Transition Update – Atlanta Trip

Yesterday was my every-fourth-month appointment with my doctor. Eight hours round trip not counting time spent in Atlanta. I’m nothing if not determined and dedicated! But…

I’ve been expressing discouragement to my SL family. A year and nine months into my transition and except for little boobies (which i really enjoy, by the way!)  there is no outward change. I know I’m not going to become Sophia Loren (83 yo)… hell, i’d be satisfied with any more feminine than Ernest Borgnine in drag! But nothing going on.

I expressed this two ways yesterday. One, i wore boy clothes there. Jeans, button up shirt and boat shoes. This is the first time my doctor has seen me this way. And two, I flat out told him that i was coming to the conclusion and adjusting to the fact there would be no changes. That i had waited too long to begin this. Decades too long.

He took a look at my lab results and there was a disturbing reading. My testosterone is pretty much eliminated. I don’t think i ever had much to begin with. But my estrogen level was at 38. Last visit was over 100. No new medication being taken, nothing that should effect my E level. So he had me take another blood test on the way out to doublecheck. Then he said if it came out the same he would up my estradiol pills to 8 mg a day, up from 6 mg, OR put me on patches or give shots. I assume the patches or shots will put more into my body. Double up that shit!

Regardless. My transition is not going well, my friends. I look at transition pictures on Reddit and follow many transgender women on Tumblr and i just want to hang myself! (metaphorically speaking, y’all) They are fantastic. I’ve seen bearded musclebound men turn into an attractive woman quickly. And i think to myself ‘what the fuck?’ Sigh

I”m whining. I know. I’m usually more up. I’ve told my family that i started this transition late in life because i didn’t want to die as an old man. I’m afraid..

Eh. Just post-visit depression, i guess. This is my promised update on my transition.

On a happier note, I’ve finished my first book in a year and a half! My writing has been trans erotic romances or futa erotic romances (59 ‘books’ on Amazon). I have written my first lesbian erotic romances. Had to decide whether to use a pen name on this. Not sure of a fan picking up this book based on my name (yes, i actually have fans that snag my books before they get advertised) would be disturbed by the genre change. I write as Isabella Belucci. Was considering… thanks Trixssy for such a delightful suggestion. Not sure “Monica Mufflebum” will fit the cover pic. LOL.

Till my next post, my darlings… hugs and kisses

Second Life Family

I joined Second Life because i live an isolated, lonely life. On purpose. It’s a safety thing for me. My own family had deserted me. My very first acts on landing in this strange new world was (1) look up my friends Daniel and Tish Wolfsong’s bar (they are now my SL brother and sister); get from them suggestions for transgender sims; and start searching for anything transgender related. A little narrow-casting in my wants at this point, huh. Which led me to a now-defunct sim TransTastic where, for the first time, I met others like me. Same issues. Same problems. But others to talk about it and share my life. At last! Someone who also had dysphoria. It was wonderful.

As often happens in Second Life, that sim folded. But before it did, i had discovered a new life that would serve me well… D/s — dominant/submissive — BDSM. Dancing at TransTastic i met an attractive girl who talked with me. That alone was an exhilarating experience for me haha. Then she revealed she was a sub with a mistress i had yet to meet. We danced over a period of days while i thoroughly researched the subject and found myself interested. She invited me to their home to meet the domme. Two days later i was submitted, collared and learning the myriad mistakes one can make LOL. Yikes.

A family. A domme and two subs… but in my mind, a mother and two sisters.

And that’s how it’s been ever since. I see this lifestyle i’ve chosen as being a mother with a growing family. That’s wrong, as i’ll mention later, but for the longest time that is what i felt.  Over time I gather others to me. I provided them love, a place to live, safety, caring, encouragement.

I have learned, thanks to my mentor Chloe, that i am not a mother. I am their domme. Big difference which i won’t go into here. I have become stronger from her guidance, and from the encouragement of the girls themselves, particularly my SL wife Trixssy.  The Hand of the Queen! They want me strong and decisive. I am.

Today i pruned from my family tree. An errant daughter (continuing the metaphor) who failed to show up for weeks at a time. Patience growing to impatience, excuses lacking, time to cut the duckling loose to learn to fly on her own.

We’re still a family. We talk, we encourage, we occasionally fight LOL, but in the end, we’re the Bella family. Proud and united.

I have a family.

At last.

Musings on Two Events

At my latest appointment with my transition doctor my pleas were heard. Since my second visit I’ve asked him to increase my dosage. I’m old and in a hurry LOL. Of course, I asked in a joking manner… I don’t tell highly educated doctors what to do. He’d look at my labs and say ‘no, you are where I want you to be.’  Well I’ll be damned if he looked over all my lab results this time, nodded gently and said ‘your testosterone is excellent, but I think we can up your estrogen.’ I squealed a little bit, embarrassingly so. He raised my dosage by 50%! Now we’re getting somewhere.

Had a horrible experience recently. If you’ve read my blog you know I am involved with various ministries in the Catholic church, and have had some minor and major battles with priests, their homilies and the Church’s stance. At the church I am currently a member I happen to be the head of the bereavement committee. When a parishioner dies I lead the process from notification to creating the mass booklet to the funeral mass itself. I’m not done until dirt is being thrown on the grave.

So on Tuesday i saw through a funeral mass. As usual, due to too much practice, everything went perfectly. I take pride in making things run smoothly… this is a process to honor a deceased’s life and is important to the family to remember their last pubic appearance of their loved one.

At the after-mass luncheon the family and friends gather to share a meal and memories. We on the committee take part in the meal. So I’m sitting at a table with my co-members shoveling down some home cooking not my own (always a plus) when one of the family members approaches us. This is a normal event. The family likes to thank us for our efforts at this difficult time.

“I just wanted you to know… i find you a disgrace.  I’m disgusted you had anything to do with my mother’s funeral. I hope you’re happy.”

Stunned? Yeah. Speechless? Absolutely. Angry? No. Only angry I don’t pass well enough to have no such scene. I’m rarely spoken to quite so directly, though. When my ex-priest spent four homilies decrying the destruction of the family by those ‘men in dresses’ I simply left that church and moved to this one. I’m not a confrontational person.

Those two events intertwine. Hopefully my transition will improve enough that someone may say to themselves ‘something odd about that ugly old woman’ but feel no need to ask me why.  Then I can go about my life quietly without incident. I have no desire to do anything other than live my life quietly and in peace.

 

Nightmare Solved

A while back I posted explaining to the person I love the reason for my — shall we put it mildly and call it distrust — of men. Not A Pretty Story. (Trust me… don’t read it.) I had the pleasure last night of discussing my first books (T-Girl in the Office) with a friend who had been reading this 9-book series. As noted before this is a romanticized version of my life. So she asked if one of the events was true. The scene of my near-castration at the hands of a gang of assholes. Sadly it was true. We talked about it for a while and I explained it had finally been figured out that I suffer from what I consider a mild form of PTSD. I’ll leave that diagnosis to those military types who have suffered real, actual trauma, not my piddling little panic. Nevertheless, it affected me and my life ever since. It has defined me. The result was a recurring nightmare. I’d wake up screaming at the top of my lungs. My dog doesn’t even wake up any more hahahaha.

In talking about this with her it slowly dawned on me: I have not had the nightmare in… I can’t recall the last time! I cannot recall!!! And I don’t want to think about it other than to note its demise. I can attribute this to one person and one person only. My love. I will call her Kelly here. My Second Life wife. Through her love and her love alone, her caring nature, calming demeanor and the fact that I know had I been with her it never would have happened. She would move heaven and earth to prevent it. I now realize that not all men are assholes who want to hurt me for no reason other than that I am different. Kelly would stand between me and any attack… physical or verbal. There is not a doubt in my mind. My darling, I could not love you more. Thank you for being in my life, SL and RL.

 

 

Hiatus Over

I learned over the 2015 holiday season that book sales reeked. Badly. I was very discouraged at that time. I was following what was a weekly publishing of a new book. So in self-defense this year I took a two-month sabbabical. Nothing new came out in November and December. The result?: I have been astonished at how much people continued buying or reading my old books. This has proven to me the value of having a decent catalog. Every doggone one of my 58 books have been either bought or read at least once. Not only has this done a lot for my self-esteem but hasn’t hurt my pocketbook any either. Kudos to Reed James, a prolific author FB friend of mine who currently has a catalog of — can this be right? — 881. Wow. Anyway back when I started and was complaining about meager sales he told me to write, publish, and grow as big a catalog as possible as quickly as possible. Like all other advice he’s given me it has proven valuable.

That said, time to swing back to work. A 4-book series that sold more than once during this time was Her Hot Futa Wife. Hot wives must be appealing to lots of folks LOL. Naturally, then, I am working on a new series on futa hot wives. Look forward to my usual nasty, sexy over-the-top erotica to come out next week.

 

An Anniversary

December 14 marked the one year mark of my HRT. Before that I was working hormone-free, just soaking in the testosterone poisoning and being a girl. Found a doctor to prescribe my medication then he dies in an accident. Found a replacement and am very happy that I’ve begun my journey.

What I’m not happy about is my progress. I have a simple wish… to be able to walk down a street without seeing people elbowing their companions and pointing at me. How small a fucking town do I have to live in before I’m comfortable? I’d move to a cabin in the woods but I’m afraid my heels would dig into the dirt paths LOL.

I went shopping yesterday. Needed some retail therapy to get out of a funk. I bought some very nice stuff. Then I remembered when I was trapped with other townsfolk due to hurricane evacuation I had no male-type clothes to wear… I went en fem, sort of. Sloppy but me. So yesterday I actually bought jeans and a few shirts. Just in case. I can’t tell you how depressed it made me to think I may have to go back to them. I held them up and looked at them, tears in my eyes. I would hate it.

I’m giving myself two more years. My doctor said I’d reach full effect after three years. Fingers crossed. No matter how I’m dressed… how ugly I am… how unlike the many transition photos I see on Reddit that I’ll never be able to attain… I am a woman. <sigh>

Sorry. Holiday depression starting to set in. Happens every year around this time when I go out and see all the excited families shopping, laughing, enjoying the season. Will I ever get over this annual funkfest? Heehee <sigh> No

My only high point has been my discovery of Second Life where I’ve been able to start a life, find a love, and now even plan a wedding. Thank you Kelly Cross for coming into my life. Hope my downer of a post doesn’t scare you haha. I’ll be fine as soon as I see you log on.

 

I’m So Excited

My General Practitioner just called me. To remind my readers, after the doctor who treated me for my transition died in a car accident I was in search for a replacement before my prescriptions ran out. The obvious choice was my GP since it was a matter of picking up the script. He refused saying he had no training in the field and it was more complicated than just reissuing prescriptions.

I found the specialist in Atlanta, a five-hour drive. Well worth the effort. Meanwhile just last month I had my semi-annual check-up with the GP. After his exam he asked how the “Atlanta treatment” was going. I told him everything and we discussed the tests and results just so he’d be aware. After all, he had to drop one of my medications because it conflicted with the HRT. No judgment, just good doctor care.

So maybe ten minutes ago he calls. In an oblique manner he asked “do you recall the question you asked at the end of last year?” That could only mean one thing so I said yes. “I have a patient who came to me with the same request. Would you be willing to give me the name of the doctor you see in Atlanta?” So by the time I stopped squealing I said sure, just let me look it up.

THERE IS A TRANSGENDER SOMEWHERE IN MY TOWN! Besides me, that is. I wonder if I’ll run into him/her (the doctor didn’t say whether it MTF or FTM… wouldn’t make a difference).

Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone to have coffee with? Share a noontime sandwich? Just talk mutual concerns. <sigh>

An Odd Issue Under Consideration

I’ve been thinking a lot about SRS ever since the article I posted concerning the possibility of military vets deserving surgery benefits (Be Still My Heart). After all these years would I take that step? It’s the logical move after years of therapy, being on HRT, living the life, isn’t it?

I identify as a trans woman. Whenever anyone is rude enough to ask me what I am — as if I’m a species different from them — I say I am a transgender woman.In my heart and soul, I am a woman. It took decades to realize that truth. Now that I’m on HRT my hormone levels indeed match that truth. I’m a happy camper.

In the event I have SRS… that I remove that bit of flesh that insists on messing up my tight clothes to require special attention to disguise, I would finally have the body that matches my heart and soul. A woman in all ways.

And therein lies my self-analysis. As a trans I feel unique. Different. And I sort of revel in that. If I had the SRS I would no longer feel that uniqueness. I would join half the population as female. It’s an odd quandary and I’m not sure what to think at the moment. Am I nuts? I honestly don’t think anything will come of it. The government paying for the operation? Pshaw. (Is that a word?) But would I want to join the sea of women or stay something only a few claim?

I don’t know. Babbling, I guess. Just food for thought. I’m an odd person.

Hilarious Review of My First Book

I have to laugh. This is the absolute worst review  I’ve received and I can’t help but shake my head in wonder. This is for “T-Girl in the Office Book 1: The Beginning.” This is my story, basically, of my first steps as myself. The whole series is based on events from my life, from working in a law office to moving to Florida. It is a nine-book series … my longest to date. So someone picked it up and decided the following:

New! Kindle Customer reviewed T-Girl in the Office Book 1: The Beginning

S ick October 1, 2016

I can only assume the man is a closet flag. He should’ve just apologized and said it’s not my thing.

First, I’m pretty sure I’m not a ‘closet flag.’ I may wave in a stiff breeze but still…

I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who simply did not get the point in any degree. A trans woman meets the man who becomes her great love. He learns to look beyond the superficial and see a beautiful, intelligent woman beyond her penis.

I wonder exactly what this reviewer thought he was going to read from a book who’s very title shouts “T-Girl” as the first word and has the universal transgender logo on the fucking cover. <sigh> Maybe he doesn’t know the meaning of the term.

An Epiphany

I had a lot of traffic for my last post “Not A Pretty Story,” not the least of which was the person I was explaining myself to. (Thanks, my darling, for understanding.) It also generated comments on Facebook and Twitter besides my friends here at WordPress. Some insights were shared with me and one, in particular, has caught my attention.

As I am, in the most basic sense, hiding from life, unable to interact in ways a normal person takes for granted, I just may be suffering from more than simply being shy. The suggestion was that I have PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder. While I have always thought of that in terms of combat vets who had witnessed and/or participated in the horrors of war, I have to admit I was just a tad stressed by my experience.

Since I was irritated and kind of blamed my therapist for putting me in the position to be attacked in the first place, I never went back. I cancelled her by phone. Had I instead gone and told her what happened, just maybe she would have (1) walked me through the healing process, and (2) given me a fucking discount! That would have helped. Instead, I’ve been stewing in this memory for a very long time.

I have written the incident into my stories several times now as an explanation for my protagonist’s personality. The very first series I wrote and published — T-Girl in the Office — (I’m not linking because this isn’t an advertisement post) is a telling of my life starting with working alone in a law firm midnight shift. Vastly romanticized, of course. Had to have a happy ending. The hope was that writing about it would dissipate its power. I tried three times not counting my previous post. I won’t again. It hasn’t worked. Going to sleep I hug my pillow dreaming of my love, wrapped in her safe arms. But during the night I have flashes.

Bottom line: if I’m ever going to be comfortable going out in public, much less dressed en fem, I may need to find a therapist. Haha! Could be more of a challenge that you think.

So thanks for your comments, everybody. Seriously. It has helped me. And isn’t that why we do blogs in the first place?