Boobs, breasts, tits... fuck 'em. Or rather when it comes to them being on me, fuck no.
It seems like wanting to get rid of them is the only part of the transition process I consistantly want. They just don't make sense. Seriously, what purpose do two mounds of jiggly flesh and fat on my chest serve, other than being obnoxious. I'm lucky enough to be a B-cup on a good day (or maybe bad day?) and thats way more than I ever want to deal with.
Every once in a while I will find my self shirt-less in front of a mirror, and I find my breasts humorous at best. What the fuck? I see them as something that doesn't belong. What's wrong with this picture? I have boobs.
It seems like most other parts of being biologically female are tolerable though. I kinda have curvy hips? A hoodie will hide them. My voice is high? I can practice speaking in a lower octave. At least having scoliosis canceled out the hour glass figure.
I still cant seem to commit to wanting to go on Testosterone however. I want to be perceived as male though. I want it to be enough to wear mens clothes and have people call me Kyle. But T means therapy sessions, and going to court to change my name and gender marker, and comming out to aunts and uncles, and all of that is super intimidating.
I've gotten good at living a double life. I've figured out how to be between genders. It's within my comfort zone to be a masculine female, or androgenous, or genderqueer, or a no-op no-T trans man.
I still hate having boobs though.
1.23.2010
1.09.2010
My mother, myself, and alcohol...
3 and a half years ago, I had to call an ambulance for my mother. An hour ago, she asked for details about what had happened, and how she ended up in the hospital. It was a conversation I never expected to have, and wasn't sure about how to answer. And there was a major part of the story that she will never know.
My mother is Bi-polar. Let's start with that. When things are good, she takes depakote as prescribed to her, and for the most part, life is good. Not everything was good 3 1/2 years ago though. I was 21, almost 22, and hating that I still lived with her. We fought constantly, and I got kicked out of the house on a 3 week rotation. It was a regular thing. I would get home high and/or drunk between 3 and 4 in the morning too many days in a row. We would fight and she would say I needed to figure out a different living situation. I would couch surf with friends for a couple days till she called to apologise, saying she was sorry and wanted me to come back, and I would return. Life was good for the next couple weeks.
We were on week two of the cycle, (when I was about to get kicked out again) when I found her. I was on my way to check my e-mail (which meant going downstairs and passing her bedroom) before work when I noticed the TV was still on. I peeked into her room, and saw that she was on the floor out side the bathroom of the master suite. She was topless, but still wearing her pants, and shivering. I couldn't wake her up, and eventually called an ambulance for her.
In a perfect world, I called immediately, and everything works out ok. I, however, did not live in a perfect world. He had been fighting the past couple days. She had been forcing me to drink water every time she decided a situation was too stressful. I almost left her alone, almost pretended I had never found her unconscious, and almost went to work like everything was normal. I stood in the doorway, thinking about how much better my life could be if she didn't exist anymore, if I didn't have a bi-polar mother who decided not to take her meds anymore, and wondering what she might have left me in her will.
In my real world, I eventually called 911, and she was saved from slipping into a coma from a sodium deficiency that could have killed her. I sat in the waiting room long enough to hear that she had woken up and would be ok, and then went to a friends house to cry and get high. and then I tried to forget about it. I blocked out the fact that I had almost let my mother die.
And then tonight we drank wine together in the kitchen, and became way too honest. and she asked about that night, and I told her everything except how I almost left that day. everything but how I almost let her die because I thought it might make my life easier.
My mother is Bi-polar. Let's start with that. When things are good, she takes depakote as prescribed to her, and for the most part, life is good. Not everything was good 3 1/2 years ago though. I was 21, almost 22, and hating that I still lived with her. We fought constantly, and I got kicked out of the house on a 3 week rotation. It was a regular thing. I would get home high and/or drunk between 3 and 4 in the morning too many days in a row. We would fight and she would say I needed to figure out a different living situation. I would couch surf with friends for a couple days till she called to apologise, saying she was sorry and wanted me to come back, and I would return. Life was good for the next couple weeks.
We were on week two of the cycle, (when I was about to get kicked out again) when I found her. I was on my way to check my e-mail (which meant going downstairs and passing her bedroom) before work when I noticed the TV was still on. I peeked into her room, and saw that she was on the floor out side the bathroom of the master suite. She was topless, but still wearing her pants, and shivering. I couldn't wake her up, and eventually called an ambulance for her.
In a perfect world, I called immediately, and everything works out ok. I, however, did not live in a perfect world. He had been fighting the past couple days. She had been forcing me to drink water every time she decided a situation was too stressful. I almost left her alone, almost pretended I had never found her unconscious, and almost went to work like everything was normal. I stood in the doorway, thinking about how much better my life could be if she didn't exist anymore, if I didn't have a bi-polar mother who decided not to take her meds anymore, and wondering what she might have left me in her will.
In my real world, I eventually called 911, and she was saved from slipping into a coma from a sodium deficiency that could have killed her. I sat in the waiting room long enough to hear that she had woken up and would be ok, and then went to a friends house to cry and get high. and then I tried to forget about it. I blocked out the fact that I had almost let my mother die.
And then tonight we drank wine together in the kitchen, and became way too honest. and she asked about that night, and I told her everything except how I almost left that day. everything but how I almost let her die because I thought it might make my life easier.
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