Suffice to say that some stuff went down, I'm dealing with it, I will be making this as regular as a thing as I can, but lots of stuff has been happening and I just needed time to sort my shit out.
I'll be filling you in (as much as I will say in public) in due course, so thanks for staying with me xx
Without further delay....
"Morning luv, Happy Birthday! There's coffee downstairs for you"
My feelings about this were mixed,
On the one hand, It's coffee, literally the second I woke up.
On the other hand, it was waking up.
The details of the day aren't important, but I tried to make the best of the shitty situation.
I spent the morning with my parents who made me coffee and gave me my Birthday cards and a kick up the arse, the afternoon hanging out with friends giving me support and wisdom (Thank You, Barry. It meant a lot old bean.), then the evening with my Ex wife for Chinese food and Rick & Morty (The done thing when your Birthday is on a Monday and you only physically separated yesterday). We hung out, she gave me some cards and we discussed my upcoming birthday house party on the Saturday. So after making plans for what food to buy and how much booze etc, that I could take the spare room on the night and help to clean up in the morning, then I went home for an early night. But I ended up having a late one on the sauce with my mum and dad.
In the circumstances, it was as good as my 35th Birthday could have been.
That is to say, nothing bad happened. I did the things that I wanted to do given my situation.
The next couple of days were spent mainly, just sorting things out at home.
My life was contained in a collection of small to medium boxes.
Trying to organise my limited space in my room, unpack, sort out how I was going to make living from my parent's spare room easier, at least in the foreseeable future.
Thursday 28th would be a notable day though.
I took my mum and dad to a clinic appointment and afterwards took them to the train station, so they could go and have a date night in Liverpool (Dawww).
As soon as I got home I was in the shower, full shave, makeup and wig on, some leggings and a casual tunic top, made myself presentable but comfortable.
This was the first time I had presented female in this house and I did not have to hide.
Admittedly, it had been over 12 years since I had last done so in this house.
This was the first day my parents saw me present as a woman.
They had seen pictures last year when I first told them I was having gender issues,
but I'm not sure that it sank in at the time, I've discussed this stuff before in a previous post. I can't cope with looking like a guy for long stretches. I've always needed the respite that comes when I see myself in the mirror, looking just that little bit more like what I want to look like, because that's how I feel my happiest. Comfortable in how I look. Even if it was only ever in the confines of my home.
The weight of dysphoria lifts, I feel happier and less bogged down with conflict in my head.
I think it was fair to say that the last couple of weeks had been pretty heavy, and I needed to feel some happiness and a rest from the weight of everything else.
After a day of messing around on my PC and chatting to friends online, while mum and dad were getting sloshed in Liverpool, they texted me from the train station as they called their taxi and asked me to put the kettle on (Standard behaviour in our family - A brew is never far away).
When they walked in, I was upstairs grabbing my cigarettes, I called out;
"Hello?"
"Hiya luv! Are you making this pot of tea then?" (Again, standard, it's a fairly typical greeting when you live here).
I walked down-stairs and my mum was the first one I saw, she was leaned forward taking her boots off, as she stood up straight, I got an excited, surprised, happy;
"OH MY GOD!" and a big beaming smile that I smiled back at,
"...You look brill!", well that was easy enough...
"What's up?" my dad then boomed from behind the living room door...
He opened it to see me stood with my mum, his mouth open like a goldfish.
I gave him the jazz-hands gesture that people use when they present themselves with a "Taa-daa!" and a grin. Not a clue why. I'm a bit weird like that sometimes.
The fish mouth morphed into a smile, then it was covered by his hands and he began to laugh... Wasn't really what I expected, I have to be honest.
He wasn't mocking me, this is something my dad does in his moments of "I can't believe it!" It's worth remembering to expect the unexpected I guess.
I got big hugs off them both, poured myself a strong drink and went to the back door for a cigarette. The pot of tea could wait.
My mum started telling me about where they had been, where they ate how much gin they had drank, then sarcastically complained,
"I'll make this brew then, shall I?"
But my dad was uncharacteristically quiet. He was still stood, eyes wide like saucers giving me that same surprised stare. If he wasn't my dad, it would have been a bit creepy...
"Dad are you alright? You're staring a bit" I had to make sure he was okay after all, this was a 'first something' for each one of us...
"Sorry cock... ('cock' is a term of endearment in the North West of England. It isn't an insult or reference to gender. You will just have to take my word for it on this),
...You're just really pretty, I can't believe it!"
My. Heart. Fucking. Melted.
Possibly the sweetest words I've ever heard my dad say about me.
But like a cunt, I said "You don't have to say that you know..." - (I've never been good at taking compliments. There's always something in my head telling me that my friends or family are only ever trying to cheer me up, rather than being the good people I know them to be, and giving me praise for something.)
"...I know I look like a man in makeup and a wig"
In almost perfect stereo synchronisation, I got a Mum and Dad duet rendition of
"No, you don't!" and then for their encore, "YOU LOOK GORGEOUS!".
10/10 would see again ;)
Nothing like a Mum and Dad flattery campaign to perk you up [/embarrassed-reaction.gif]
So this made up for my less than spectacular Birthday.
In the wake of the separation from my wife, my mum's health problems, moving into my parent's house, all just kinda felt a little better for a little while.
I've got a good mum and dad. Trust them to look after my ego when I can't even...
It felt incredible. It was like a light got flicked on in a dark corner of my mind.
I wasn't happy by a long shot, but I got closer for the first time in nearly 3 weeks of complete misery. Like, if the zenith of happiness is the desert at the end of a 5 course meal, this was the amuse-bouche.
The appetiser came that very weekend at the house party for my birthday.
Looking back, I was probably a bit over dressed for a house party, especially one of my house parties (which historically end up in piley-ons (if you don't know, look it up), sweat, fire, vomit and one time a guy at my door offering my whole party outside for a fight).
But, honestly, I just didn't care because for one night at least, my nearest would see me as I am. Or at the very least they would see the blueprints for the 'me' I want to build. And you know what, I felt pretty.
I was surrounded by love, with a belly full of 12.5% fizzy love - Needles to say I loved it.
I don't regret how drunk I got that night, but I do wish I could remember more of it.
But turn up at my house with prosecco and that's the way the night is going!
 |
| The outfit I wore for the house party. Overdressed? |
"Your love and acceptance means more than you know. Thank you all xxx".
It was a good job it went well. Because the days, weeks and months ahead were amongst the best and the worst I've ever known.
On the one hand, I met new people for the first time (they don't know me as a man), and got a taxi by myself for the first time - and the driver called me 'luv' and other slang feminine pronouns during the ride.
On the other hand, I had a week where I stayed in my room, didn't talk, didn't wash, eat or even sleep for more than 3 or 4 hours because I spent the whole time in darkness in bed.
And when I got a taxi by myself for the second time and got 'mate', 'pal' and my personal favourite in a Wigan accent, 'Fella'. [*/WHAT!?.mp3*]. I could feel my inner Tumblr feminist raging hard deep in my head. But I valued not being kicked out of a taxi in howling wind and rain, or worse, more than I valued my gender identity. Fear is a bastard.
The problem is, when you've been afraid for long enough, you become accustomed to it and even begin to accept it.
So I let the taxi man mis-gender me instead of saying what I though,
"What part of this *gesture to point at my perfectly made up face, hair and dress* makes you want to say "Fella", I don't look like this by accident you spunk-flute!"....
You know what, Having re-read that last bit, I stand by my original decision to keep shtum.
Wouldn't have gone my way, LOL!
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