. That was the case until the age of eleven when I changed schools. My secondary school was an all-female affair. And I didn’t connect with anyone for a year or more. My teachers thought I was shy and quiet. School reports regularly had something written on them, by one teacher or another, suggesting that I needed to make friends and “come out of my shell”. I preferred not to be noticed. I kept my head down.

    I was never bullied at school. But I did eventually make friends with a girl who was being bullied. For some reason, I had felt it was my responsibility to step in, one day, and stop an act of bullying that I witnessed. I had felt the need to protect her from her tormentors. It was uncharacteristic behaviour for me, because it got me noticed. But it also got me interacting with females for the first time.

    Eventually there were three of us who always hung around together. Paula had most definitely gone through puberty in a major way. She had the body of a woman at the age of twelve, and she knew it and flaunted it. Voluptuous is the word I’d use to describe her. Huge boobs that most of the girls were envious of. Especially Debra, the third member of our little group. Debra was lithe and flat chested. I was somewhere in between the two, although I envied Debra’s body, not Paula’s. But while I wanted Debra’s body for myself, insofar as I wanted my own carbon copy of it, I appreciated Paula’s. I was attracted to Paula’s. Paula was my first crush.

    While, by this time I obviously wasn’t unaware of the fact that I was “female”, in our little group of three I was the closest thing there was to the alpha male. Both Paula and Debra deferred to me in the decision-making department - always - and I was in charge. Whether they knew it or not, they both managed to reinforce my feelings of being male and my desire to be male in body as well as spirit and mind. And that, if I’m honest, is the main reason I hung around with them. It wasn’t for their girly chats or their feminine pursuits.

    And that is an awful thing to admit, because it means I was using them. And it wouldn’t be the last time I used females to make me feel better about myself. That realisation, when it occurred to me, filled me with guilt for many years, because even though on some level I knew I was doing it, I never stopped myself from doing it. I feigned interest in their feminine activities, even though those activities bored me rigid, because it allowed me to remain a part of the group.

    I fancied Paula. There was no two ways about it. That was another reason I hung around with the two girls. And one evening, I plucked up the courage to tell her. Debra was missing that night. She was sick, if I recall correctly, and so it was just Paula and I. And while I was scared of what I was about to do - coming out for the first time - the guilt was eating at me and I had a compulsion to explain myself to someone I thought I trusted.

    So I told her. I told her I was attracted to her, and when her face betrayed her thoughts - confusion and then revulsion - I jumped in to explain further. I said it was alright because I wasn’t a girl. And I went on to explain what I meant by that. Paula walked away. And I didn’t go after her.

    Looking back, I can see now how much that rejection affected me. The knowledge that she found me revolting, after I’d told her what I was and how I felt, coupled with the fact that, back at school the next day, she immediately told anyone she could find to listen, made me take the decision not to share like that ever again. I also know now that it reinforced the feeling I’d had since the age of seven, that there was something wrong with me; that I was defective. I felt bad about losing friends again - because I did lose them - and I felt bad that the cause of it was me and the way I was. The way I am. And the fact that I’d opened my mouth. I should never have opened my mouth.

    I went back to being a loner. I withdrew to my bedroom every evening after school and I decided I didn’t need friends. It was too much hard work trying to cultivate friendships, especially when I was defective. Everyone could obviously see those defects so the best thing to do was to hide them. Initially I hid them by hiding myself away and not interacting with people, above the bare minimum required of me. Later, I would hide them by denying them.

    By the age of fourteen, my mother was sick of me hiding away in my room and not acting like a normal teenager. Whatever a normal teenager is supposed to act like, I obviously wasn’t doing it, according to her. She dragged me to see a doctor. The pair of them discussed me as if I wasn’t there and I tried to pretend I was ignoring the conversation. I wasn’t, though. I heard it and I was getting annoyed by what they were saying because they didn’t have a clue. Eventually the doctor turned to me and asked me what was wrong. Frustrated by all the ridiculous conclusions they had drawn - one of which was that I was struggling at school (not true; my grades were good), another was that I was having “boyfriend trouble” (not true; I hadn’t even looked at a boy in that way at that age) - I told them what was wrong with me.

    My second disastrous attempt at coming out. My mother said I was too young to know what I was saying. She said I was talking rubbish. She got very angry and upset. The doctor backed up my mother. He said that I was just confused and that I could put that confusion down to puberty. My body was changing; the hormones were very active. It was normal to be anxious and confused but things would settle down in a year or two. In the meantime, take this prescription. That will sort you out.

    I later found out the medication was to treat anxiety and depression.

    Two attempts at explaining, to someone I trusted, what was going on with me and how I felt. Two rejections. Two reinforcements that I was most definitely broken. I wouldn't try it again for many years.

  19. JayM
    So, I changed my name with my banks without any problems. I've received two replacement cards with my new name on and I'm only a tiny little bit irritated that I'm still waiting for a card from one bank. But at least I have access to my money again.
    I've changed my name and payment details with online sites such as Amazon, ebay, Beatport, Juno, Smashwords, and other places where I spend money on a regular basis.
    But the only one that's causing me a major problem is PayPal. They won't accept me trying to change my bank details, even though the name on my bank account has changed. I've amended a credit card on there but they won't allow me to amend the debit card I have registered with them, even though the name has changed on that debit card. And they won't let me delete it. AND they won't let me change my name!!! Not without a Photo ID. So I need to get my new passport or driving licence before I can change my name on my PayPal account.
    But what makes me laugh about that is that when I opened that PayPal account TEN YEARS AGO they never asked for Photo ID. So they didn't know what I looked like then and they don't know what I look like now.
    Why is PayPal being so annoying when all the banks and credit card companies and everywhere else have been so great? I'm thinking now that the easiest solution is to close my ten year old PayPal account and open a new one in my new name, which is, after all, my real name. But then I will have to go back to ebay and Beatport and Juno and Smashwords and... change my payment details again.
    it's a good thing that I like merry-go-rounds  
     
  20. JayM

    'Feminine' Traits

    By JayM,

    My feminine traits. They’re non-existent. Not that I haven’t tried. Over the years, I’ve attempted to be feminine, mostly for the benefit of my mother. After the trip to the doctor, where he suggested my mother should actively encourage female activities, take me out shopping for dresses, do stuff that mothers and daughters are supposed to do, that’s what she did. I went along with my mother’s wishes for a while, although it was plain to both of us that I wasn’t enjoying any of it. She kept it up for a few months and then gave up. Several times, I tried to explain to her that it just wasn’t me. That it wasn’t what I needed, because that wasn’t how I was built. But each time I tried to talk to her on the subject, she would get upset and tell me to shut up.

    For ten years, I made random attempts to talk to my mother about being transgender. She didn’t want to know. One time, she said to me that she already had a son and she didn’t want another one. It was only years later that I realised what I’d denied her. I had denied her the pleasure of having a daughter to teach how to cook, a daughter to teach how to apply makeup, a daughter to go shopping with. All the things that, I suppose, a mother looks forward to doing with her daughter, she never got to do with me. I still have guilt over that.

    I have, on occasion, made an effort - mainly for my mother but also for others - to be female. I also tried to be feminine for my husband, although not all the time, I admit. I couldn’t possibly do it all the time. It’s very draining to pretend to be something you’re not. It’s tiring to pretend to be enjoying something when you’re not enjoying it at all.

    One of the occasions I made the effort was my wedding day. I wore a dress. Not quite white, but ivory coloured. We didn’t want any photos of the wedding (my idea, I believe) but one of my husband’s friends took a bunch of photos anyway and then presented us with an album full of them. I look like the fairy that belongs on top of the Christmas tree.

    I hate having my photo taken at the best of times. But in a dress? That’s the worst. But I allowed it to happen again, at my brother’s wedding. I wore a lacy purple dress, mainly because I knew it was expected of me, and mainly to please my mother. I looked - and felt - horrendous. My mother didn’t even say anything about it afterwards. I was disappointed about that because I’d done it for her, not me.

    The last time I wore a dress was two years ago, at another wedding. The wedding of my cousin. Again, I did it because I knew it was expected, and because it was still a way for me to cover up what I am. There was a lot of family at that wedding. They don’t know about me, unless my mother shared with her sister at any point over the years. But I doubt she did. If she had, I’m pretty sure I’d have received funny looks or questions over the years, and I haven’t.

    So, occasionally I’ve worn a dress, to keep up appearances. And every time, I’ve felt like a freak. Uncomfortable and wrong. Deceitful and fraudulent.

    A few years ago, my husband and I were really struggling. To be honest, the marriage had become staid because we were taking each other for granted far too much. We had become complacent and uncaring. We somehow agreed to try to enliven things in the bedroom, which resulted in the both of us buying ridiculous amounts of lingerie for me to wear. I tried it. I really tried, for a month or two. But it didn’t fix any problems, and I felt guilty for trying to cover up the cracks in a way that I’d always known wouldn’t work. I don’t feel sexy in lingerie. I never have. I also felt guilty for letting down my husband like that. For pretending I was into it when I wasn’t. When I knew I wasn’t, and never would be. For basically lying to him, leading him on, faking it.

    I’m not feminine. I never have been. I’ve tried, when I have thought it was required of me or expected of me. I’ve faked, I’ve cheated, I’ve pretended, I’ve lied. I hate myself for doing it because I know it’s wrong. And because it has badly hurt my husband. And because it hurts me. It hurts me because it compounds the guilt I’m already feeling. It hurts me because I’m denying what I am, over and over again. I’ve spent most of my life pretending to be something I’m not, and I’m exhausted by it. The guilt and the shame eats at me. It keeps me awake at night.

  21. JayM

    Waiting and hoping

    By JayM,

    I just called the doctor's surgery to find out whether they have sent my test results to the GIC. I had a bunch of blood tests last week because the GIC asked for them. They won't accept my referral until they get the results and they gave a 4 week deadline to receive them, otherwise they would reject my referral. That was a little tight, given that it took two weeks for their letter to arrive at my GP practice, requesting the blood tests in the first place, because it's almost Christmas and I presume the letter got stuck in the backlog of Christmas mail.
    As soon as I received my copy of the letter (because they sent it to me too) I called the doc and made an appointment for the blood tests. My letter arrived two days before it arrived at the GP practice. So it's a good thing I called them otherwise we'd have lost another few days.
    I want that referral.
    I know that, even if they accept me, it will be months and months before I even get to see anyone at the clinic. The last time I checked, the waiting list was 8 months. It's probably longer now. And that's one of the shorter waiting lists - another clinic has a waiting list estimate of 3 years.
    The lists are growing daily. I've been looking at the stats. So, there are more people requesting referrals to Gender Identity Clinics all the time. Are there suddenly more of us around? I don't think so. I think we're just getting braver, or more desperate. I know that, in my case, it's a bit of both. I am braver than I was a few years ago. But I'm also definitely more desperate for something to be done. I went to my monthly FtM meeting last night and, while it was a good session, and the other guys are great, I kept looking at the people who have completely transitioned and I knew I was envious of them. The guys with the beards. The guys who don't have hips that are larger than their waists. The guys who don't have to wear binders. One bloke caught me looking at him and he smiled at me. I felt myself blushing but I smiled back. I don't know what he was thinking when he caught me. I don't know whether he thought I fancied him or something, but I don't care. I was definitely admiring his body.
    I want one of those.
  22. JayM

    T for Two

    By JayM,

    Yesterday I ordered my second month's supply of T. I received an email from the online doc to tell me to order it because she had sent the prescription to the pharmacy. She also said I need to arrange for more blood tests before the end of September, to check my testosterone and estradiol levels.
    I can't believe I've managed to get through almost a month's worth already. Time has passed so quickly. And, apart from the almost immediate effect on one particular part of my anatomy, and the increased appetites (plural - it hasn't just made me hungry all the time, it's affected my libido too), I haven't really noticed a whole lot else. But my husband says I have more muscle definition in my upper torso and arms. I'm not sure about that, but I'll take his word for it.
    I have been trying to work out more, particularly when I realised I was eating more (or wanting to eat more, at any rate). It might have been my imagination but I thought my stomach was starting to get fatter. So I'm on the bike every day and I'm working on my shoulders and arms as well. Having said all that, it might be the fact that I drink too much beer that's making my stomach fatter. I need to check out some additional stomach-specific exercises. I'm never going to have a six-pack and I probably don't want one, but I don't want a beer gut either. 
    I'm not at work this week. I decided to take five days, to do some stuff at home and to watch some of the final week of the Tour de France live (as opposed to watching highlights in the evenings). And it looks like I chose a good week to not be at work. It was warm and sunny yesterday. Today, it's scorching with unbroken blue sky. Apparently, tomorrow will be just as nice. So I think it's time I turned off this computer and went outside. There's some weeding to be done in the garden.
    Peace and love, to everyone.  
  23. JayM

    Training Over

    By JayM,

    What a training course. Enlightening, saddening, revealing, a little scary at times, but ultimately well worth the investment in time and money.
    Do I feel confident in giving first aid in a mental health emergency? Not 100% but it's like physical first aid - you hope you never have to do it but it's reassuring to know you have the skills and knowledge if it comes down to it.
    I will be better at spotting signs in myself - signals that my own mental health is suffering a dip. I will be better at spotting it in others. I have a far better understanding of mental health issues than I did.
    I have knowledge of symptoms, physical, psychological and behavioural. I have knowledge of help resources. I know what to do in an emergency situation. 
    My own mental health is good right now. The trips to see the psychiatrist and the psychologist were positive experiences and I'm still feeling buoyed by them.
    I hope it lasts a while.
    Peace and love to everyone.
     
  24. JayM

    Step 3

    By JayM,

    On my way to London to see the psychologist from the GIC. Sitting at the station waiting for my train.
    It's windy but the sun is shining and I'm feeling good.
    Step 1 was getting the T prescription. I ordered my supply for the fourth month yesterday and it arrived today.
    Step 2 was getting to see the psychiatrist from the GIC. That was weeks ago. Today is step 3.
    Goodness only knows what step 4 will be. I haven't a clue.
    The T is redistributing my body fat already. It has also given me a few whiskers on my chin. I shave them off.
    I decided to stay in London tonight. Have a quiet night to myself. Maybe use the hotel gym. Read my Kindle. Listen to music. 
    Have no idea what this psychologist is going to ask me but it'll be fine.
  25. JayM

    Unconditional Love

    By JayM,

    Yesterday was a strange day. It was difficult at times but ultimately fulfilling.
    Trying to avoid yet another argument with my husband, I went online, searching for my own place to live (my husband knows I've been doing this). I found a place that looked great and I called the estate agent to make an appointment to view it (I'm going to see this place today). My husband overheard me making the appointment. I could tell he wasn't impressed so I started a conversation about why I felt I had to move out. After I'd explained my point of view, he said he agreed with all I'd said but that he didn't want to lose me.
    That started a whole new conversation where he said he would totally support me if I wanted to transition and he said I didn't have to move out - but if I really wanted to, maybe I should just make it temporary rather than permanent. I had been thinking about purchasing somewhere, but now I'm thinking about renting, for maybe six months, just to see how it goes.
    I still believe we need space from each other. He doesn't want me to go. He said he would always be here when I wanted to come back. He also said he would come with me when I try to find a therapist and a sympathetic doctor. He said he fell in love with what's in my head and in my heart, not what my body looks like.
    Everything looks different today. He wants to support me. I asked him if he still wanted to be married to me and he said yes. When I pointed out that, if I go ahead with transitioning, he would be viewed as gay by many people, he said he didn't give a **** what other people thought of him. I asked if he would be okay with a same-sex marriage and he said yes, because he married me, not my body. He wants me.
    He still wants me.
    We spent hours discussing my options. Through our talking, I now have a better idea of my end goal. I think I know now what I would be most comfortable with. And that's because I understand his point of view better.
    I laughed at one point. He got annoyed and offended when I explained how the law works here (England) with regards to obtaining a Gender Recognition Certificate. He said the law was obscene. Which it is. He said there was no way he would veto my application for a GRC. That's comforting. But that time is still a long way off. Even so, I feel so relieved today. It's going to make coming out at work next week so much easier.
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