Evening gorgeous xx
You all good today? I hope so. If not, I give you my very best wishes and will say; “Be Patient, the wheel of fortune always turns in our favour in the end”. Love & Light, etc.
Today’s post is about emotions. Not strong ones, not bad ones, not overly good ones. Just emotions, feelings and the power of being a woman. Which is what I am.
You see, last week I went and spoke to my doctor about something I’d been thinking about for a long time; ever since I started to Transition, in fact. What I wanted to speak to him about; was changing my treatment slightly. Adding something into the mix which, I believed, would help. However; when he started me on HRT, he advised against adding it in as he believed it would do more harm than good. And he didn’t want that.
I don’t blame him – No doctor wants to see their patient get worse. And his belief, justifiably so, was that adding the hormone Progesterone into my treatment mix would not cause any lasting, positive effects. At my age, that is understandable. If I were genetically female, I would be in Menopause by now and Progesterone wouldn’t help; it would hinder my progress massively. Somehow though, for whatever reason, I knew differently – I can’t explain why myself, I just knew. So I talked to him and requested he add it; which, reluctantly, he did.
Well there was nothing for a day or two, not much; I felt a little calmer but that was about it. Over the course of the week though, I could feel myself getting worse. Tense. An inner tension I had never felt before and I didn’t know how to deal with it. My only way of dealing with it was to ignore it, hoping it would go away. It’s just another emotional outburst coming on, that’s all. It was more than that though, I was losing control. I was acting out but in a controlled, distributed way. Like I knew what I was doing, knew it had to happen and was doing just that, letting it happen. An inner sense inside me told me it was right; but I wasn’t listening, the radio was off.
It came on, violently, over the weekend. Not a physical violence; I hasten to add, but an emotional one. I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror, I kept seeing Bert; not Vikki. I cried when I did so and no matter what I did to make me look like Vikki in the mirror, it just ended up going wrong. Everything ended up going wrong.
On Friday, I had an appointment for my routine injection. I’d been given the prescription to collect myself and take to the appointment; as I was learning to inject myself, in order to make life easier. So I went in, the Nurse opened the box, read the instructions, looked at the dosage, and stopped dead in her tracks.
“I’ll have to take this up with a doctor, it’s the wrong dose”, she said.
Before I knew what was happening, she was gone, and I was on my phone doing the research we would most likely have done together. We were right, but there was a way of making the dose safe, by giving me just one vial of the liquid and not two. But it was too late for that, she was gone.
When she came back in, she said she’d spoken to a different doctor and they had withheld the dosage for safety reasons – they wanted to speak with the specialist and they though I should be fine until they had. They’d had to research the drug themselves first, as they knew nothing about it, but they didn’t want to give me the drug. Not that they’d been in to see me and discussed the drug with me, as I knew a lot about it.
I understand WHY they did it, don’t get me wrong; but I felt an uncontrollable rage building within me, so I made my apologies; advised I was OK (I wasn’t, I was extremely worried as this drug HAS to be given on time) and left. And as I left, I posted with reception that I wasn’t happy, at all, and requested my doc call me – He hasn’t as of writing this, but that is by the by.
If Friday night was awful, Saturday was even worse. I don’t think I remember much about Saturday, it’s a big foggy. What I do recall, was pissing my best friend off (as detailed in a previous post), I couldn’t stop myself from doing it – See “The Dutch Girl” for more information on that one.
Sunday, was hell on earth. Dysphoria was rife, I could see I was dysphoric, I couldn’t stop crying, I couldn’t comfort myself and I felt like utter, utter shit. Damn.
Then a strange thing happened, my mirror fell off the living room wall; all on it’s own. I didn’t do anything to assist it and it was secured to the wall very well – No reason for it to fall off at all. It was at that point though something hit me – Ring your best mate. Do not pass go, do not collect £200, make the call. I did. I said I wasn’t feeling well, I was very Dysphoric, I was in hell and I didn’t feel like I could get out. And I wouldn’t be over for dinner as we’d agreed days earlier. I worried her, I know I did.
She got on with her day, and I went to sleep; for a very long time. When I woke, she had messaged me asking if I was OK. I was, I said so. We discussed the weekends events and I blurted out how I felt. We both said it at the same time – You’ve come on your Period!
Nah! Get the fuck out of here! Trans Women can’t have periods? Can they? I haven’t had one YET! – There’s a first time for everything…
But they can have period symptoms, and that’s EXACTLY what the emotions feel like, all I missed was the physical pain – My stomach hurt a bit, but I assumed that’s because I was hungry as it wasn’t remotely painful; just uncomfortable. But other than that and being a bit achy, no real pain at all. She called me a Lucky Bitch and changed the subject. Just as well really. I’m 95% certain she suffers with Endometriosis, and have suggested that to her. I went back to sleep, exhausted.
Today has been a lot better, I’ve had a lot more energy than I’ve had in the last 12 months, I’ve been a lot more focused than I’ve been recently and I’ve even had a telephone interview with a recruiter and NEVER bothered to mention I was Trans; as I didn’t care. He treated me like a Woman and I was happy with that – Hopefully a positive outcome? We’ll see.
And then there was tonight.
Well I do have to say a massive big thank you to another friend of mine; for doing something they don’t realise they’ve done, yet. They will, but not at the time of writing this post. I’ll see them tomorrow and explain all.
You see, all they did was ask me for help. They’ve got some issues which I’m not going to divulge; it wouldn’t be fair and they needed to get home. Taxis were being stupidly slow and they were worrying unnecessarily. So they called me. And I’d just got out of the shower and was relaxing on the bed, trying to have some me time to myself; but in the back of my mind, knowing it was pointless – If I’m honest, I had a feeling I was getting a call from someone but I didn’t know who, or why, so I was kinda edgy; hence the relaxation time.
Well I told them I’d just got out of the shower. And they were OK with that, no problem they’d wait for a taxi – 15 minutes minimum, probably longer. And then one of my butterflies fell off the wall. Weird…
Shit don’t fall off my walls, I was a cisgender man for 45 years and the male in several heterosexual relationships – I was taught to be a man. So as a woman, I’m not gonna need a man; I’m gonna WANT one. I do, eventually, just not yet; I’m enjoying being a woman, being me, so I don’t care about a relationship at the moment, it’ll happen when it’s ready to. And that’s the big difference for me. I don’t NEED men, I can it myself thank you.
“Shit don’t fall off my walls!”…
Fuck. It’s a sign. Get up, get dressed, go help them. Don’t argue, do – The switch had flipped. I texted back and said I’d be there in 10. The reply was that the taxi would be 15. I responded with; “The race is on then?”. Got dressed and left, not thinking about a damned thing.
There was an issue along the way which took my mind off things somewhat; due to a silly person who didn’t know how to drive (brake testing the car behind at a crossing when the lights are on green and nobody wants to cross is a pretty stupid move – I wasn’t tailgating you; you idiot, you just thought I was. I KNOW there was enough braking room), but that’s by the by. I got there, jumped out of the car and opened the boot… And realised, I had no makeup on. My hair wasn’t done. I wasn’t wearing any of my “extras” that I use to look feminine.
Yet I felt more feminine than I’d ever done before. I felt proud to be a woman. I felt proud to be a woman who will help her friends when they need it; but is strong enough to take control and say no when they don’t. I felt like I’d broken the ice on my new life as a woman. I felt, almost, complete.
We got back, had a brew and a natter. Everything felt normal, I felt normal. They gave their opinion that I looked good without make-up and that they didn’t see it until they were told. And it all just felt reassuringly female, reassuringly normal. And I felt like me – Finally.
When I got home, I looked in the mirror and cried tears of joy. This is me. This is Vikki Kinsella. Hello at last and good to meet you. But hold on, haven’t I said that before?
Something is working then… 😉