In my last blog entry, I broke my usual rigidly-imposed rule and told far more about myself than I would normally allow, especially to people who are relative strangers. That endless rush of fear, frustration, depression and anxiety is a bit embarrassing to me now, upon reflection.

Nonetheless, I would like to thank those of you who not only read that torrent of words, but commented and PMed me since then. I said all I did because you, here, are the only people online (save for a dear friend I've known since my transition started) who truly understand the issues I wrote about.

I'm still struggling to reconcile the male and female sides of my nature, and have resolved to do what comes naturally, whatever that may be. It's going to be difficult, however, to get over the feeling of self-loathing I get whenever I act even remotely "butch."

When I began transition, I took to heart the over-simplified phrase, "woman in a man's body."

That told me that to be anything less than completely, unambiguously female meant that I had no right to even transition, let alone get surgery. If internally I identify as male, after all, wouldn't it have made more sense to stay in the male role? There's no gender dysphoria then, is there?

And if I identify as male and am already well into transition, am I then obligated to put the brakes on it and go back to what I was? Regardless of whether or not I was happy in the female role? Those questions have been causing me no end of grief over the past year.

There was one other trigger for my recent depression that I haven't yet mentioned. It's that after fourteen years, I've never quite gotten used to being referred to as "ma'am", and it still seems unusual to hear people use the pronoun "she" when talking about me. Granted, I was a "he" for far longer--until I was 37--but one would assume I'd be used to it by now. That more than anything points to my still seeing myself as a "he", at least on some level. Or maybe I don't feel I'm worthy of being called "she" yet.

I do know, however, that being called "sir" or hearing the word "he" is like having a rubber band snapped at the back of my head--irritating, even infuriating.

I've yet to sort it all out, but I can say that regardless of the answer, I do intend to keep the transition going.

But I did promise good news, did I not? The good news is I'm writing again for the first time in about ten years, which is odd because I never used to be able to do anything creative while mired in a depression. I'd like to think it's because I'd abandoned the male way of dealing with it--hold it in and not talk about it until I got hauled off to psych ward--and actually tried to discuss it with people. That alone is worth keeping a transition going.

I don't know how much I should discuss of the stories I'm writing--there should be at least some surprises, after all--but I can say that both involve time travel and the paranormal. And one incorporates a love well-known to you here: my love of ragtime.

I might say more in a future entry, but I'd rather not overwhelm as I did last time.