(02 Feb 2017)
‘What’s Your Pain? What’s Your Pleasure?’
Pain and pleasure are a fine difference.
Why do you in M-F post-op identify the feelings of your new female anatomy as pain and not pleasure?
How much time elapsed until you interpreted your sense of pain to that of pleasure?
Why is dilation painfull and not pleasurable? How does your sense of pain interfere with your dilation schedule?
From what age and how much did you use your male anatomy for sexual purposes and pleasures?
When did you eventually perceive your new female anatomy as pleasure and not pain? What brought this about?
If you are pre-op, then what reservations do you hold against surgery when others tell you that they feel pain and not pleasure? How does this dissuade you from SRS / GCS?
The reverse seems obvious. For the F-M reading this topic, how does the extent of male function for the F-M patient cause that reaction to similarly identify it as pain until comprehended that it is pleasure?
There is an article regarding transition and M-F surgery past age 40
- ‘Warning for SRS’:
The article cautions for some M-F patients that being habituated to one concept interferes with acclimatising to the other – that M-F SRS / GCS is prone to failure when the person still sexually identifies as male. How does that hindrance apply to you?
We talked about this issue at a recent Spectrum meeting.
Boy Scouts is failing because it is weighted in religious sponsorship. Girl Scouts is flourishing – open to all and inclusive for both trans girls and trans boys.
My troop was sponsored through my Catholic parish; I recall religion was an essence to membership – ‘Ad Altari Dei’. My parish’s troop became large and eventually split to create a second troop at another Catholic parish (1970).
There was an item in national news a few weeks ago that a trans boy was refused his request to join as a boy member at a Boy Scout troop. The BSA denial was curious considering that Boy Scouts allow girls to join. Go figure.
I saw on one recent morning’s CBS news (31 Jan 17) that BSA flip-flopt. They now claim that they will accept trans children. Of course, what the national office declares is not necessarily what local churches allow – local churches will continue denying admission to trans children.
‘The day the music died’.
I was flipping channels. ‘La Bamba’ was on Decades TV (1 Feb 17).
They should have paired it with ‘The Buddy Holly Story’ as a double-feature. They ran this movie today.
Why has no one made a commemorative movie about JP ‘Big Bopper’ Richardson?
I was snacking on corn chips and fresh-made chicken chorizo bought on sale at el Super for $2 per pound. My friend, 30 miles away, texted that she could smell it at her home (sorry).
We got uno mucho problemo, mi Bangkok amiga – how to smuggle 100 pounds of el Super chicken chorizo into Thailand. When we go, I’m ‘not leaving home without it’.
The allure of Thai fried rice wafts this way. I really think that I can smell that aroma of Thai fried rice and fixings cooking at the Baan Siri kitchen – it takes several hours to travel from that distance.
What to do? Chicken chorizo or Thai fried rice?
Later, I woke from a nap and went outside to sun and finish my strawberries. A bee came buzzing at the smell of them from the grocery bag. Maybe there will be another sale on strawberries. Meanwhile, I have grapes and kiwi and peanuts for snacking. Yum!
Too soon my break-time was done and my session with #3 came next; #3 makes me quite happy, don’tcha know.
I’m at the library today to use wi-fi and attend a community class – ‘Roadmap’.
I need to download county property tax lien data for the auction.
Maybe my iPad will be restored soon.
Until recently, my endo had me only on 1mg estradiol per day. Now she has me set out my daily bottle to do five 1mg estradiol per day,
- plus progesterone,
- plus two types of vitamin d,
- plus a multi-vitamin,
- plus biotin.
I’m becoming gramma and her pills – teehee.
I don’t quite know if I am feeling any different, any better, with all that added medicine.
I want to do so much, but lack the wherewithal to do anything.
I want my career life restored that my employers stole from me – stole twice. Reality is that none of that will ever change – I shall never get my life restored from all that I lost at the blind acts of those two employers.
You should read my resume. I feel as though 40 years of my life and work mean nothing to anyone – which means that makes think that me and my entire life worthless. That’s what I frequently feel. Neither vitamins nor hormones wash away my feelings and depression. I must dig deep into my self to overcome a life of parents, family, ‘friends’, authority figures telling me that I am worthless.
I appreciate all that my friend Alana wrote to cheer me up. I read through it multiple times.
My conscious ‘knows’ that my personhood holds value. There is that residue of me that doesn’t ‘know’ whether I truly ‘love’ my self. I like me and I approve of my life accomplishments. I endure the echoes of my past that both nag my present and seek to hinder my future potential.
My sister Kathy is a prime example. She has always – ALWAYS – denigrated whatever I have done from earliest childhood to the present. Of late, she derides my attending trans support groups and wanting to help trans children. That leads to a wall blocking my advancement.
I do not consider my life a failure. I may not have changed the world; I do know that my small existance has been for the better. Yes, we (you, me, Kathy) are survivors. Kathy fails to recognise that fact no matter how frequently I tell that to her.
I consider my predicaments more manageable than if I faced experiences others endured – the concept that we endure what we have the capacity to endure. I give great credit for what others overcame. I suspect that any one would break me, yet you overcame them and more.
Life gives us a twist when we travel that straight path. My future remains unknown to me. Yet I never could have imagined where I am today less than two years ago.
My life had been exposed and denigrated by two over-powering employers (the US federal government and the State of Arizona) and other very real forces against me. My last employer (the State of Arizona) assured me that I would ‘never work again’. I eventually nose-dived into at least 15 months of depression (2013 – 1015), curled up in a ball on the floor, and slept my life away for days, weeks, months at a time.
Then I awoke to the world and found that there are many people who actually accept me for me – people among the community whom I never before knew existed. They welcomed me. I got active and am alive again.
Welcome to new reader ‘BlookUp’.
Thank you and everyone else for visiting. Come again.