morgan_edwin | Entries tagged with transition

Went for a walk by the water, amid the new leaves. Talked things out with Jaymie. Did some more talking when we got home. Had a good cry. Addressed my issues with my gender identity. Lately, I have been questioning my decision to continue with transition, because of memories flooding back from "when I was a girl."

They are good memories. I don't want them to go away or be invalidated. And I was a girl, then, and I was having fun being a girl. I have not always been "a boy trapped in a girl's body." It hasn't been that simple for me. I may desire male anatomy, but I don't despise everything feminine. In fact ... it's fun to be a girl, sometimes.

I have come to terms with the fact that I don't hate "girl Morgan," and I've decided she can stay.

Before, even when I was identifying as non-binary, I was shunning femininity. Which is a gift, one I hadn't used. And that wasn't right. I was denying a part of myself. I was not whole.

So what does this mean? The desire for transformation is still intense. "Boy Morgan" needs to be unleashed, and it is a joyous metamorphosis. How many people get to experience life from the perspective of both female and male, and everything in between, in one lifetime? I will still take hormones (unless contraindicated by my new meds,) I will still have top surgery.

But I, Morgan, am gender fluid, a veritable splatter on the canvas of gender, and I AM OKAY WITH THAT.

My default pronouns are still male, but I may ask you to refer to me by female pronouns on a particular day, or they/them pronouns on another day. I know, I'm a pain in the ass, but if you have a problem with that, you can SUCK MY GENDER FLUID and GTFO.

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The above is a Facebook post I made today. I'm posting it here to expand upon it and explore the spiritual connotations.

I am Pagan. I am Norse Pagan. I am a Lokean. What does this mean? It means that I worship the old Norse gods, and that Loki is my primary deity. It would take far too long to explain my explain my complex relationship with this being. Let's just say that I am child, spouse, and blood-brother to Loki all at once. Yeah, it's complicated, but complicated just kind of goes with Loki. Anyway, in the myths and in my and many others' UPG (Unsubstantiated Personal Gnosis,) Loki is a shapeshifter, and the very epitome of gender-fluid. He is also the World Breaker, God of Chaos, God of Fire and of the Hearth (archaic,) and of course, the god of mischief and lies. So why in heavens would I ever get involved with a god like Loki?

The answer is that he got involved with me. I was feeling totally cut off from the divine, which was painful, and I was desperate. I screamed to the Universe and any being that could hear me, "I WANT MY FIRE BACK!" A while later, Loki appeared in my life. That was seven years ago. It's been a wild ride since, and it keeps getting wilder. Even when I am depressed and can't feel his presence, I know he is there, influencing my life.

He has been loving and nurturing, passionate and wrathful, cold and deceitful, and anything else you can think of with me, but always to prove a point. He is an easy god to fall in love with, but not an easy god to be in love with.

Anyway, I thought it appropriate that Loki's influence be mentioned in this journal, because he's always there. When I feel close to him, I feel more in touch with myself. When I feel disconnected with him, I feel unsure of myself, and often confused as to what to do next. These are the periods in which he stands back and lets me flail until I drag myself up from the abyss, stronger for it in the end. I would do anything to defend his name. A lot of Norse Pagans hate him, some even being fearful of saying his name. But that's a whole different topic.

Loki is guiding me through this transition. Loki led me to this transition. Loki knew I was going to experience this transition far before I did. Loki is my source of strength during this transition.

Current Mood: awake

Physical changes!

I don't have any idea what T is actually doing to my body! I have only been on it for three weeks, so there aren't any truly noticeable changes yet, But Jaymie says she notices subtle changes in the shape of my face around my jaw, and I think my eyebrows are bushier. My skin has always been pretty oily, so it's hard to tell if it's been any more oily or thicker than usual. I've started using witch hazel as a toner before I moisturize, and it seems to keep the oil down.

I am somewhere between indifferent and disgusted by my breasts. They have scars from the previous reduction. They're still sort of "perky" from the lift I was automatically given when I got my reduction. I hope to gods my previous surgery doesn't get in the way of my top surgery now.,because of all the scar tissue.

Emotional changes!

I've been incredibly introspective and moody. I don't know if I can blame this solely on the testosterone and not simply the emotional shock of my transition being a reality. To be honest, I am still in shock, and i am still scared, and I am still on the brink of, "Well, if I turned back now, the T wouldn't have made that much of a difference, and i could just be a girl again. i could just make this whole thing go away and not ever think about it ever again." Of course, that's ridiculous, but it's hard, when I see a selfie from eight years ago in which I looked really pretty (thought I looked ugly at the time) and kind of wish I could go back. But then I'm left to thinking, was i really happy, or was i putting on a costume and fooling even myself? I'm already someone else. Does it matter? Is this something I should take seriously, or is it just "stage fright?" I constantly reassure myself that I am still allowed to like the same things, to dislike the same things, to not act like a typical cis/het man, that I am not passing my body and personality through a die that is going to cut away pieces of my personality. Instead, it's going to cut away stuff I don't need anymore, and I'll be stronger for it. Right? RIGHT?? Someone reassure me before I explode.

Sexual changes! TMi WARNING: MASTURBATION!
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Because of the psychiatric drugs that I am on, I am starting from absolutely rock-bottom, zero libido. I have been hoping against hope that T would help to change that. Well, I think it's beginning to. I'm starting to feel aroused again in certain situations, and I had an erotic dream the other night. I experimented with one of my vibrators and was able to get myself off within 20 minutes. However, there were no contractions with my climax. But an orgasm is an orgasm, and I"ll take it. I haven't been able to get off in less than 40 minutes in... probably years.

Stay tuned for Week 4!

FACT: I am taking hormones and planning surgery to make my body appear, outwardly, for all intents and purposes, male.

FACT: I get warm, giddy feelings when my wife calls me her husband or when someone calls me "sir."

OPINION: BOY CLOTHES ARE BORING.

FACT: I still like some PRETTY GIRLY SHIT and sometimes I might even want to wear MAKEUP.

FACT: I am tired of hearing the "screeching brakes" noise in my head every time I see an article of clothing or accessory I like because "guys don't wear that girly shit, I can't like that anymore."

FACT: What I wear is my choice, but, right now, I can't pass if I wear everything I want.

FACT: If I am restricted to wearing what I need to wear to pass, I feel miserable.

There. I said it. I'm not miserable as a boy. I'm miserable being limited to boy clothes. I mean, what the fuck, fashion? Men's clothes haven't changed since, like, the 1980s or something (minus the surfer jams) and formalwear hasn't changed much since the mid-1900s. And men don't wear nice clothes out anymore, either. Nobody wears hats or jackets as part of regular attire.At least the 60s and 70s were a little funky. Kinda wish I'd lived back then-- there was less of a difference between men's and women's clothing.

But I digress. I guess I already made my point. I was starting to wonder if I was doing the wrong thing, but now I realize it's just a case of being programmed with societal gender norms, and my desire to pass conflicting with my desire to express myself.

Sorry, mother. Still not a girl.

I called my mother today with the intention of breaking off all contact with her. I couldn't do it. I chickened out. At least I won a small battle? She said:

"I support you as long as you're doing what's best for you and what makes you happy."

Words from my mother I never thought I'd hear. She didn't tell me "I support your transition" outright; I don't think she can say the words, but it's the best I can expect from her. I also got her to say she loved me in my full male name.

I feel better, now.

I had been feeling icky because I had this image of her with an expression of revulsion on her face, pointing her bony finger at me and telling me what I was doing was a sin. I had that image because, well, that's the mother I grew up with. That was her Hyde persona.

Jekyll wasn't so bad. We would go shopping together, walk on the beach of Lake Erie, play pretend, and, when I was really little, she would teach me lessons, She was like my own private preschool teacher. (I never went to preschool, just straight to kindergarten.)

But Hyde was never far away, and would creep out at the strangest times, becoming angry at incomprehensibly petty things, turning them into conspiracies against her or grave commissions of disrespect.

Obviously suffering from mental illness, combined with abuse from my father, a narcissist with drug abuse issues, she never sought help. My parents fought almost constantly while I was growing up, and I often got the backlash.

But now! Now is new! Now I can be the real me. I can discover myself all over again, without having to hide anything or worry about getting in trouble. Yet, that fear of getting in trouble informs my anxiety to this day. I have to isolate that fear, tell myself it's just bullshit from my childhood that doesn't apply anymore. It's out-of-date programming that needs to be overwritten with reward programming instead Taking my T shot should make me feel proud, not scared, and excited instead of like I'm sticking a dagger straight into my mother's heart.

Whenever I see her again (it may be years,) I may look very different. She may not recognize me. But if she is repulsed because I resemble my father (whom she thinks is the devil himself) , that is her damage, not mine. And anyway, that day is a long way off, since she won't fly or drive more than 15 miles from her house.

I give myself permission to feel excited and happy. It should never be dependent on what she thinks, but it makes me feel better that she is at least starting to wrap her head around having a son.

I am exhausted from dealing with my mother. She constantly goes back and forth between almost seeming to understand, to thinking it's just some weird phase I'm going through. She'll use my words against me, as she always has, at her convenience. I told her at one point that I was having a midlife crisis. Why do I tell her these things? Since my wife is transitioning, too, my mother emailed me today saying she thought it must be a "joint decision" and my transition must be part of my midlife crisis.

I wrote her back a rant about heteronormative narratives and how she has always seen -any- change in me or my worldview to be abnormal, but it's not going to matter. She is half the reason I have PTSD; my father is the other half. Why do I bother with her? She is my last living relative. I don't have siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces or nephews, or children, so i suppose maybe that's it.

I hang onto this thread of hope that somehow I can have an adult relationship with this woman, but she constantly infantilizes me. She doesn't just dwell on the past, she dwells in the past; some idealized past where I was a Perfect Little Girl and Granny and Papa and Ieka and Doat were still alive. A note on "Ieka and Doat," - those were the names I gave my grandparents when I was two, and she still calls them that, and I think it's creepy. I also think it's creepy that she only ever called my father "Daddy" and never his real name. I asked her why once when I was a kid and she told me it was none of my business and clammed up about it.

A bit more about my mother: she lives in two houses, one hers and one that used to belong to my great grandparents, on the same property which was once my great grandparents' nursery. Every single stick of furniture, figurine, picture, knick-knack, and even clothing from three generations are crammed into those two houses, and she will not get rid of any of it. It's mostly a clean mess, it's not like "Hoarders" or anything, but it's still creepy. There are still shelves of figurines and decorative items that haven't been touched since the day my great grandmother died when I was 14 years old. It's nothing short of insanity. Some of these antiques are quite valuable, yet they sit, untouched, as if in a time-bubble, whilst my mother cries poor.

She wails that I am the only thing that she has, the only reason she has for living. That she loves me "no matter what." Yet, her words and behavior clearly suggest that there are conditions on that love. Not once has she asked me, "How can I help?" Not once has she said, "Well, as long as you're happy and healthy, that's all I care about." (That's what Jaymie's parents said, basically.} I mean yeah, it's a lot to get used to, but if you're a parent, you just want your kid to be happy. You trust your adult child to make their own decisions, unless those decisions are going to actively harm them or someone else. Trust is something my mother and I rarely ever shared, and I doubt we ever will, no matter how badly I want it. And without trust, there is no viable relationship. If I really am all she has, that's pretty sad.

It's her choice to live an insular life in her little brown house surrounded by giant green bushes so no one can see in or out with her co-dependent boyfriend-of-the-decade. It's her choice never to venture further than fifteen miles from her home and deem visiting me impossible. It's her choice to continually throw Christian literature at me, despite the fact that I haven't been Christian since early childhood (except for that one bizarre born-again phase I had when I lost my mind coming off Paxil.) So many times, I have come close to cutting her out of my life completely. Obviously, I have failed. I wonder if other trans folk have family members that they want to keep in their lives despite the constant emotional whiplash.

I just don't know what to do. I love her because she is my mother, but I don't like her at all as a person. I almost wish she had voted for Trump. Then, at least, I would have another solid reason to disown her. We have just enough in common that I kind of enjoy talking to her sometimes, but when certain subjects come up, it's a powder-keg. I have to walk on eggshells and keep the subject to the weather, cats, and maybe my health other than "trans stuff." But I can't explain to her what non-binary is, for instance. I can't talk about my gay and trans friends. I can't talk about polyamory. I can't even talk about my past pain. I made the mistake of telling her that I once bought a Plan B pill after sex and she was disgusted with me and said I had killed a baby. Her grandchild. It's still all about her.

All about her.

I feel better now. Couples therapy went really well today. I read the therapist my previous entry and they said that there is nothing wrong with me, and that I am not experiencing anything any other trans person hasn't felt. We talked about clothes and how boy clothes are boring in America and if I lived in any other country or any other century I probably wouldn't feel so boxed in. I'd love to dress like an 18th century gentleman, frock coat and heels and all. That's me, that's who I see inside. Maybe it's a past life. Who knows. If I had the money, I'd have clothes like that made for me.

Anyway, we talked about Jaymie's forced coming-out to her parents because of my mother and a Facebook "whoops" which I am not going to go into here. Jaymie has been feeling a lot of stress, living a double life. She is coming out to her supervisor tomorrow, and hopes to be out at work full-time by May or June. I don't even know how she could wait that long, or why. If it were me, once I told my supervisor, that would be it. But Jaymie needs more time to put herself together, and I understand that.

I'm not a freak. I'm just this guy, y'know? And I happen to like pretty things. I like some guy things, too. We went to Duluth Trading Co. today and I liked several of the shirts they had there. I got some new boxer shorts with hearts on them. I find it funny that (straight cis) guys will wear patterns like that on their underwear, like it's a dirty little secret or something, but wouldn't usually wear it out where people could see it. I also find it funny that I like Duluth Trading Co. so much, since it caters directly to the straight cis market... or do they? They sneak in really nice toiletries, good-smelling soaps and luxurious body washes, beard oils, and deodorants amid the Manly Man Attire. Boy, I hope I have use for beard oil at some point... now I'm just rambling.

One day I"m all rainbows and unicorns and cute little fluffy clouds, and the next I'm reveling in Scandinavian death metal and browsing goth shit and morbid medical oddities online. I'm just not a good fit for any box. I never have been, and I never will be. There's no word that defines Morgan. Morgan is an experience. My experience. Gods, now I sound like some conceited social icon or something. But I deserve a little self-love, don't I? I deserve to like who I am. And maybe I am a freak, by your standards and maybe I like it. So what?.

I guess I will just end this entry here, since I have embarked on a wild tangent.

BUT WAIT! THERE'S MORE! I take my second shot of T tomorrow, all by myself. I hope I don't screw it up. I think I'll stick it in my belly fat this time. We just got the syringes. I was worried they were going to be stupid expensive, but they ended up being only a dollar or something.

Okay. I'm done, now.

Since I decided to come out, I have a completely new perspective on images of women I see online or on TV. No longer do I feel pressure to look like them, long to emulate their aesthetic, or bemoan the fact that my body will never look like that. I'm pansexual, so of course, I find women attractive, but now I can look at them, and they are, well -- them. As in, not me. I can find a girl hot and not feel like I have to look like her to be attractive.

I hope this does not end up translating into looking at images of men and feeling too much pressure to conform to an unrealistic male aesthetic. I don't think I will, though, because I will be too busy marveling at the changes in my own body and creating myself over again, This will, of course, include doing things like working out, but I never expect to be "ripped" or anything. I've got dad bod, and you know what? That's okay. I find it ever so much easier to love myself in my own skin as a man than I did as a woman.

Which is kind of sad, knowing there is so much more pressure put on women to look perfect all the time. I'm seeing it from the other side, already, even this early in my transition, and it is staggering. An unfair double-standard. A testament to the pain I went through most of my life, and most women go through most of their lives, just to be considered presentable. I can even see how some people might accuse me of transitioning because I want to be "lazy" about my looks, or that I just want male privilege.

Well, as I said in an earlier entry, male privilege is something I'm actually quite afraid of. I don't want to lose sight of reality, of the whole of my being--- who I was, who I am, who I will be-- and my responsibility to treat others with the respect and love they are due without pretense. I don't think I will fall prey to this, but I want to keep on my toes.

Current Mood: thoughtful

Today was the first day I was out in the world as myself without anyone else as a buffer. I had to go visit my boyfriend at the hospital (long story), and then I went to McDonald's, and to a gas station to get some stuff for my boyfriend who was staying at the nearby Motel 6. I came in contact with men, and I wondered how they perceived me-- as a butch woman or as a man. I think I passed. The reason I think I passed is because I got no reaction at all from any of them. I was just this guy, you know?

And I used the men's room and I realized that the pronoun button I was wearing was actually a dead giveaway. I didn't need it. That's right. I don't need to wear a button every day to remind me of who I am or express my identity to others. I'm just Morgan, full stop. I'll wear the button at appropriate events such as support groups and conventions, but otherwise, I'm not wearing it out anymore. I feel like it's some kind of mini milestone. Maybe it's the new glasses. They are pretty snazzy.

The one problem I am having is voice dysphoria. I know that my voice is low for a woman's, but it's still a dead giveaway. I'm trying to find a way to talk and sound male without sounding like a cartoon character. Until I get on T, I'm going to have to figure something out. Voice coaching has been suggested, as have YouTube videos. I"ll do some research later.

I haven't had much dysphoria about my chest. As long as I'm wearing my binder, I feel pretty secure. I did have a moment today when I realized my hoodie (which is cut for a woman) was feminizing my profile a bit, so I unzipped it and shoved up the sleeves.

Anyway, another successful day of being me. I expect them to continue. I'm looking forward to going to my first transmasculine support group tomorrow night, and I'm hoping to make a few new friends.

I'M JUST SO OVER IT.

So many voices. So many stories. So many transitions. Of course, the first thing I did on the day Morgan Edwin Odysseus Wagner was born, was to go online to find resources and possible friends, or even mentors, to help me through this process. I have now dropped out of half the Facebook groups that I joined in the first week, and found at least two local transmen who are also early in their journey.

I've tried to narrow my focus, because some of these men-- boys-- they are, frankly, emotionally draining to interact with. I am past all the questioning. I don't post " do I pass" pictures (that doesn't really matter to me as much as you might think.) I don't have a big dramatic coming-out story at work or school, so I can't relate directly to that. I have the support of my parents-in-law. Even my mother is becoming more and more receptive to the information I am providing her.

I don't want to sound harsh, but I didn't join the Facebook groups to read about a bunch of anguish about coming out to parents and horror stories about botched surgeries and adverse effects of hormones. Yes, these things happen. Yes, it's important to be aware of the risks. So, okay, I'm aware. Maybe, someday, when I'm further along in my medical transition, I can be a mentor to someone who is struggling, but right now, I need it to be all about me.

Facts. I want facts, and explanations of medical procedures, and information about the risks and benefits of going on testosterone. I want to know about the different ways testosterone can be delivered -- shots, gels, patches, creams, et cetera. I've come to the conclusion that the things I want to know are going to come from my therapists and doctors. No one else's experience is exactly like mine. I don't have anything in common with most of these people other than the fact that we happen to be trans. So why bother?

I don't get much out of the weekly trans support group I go to on Wednesdays, because most of the time I am literally the odd man out. I will keep going to support Jaymie, but I honestly feel like I'm past a lot of the stuff that comes up in group.It seems to me that some trans folks go into it unsure of what they want out of it.

But for me, this has been a long time coming. I know exactly what I want. Top surgery, for certain, and testosterone therapy, if not contraindicated by any of my other medications or health issues. Continued therapy to keep up on how I'm doing in my new identity. And, of course, sessions with a marital counselor specializing in gender issues so that Jaymie and I can grow together.

So I'm going to refrain from joining any more Facebook pages about trans men. Being a "trans person" isn't the core of my being. I'm just me. I'm waiting for some stuff to happen to make my body match what's on the inside, but that's it. There's nothing more to do. Just wait, make phone calls to doctors, keep going to therapy, get tests done, keep moving forward.

And join some more Facebook groups about, I don't know, dinosaurs or something.

Current Mood: grumpy

In an earlier entry, I said that the first time I tried coming out as a guy I did everything wrong. I said that I "overdid it," shunning everything remotely feminine. I did do that. I got rid of anything even remotely feminine, even if I really liked it. That was misguided. There is a fine line, however, that a trans person must walk, especially at the beginning of transition, between being perceived as your real gender and taking it too far. In my case, it's taking it too far into the masculine.

Let me give you some examples. There is no reason why I have to start dressing like a "typical" 41-year-old guy when I don't like typical 41-year-old guy clothes. Jeans and geeky t-shirts, which I wore 90% of the time when I was presenting female, will still do just fine. (I bought one polo shirt today because I actually liked the pattern on it, but that's an anomaly.) The fact is that if I want to be gendered correctly, I'm going to have to amp up the "man" in my wardrobe for a while.

Once I go on T, though, and my features start getting less soft and my voice gets deeper, I will feel freer to express myself more the way I see myself in my head. I may wear a hockey jersey on occasion, but I'm actually drawn to the androgynous aesthetic, which includes wearing makeup and nail polish sometimes, and being generally fabulous. (Also, I want to be a goth when I grow up.)

I'm continually reinventing myself on the outside, and part of that is because a very practical and mundane reason: I have a limited and dwindling wardrobe, especially now that I don't feel comfortable in women's clothing. My wardrobe, like me, needs to be refreshed and renewed. I am pressing the reset button on my life, after all.

I don't feel like I am expressing myself with my usual eloquence tonight. I feel like if you read what I wrote, you'll think I don't know that I can express my individuality any way I want and not feel pressured to look a certain way for a certain audience. This goes double for me, since I don't work. I'm trying to find the words to explain what I mean.

I feel like I have to go a little bit past the finish line and then come back a few steps to where I'm comfortable, equally for the benefit of others and for my own satisfaction from being read as male without the assistance of pronoun buttons. Does that make sense?

I also think that, though I've settled on male pronouns, cut my hair, begun presenting as male, using men's toiletries, and going to the men's room, there's still an enby in there who will never die. I think that a successful transition for me will mean using he/him and they/them pronouns where appropriate.

Current Mood: anxious

I was just thinking that I have a huge advantage over J. and any other trans person who has a job: I don't have to worry about "coming out" at work. I feel like I've been on fast-forward, and I think that's one of the biggest reasons. I can ask for male pronouns and use the men's room and correct people about calling me "ma'am" and such. I do consider myself to be out "full-time," because I have no reason not to be.

But my wife will have a lengthy coming-out process at work. Thank the gods, she works for a company who are extremely accommodating of trans employees. If she didn't, though, and we didn't live in a state with protections, she could be in danger of losing her job. We could lose everything because of who we are. I guess even my wife is privileged in that respect.

But not as privileged as I am. As an unemployed, disabled transman living in a state with protections, I can be as out and loud as I want, even though I still have breasts. (I have been hiding them under baggy clothing.) Jaymie has to worry every day. She is much more vulnerable, as a person of greater stature (and I am 300 lbs) to stares, whispers, ridicule, and the like.

This is my first taste of male privilege, and I'd like to spit it out. The disparity between my day-to-day acceptance and hers will increase long before it evens out. It makes me sick to think about. I will defend her to the ends of the universe, of course, but that's not the point. I shouldn't have to.

People are dicks.

Current Mood: cranky

Some unpacking.

In a previous entry, I said I had some trouble standing up and saying that I am a man, because of all the negative connotations that go with that word. Call me a boy, call me a guy, call me a transguy, call me a son-of-a-bitch, I don't care. But "MAN" is hard. This entry is an attempt to get me more comfortable with the idea of being what I am.

As a man, I will:

Not lose touch with my sensitivity to other's needs
Not contribute to toxic masculinity, and respect women
Be the best example to other transmen (and people in general) I can possibly be
Not oppress others
Love myself through my transition
Not "overdo it" by shunning things considered feminine in my life if I like them
Not hurt myself by taking things too fast
Hope for acceptance from my mother, but not expect it

I think that's a good start. I don't have to, and don't want to be, Arnold Schwarzenegger or John Wayne. I can't relate to the super-masculine, look-at-my-muscles culture, and I don't want to. I will be my own man. Morgan Edwin Odysseus Wagner is a fabulous, artsy, pansexual, polyamorous man, and he's ready to get used to being called a man in addition to "boy" or "guy" or "dude." You can call me a man, because that's what I am.

As a side-note, I think those commercials for testosterone supplements are the epitome of what I don't want to be, and they're kind of triggery. Gross.

Current Mood: contemplative

Today was a good day. I did a lot of little things that amounted to a "mini transition." I picked out new glasses (can't wait to get them back!). I got my first real guy haircut at a men's salon, complete with a hot towel treatment, shampoo, scalp massage, and shoulder massage. Wow, girls don't know what they're missing!

Jaymie bought me boxer briefs from Duluth Trading Company, which we had ordered before, but she also picked up a few other things for me: some great-smelling soap and deodorant, and some razor blades for my safety razor. (I have PCOS, so I get a sparse, wiry mustache and a neck beard without the assistance of testosterone. I like to go clean-shaven.) In the mail, I got my pronoun button, the one that says "My pronouns are HE/HIM/HIS" on the background of the trans flag colors.

Jaymie took a picture of me in my flannel, with my hammer and my button in view, and I felt some dysphoria - but not about gender. I can't believe I've gotten this fat! It's painful for me to move (I'll get to that in later entries) and I am on multiple medications that cause me to gain or retain weight. Other than that, I think I'm a pretty handsome dude.

Days like this come with their own kind of fatigue. I am tired. Talk about an emotional roller coaster, and neither of us is even on hormones yet! But all in all, it was a good day, and I will be thankful for it.