3/4 of the way through "She's not there"

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I'm about 3/4 of the way through "She's not there", and its a tough bit to read. I mean, the early stuff, the early struggle with identity, the fight against oneself, the hope that falling in love would cure oneself, finding a partner and building a life only to realize that it didnt take the urge to be a woman away; all this is stuff I can really relate to. But this is the part where she's just about to have the surgery, and from here on, its going to be territory with which I have no link to, and might never know. But I'll grit my teeth and get through it.

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Surgery

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I'm sure that everyone's different, but it seemed to me that by the time I was ready for surgery, it was just a thing that needed to be done, and I did it, and it was over. Dealing with the healing process wasn't the most fun thing in the world, but I've hurt worse, and having a nice break from the insane stress of my job was awesome.

If people asked me if I was worried about the surgery, I told them that I wasn't, as I'd either be dead (which would have been a nice break from that stressful job) or not, and I'd deal with whatever happened or not. And, of course, that I could always kill myself later if it didn't work out.

But it's been eighteen years, and I haven't regretted those decisions at all.

-- Jane

-- Jane

Buyer's remorse...

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It is only because I live 3000 miles from Cathy T that I can say this. If I lived in Ohio still, she'd be on my door step and I'd be across her lap getting um what for. :)

I'll just back into this so I can protect my backside. These days are the happiest of my entire life, ever, like totally. Of course, I was never really male. I was inter-sexed like several others here.

Still, I had lived all my life impersonating a male, except for the first 5 years when Mother raised me as a girl. So, I spent the next 50 years of my life being Dad to three children, and then someone decided that I was depressed and put me on psych meds (I consider that the biggest mistake I ever made. Doctors are not Gods, no matter what they tell you. The best judge of how you are doing is you.

So, the psych meds, disinhibited me to the point that I let her out, rather she busted out. The price of that was the complete loss of my family, church, job, friends and credibility. No matter how good an electrician I was, when I got whacked, no one would listen to me any more. Fine! (Typical woman's response when she is pissed)

Well, that's fine, because I was out of the work force at 57 years old. According to my Doctor, that saved me from continuous pain, and a wheel chair. My body would have give up long before 68 years old.

So, I really have nothing to bitch about, except to be sad that my family is not living the life that Jesus Christ said to.

Gwen

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