The Pill

28 years ago, at the tender age of 14
I had no idea what to call it and yet  deep down I knew that a part of me was hiding waiting to get out.
Secreting into my mums closet and trying on her dowdy clothing, the thrill I would experience non the less filled me with fleeting joy, until I happened to see my reflection a foul and hideous creature that taunted me as I realised my fate was to be ugly, male and despicable.

For nearly two years I had been weekly trying on my Mothers clothing and shoes and for all that time my reflection continued to taunt me.
At such a young age and not having access to the Internet or the knowledge to find the answers in a library, I was stumbling around in the dark with no hint of light to guide me.
Strange that even then I knew deep in my heart that I knew I never wanted to be a boy, and that my saviour would be to get on the pill. my logic to this was simple:
girls take the pill,
girls have breasts
girls are pretty
So therefore if I get the pill I too can be a girl
and be pretty and have breasts
Alas not knowing how to approach a doctor and say please I need the pill I need to be the girl, I was meant to be, for two more years I failed to understand and not surprisingly I never got the pill

One day as I rifled through my brothers room I came across a mighty treasure.
Trans-sex climax
even then, the term meant nothing to me
yet these images inside, goddesses with large male appendages spoke so clearly to me.
these beautiful women were exactly who i dreamed of being. to many times to count i would sneak away this golden book and read the stories and fantasise for just a while that it was me that was being worshipped
by their lovers
Finally I had a name to put to the feelings that have plagued me so long Transsexual.
Looking at them these goddesses I realised I could never be like them with their beautiful faces and curvaceous bodies, so perfectly female except for that one difference.
I could never be like them I believed, after all they were born this way weren't they

 It wasn't till much later, after many years of snow-dropping my neighbours clothes lines and an embarrassing collection of magazines that I discovered that my assumptions were wrong, these girls had been born with male bodies, its just that they had found where to get the pill. And it took me many more years to realise that their bodies were in part due to cosmetic surgery as well.

Fast forward to 31 years old. I have the Internet and can know at last, discover how and what caused these girls I adored so to have the curves and the features of a beautiful woman
So much misinformation to wade through on my journey of understanding. And so many shattered dreams later I finally discovered my holy grail
A site dedicated to helping troubled souls find the knowledge and vital information about "The Pill "
At last I cry briefly, until I discover that without surgery I will still see that same face and that same ugly body taunting me and ridiculing me for being so male and so hideous

Here I am yearning with all my heart to be the beauty in the fairytale, yet I'm forever doomed to be the repulsive beast and never the beauty I dream of being.

And then  finally a break. I happened to come across two amazing people who not only shared with me their stories, but their before and after pictures also. neither of these two girls have had cosmetic surgery yet and nor do they need any. Finally it all clicks into place that yes I can be that girl I dream of being
maybe not as buxom and plastic but a girl.

So 28 years later and I am on "The Pill", OK so not quite the pill  I was thinking of back then, but something better and much more effective, And I am now that girl that longed for freedom all those years ago.

Free at last, just to be me.

Working creatively

Having gained a wealth of knowledge from my many years in the shopfitting industry.

Building something as simple as a small kiosk in a shopping mall, fitting out major retail outlets across Australia. And performing complete renovations to to office buildings, to the tenant's designs. Sometimes in such a way as to keep the office in general operational. This is difficult yet not impossible, it just needs a bit of planning and forethought

lately I have been called upon by a friend, to design and manufacture overhead cabinets in their kitchen, and to modify their counter top for so they could install their new oven. I'm pleased to say they love the way my cabinets have cleaned up what was, not a user friendly design.

My current project sees me quoting for a clothing store that I regularly buy my wardrobe items from.
All in all it is quite an extensive make over comprising of:

two new change-rooms,

a free standing mirror

and 

extra hanging rails to the back of the change-rooms.

And this is just stage one.

Stage two will see me constructing several office partitions from the floor up, and remodelling their staff kitchen.  

As I sat designing the layout and the various fixtures, I remembered what is I enjoy so much about my work.
Its seeing the smiling face of another happy customer, yes I like the money too obviously

Its a great feeling to know that I still possess a talent and to see that all my skills are still as sharp as they were years ago. now all I need to do is learn how to sell myself.

But baby its cold outside . . .

One of my close friends, who having only recently began hormone replacement therapy. Reminded me today about my own early days on hormone therapy and the effects it has on your body.
June of 2010 having been on Oestrogen for the best part of four months with a wide range of effects being noticed: softer skin, increased sense of smell, emotional peace, hard painful lumps under my nipples, as my breast buds started developing and one Side effect that I certainly wasn't prepared for nor even expected. my bodies sudden inability to keep warm.

my firsts job in Melbourne saw me contracted out to a roofing company, so here I am working 25 feet up on a school roof, handling sheets of iron all day. The wind ripping through my multiple layers of clothing, chilling me to the bone.
An average days attire would be:

• Two pair of thick socks 
• A pair of leggings 
• A pair of thick denim jeans 
• One vest 
• Two T-shirts 
• Two jumpers 
• And two Jackets 

Combine this with a thick beanie and gloves, you would be forgiven for thinking that I would be toasty warm.
But not so, every day I would shiver and shake, almost as if I was on the ski slopes in just jeans and a light T-shirt.
So cold was I that I even resorted to taping two cotton pads to my nipples to try and alleviate the burning cold and incredibly cold breasts. Just touching them or brushing then against fabric would be painful enough to make me cry. I kid you not, some mornings it was so unbearable that I would be holding my chest tightly to try and relieve the burning cold.

Working on a roof exposed to my first Melbourne winter, which by all accounts was the coldest and wettest in ten years. At night going from being the thermal blanket to curling up at night under multiple layers of bedding and even then needing to keep the oil heater on high just to stay warm enough to stop shivering

And now one of my friends is going through a similar intolerance to the cold, she told me today that had she known about the effects HRT would have on the bodies ability to cope with the first winter, she would have delayed commencing hormone therapy till spring

Looking back, I too might have delayed beginning therapy

Although having said that, having cold & sore breasts was a constant and strangely enjoyable reminder that I had finally begun my transition, the one thing I had dreamed of doing for so long that the discomfort of my first few months was surpassed by the joy I felt in finally being true to myself

Dumb Ass

For months now (OK a year) I have been lamenting the lose of someone very special in my life here in Melbourne
as is pretty obvious from most of my updates .
Someone that I had always enjoyed spending time, as we exploring this great big city together.
(remember that I come from Adelaide, a small village in South Australia. OK, so it calls itself a city but at one square mile and less than a third of the population of Melbourne, its a small village)
We would regularly catch up for a meal or just go skating and other fun things that we used to do.
So many of my fondest memories included her, just lying in fed square with her is still one of my favourite memories
Despite having some great close friends, not having her in my life really sucks

And the silly part of this, is that its probably my fault in more ways than I care to admit.
At the time I was having so much difficulty reading her motives and expressions I assumed, that she had lost all interest in me ( this may be true).  However having disabling panic attacks, that prevented me from having anything of a social life with her and telling her to forget about me over and over again , did not really help my cause at all.
Yes I was screaming for her help, help to see more of this city, help to learn how to feel and help to find a way to integrate myself in the community as a functional person, not this twisted wreck I feel like now.

Even after all this time I still find myself wanting to ask "how she's been" and "how her studies are going"       ( not that I need to ask at all, she's so damn smart).I don't even ask our mutual friends about her, even though they know that I'm curious about how she's doing.

But the two things that really surprised me were,

1.  Her her partner is going through a rough patch, and all I want to do is reach out to them and offer my help and support and to let them know I care for them.
2. Recently I found myself in a position to offer something of benefit to, either her partner or my close friend.
   both of these people invest an enormous amount of time and energy into bettering our community.
   Suffice to say that I had to ask a third party for advice, as I did not want my decision affected by emotions.

I know that I need to move on and put her out of my mind, but I have only ever done that to one person, his treatment to me was tantamount to physical and psychological, abuse mixed up with a healthy dose of theft not bad for a friend of 16 years.
I have never been good at forgetting the ones I love, even when that love changes or when I realise their the psycho ex

So I guess for now. I'm stuck remembering a friend that I no longer get to see or hear from. but whom I'll never forget