NVM. Figured it out.

 My subconscious mind is having serious second thoughts at this point. This journal is about being honest, even when the truth is baffling or doesn't seem to fit. Well, the truth is, I don't know if I am doing the right thing anymore. Whereas when I was a girl I had dreams of being a boy, now, I have dreams every night about being a girl again. They are not sexual dreams, or dreams about my body. They are dreams about who I was in the pictures Facebook shows me in my "Memories" feature. I look fondly back on those photographs. I see a beautiful girl, 50-75lbs thinner than I am right now. I didn't think I was pretty when I took the photos, but now, looking back, I realize I was beautiful. And I destroyed that beauty. I cut off all my hair, bought "manly" glasses, and started dressing in boring "boy clothes" to fit in ...and that's to say nothing of all the weight I've gained. 

I have major dysphoria, maybe even body dysmorphia, about my weight, but I also feel kind of helpless to do much about it. I eat fairly healthy, I don't snack. I drink minimal soda, and I have started to go to the gym. But I am still limited. The medications I take make it very hard to lose weight, and I have both widespread and localized chronic pain from fibromyalgia and degenerative disk disease. Consequently, I am disgustingly fat-- like, I see "My 600 Lb Life" on TLC and I think,"That's going to be me in five years."

Is She-who-must-not-be-named right? Am I only becoming a boy as an easy way out because I destroyed the girl's beauty by becoming fat?

*tires screeching* Wait a minute. Live, right now, as I'm posting this entry, I'm having an epiphany. Typing it out and reading it out loud, it sounds positively absurd. Switching genders is certainly not what women think of as an option to be more attractive in public just because they gained weight. They just try to lose the weight. They exercise, eat healthier, join Weight Watchers, take prescription weight loss pills, and do gastric bypass when nothing else works. They don't up and decide to become men! This is a She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (henceforth referred to as SWMNBN) narrative. SWMNBN put me on Slim Fast was nine. NINE. FUCK HER!

When I look at my wife, and I ask her if she thinks I am doing the right thing, she gives me an unequivocal "Yes," without a blink of an eye or a change of expression. That means everything to me. I trust her implicitly. And I can't forget how excited I was just a few weeks ago when I came out. So why do I have these dreams? Self-sabotage? Left-over shame from SWMNBN? "Stage fright," like I mentioned before? Probably a combination of all of these things.

So, should I stop transition? She-who-must-not-be-named would say "Yes." But what do I say? Well, I'm still planning on doing my T-shot tomorrow. I can't stop thinking about it, actually. I can't wait. 

*sigh* I guess I can't eliminate SWMNBN from my journal entirely, since I MUST mention her, at least in passing, when I find destructive narratives in my head that she put there. But SWMNBN will no longer be the focus of entries on purpose.

Why am I unhappy?

• Hormonal drama. A month on T. I've hit a wall. Does that mean anything?
• Boredom. All I really do is sit around online all day. I don't go out and take walks (there are no sidewalks here) and even if I could drive, Jaymie has the car most of the day. I don't have people over, either, because mostly they have jobs and things.
• Loneliness. See above.
• Anxiety. The normal, garden variety kind and the "OMG, am I passing?" kind. Panic attacks. 
• Homesickness. I really miss Columbus, and the house. I miss the tree outside my window, that wasn't really our tree but it bent over into our yard. There are no trees outside my window, here. Not close, anyway. I miss the house. I miss hearing rain on the roof, and not hearing upstairs neighbors. I really don't like this place much. I never told Jaymie that. It was the best option at the time and it's one level. Best for me, right? And it had a blue room that was going to me my room so I concentrated on that. Otherwise, I'm kind of uncomfortable.
  
• Lack of viable wardrobe for "passing."
• Exhaustion. I keep falling asleep at my computer during the day. Poor sleep at night? Hormones again? Depression? Fibromyalgia?
• Lack of ability to express myself. Yaaaasssss. This is a thing. I want to be Ziggy fucking Stardust but the world wants me to be Typical Guy in his 40s. I want to wear something other than polos and button-ups and tees in patterns other than plain or plaid or stupid. All the patterns I like are like $400 or something. I want to be fabulous and wear scarves and nail polish and maybe even more makeup than I wore as a girl. But I can't. Not yet. Not until...
• The boobs. The boobs have to go. They're just kind of hanging there, not doing me any good, just getting in the way, dangling there like over-ripe fruit.
• PAIN. OMG I AM SO TIRED OF BEING IN SO MUCH PAIN ALL THE FUCKING TIME JUST GIVE ME THE DRUGS ALREADY
• I want a dog. And a snake. And a hedgehog. And an axlotl. But that has nothing to do with anything other than that I'm eccentric and I like weird animals. But an aquarium would be nice. It would give me something to do, at least
  

So how do I fix all this? That's another entry. I'm tired. All I can say for sure is that this is mostly situational and not chemical. My brain meds are doing their job; it's just that some stuff is weighing on my mind right now and I can't seem to shake it.