"The Armor"

 I bought a ticket on a bullet train. A high speed, one track, transport that I can't control. The train makes no stops and although we've slowed from time to time, we always speed back up and continue on our way. I can see colorful blurs outside my window. Every so often I'm able to identify a tree or a town or city in the distance, but mostly the train moves too fast for me to make sense of the world out there. My luggage is piled in the row of seats behind me and I eventually realize it's the only entertainment I have. I begin to dig through my things, finding a few old treasures, sentimental ornaments, but I'm confused by the majority of it. These things are hideous, mishapen and though they ring the faintest of bells in the back of my memory banks, they aren't mine. I toss these things aside and repack my bags with everything I know to be my own, then I use the space I cleared and add some new things that I find on the train. It's all up for grabs, left here in plain site all along. I never noticed how many things littered the seats and cars of this train. I take only what fits in the empty spaces of my bags, grab a few things to stuff in my pockets, but I don't overpack. The train continues on.
I know facts about the destination, but I don't know the route or rail we're following. When I was in the train station, waiting for my number to arrive, vendors were all around me peddling maps and brochures about where I was heading, but each map was different, each brochure contradicted the other. I tried piecing together the puzzle, but for each piece that fit, another went missing. The one thing that was for sure was that wherever I was going was considered by many to be a paradise.I thought I'd find it to be just that and more, but  in the mix of information I was flipping through, I began reading about a place of sadness and regret. Both sides of the argument had several words of wisdom from seasoned explorers who had gone to this place. Maybe they were both right. It seemed that the only way to find out was to board the train, whenever it arrived. I hoped for the best and I felt in my heart that knowing was better than staying here.
This train station, this city, this life I had built. I looked at my life closely, and realized I couldn't build worth shit. I was a bum, living on handouts from kind people who passed me by. The people who loved me kept me warm at night, kept my belly full. I recieved a lot of generosity and love from a lot of people and how did I repay them? I gave them no answer to the one thing they wanted to know. The one thing they all asked and asked on several occassions. They wanted to know why I wasted my life so far, why I seemed content to just sit back and wait to die. I gave them bullshit answers, but nothing solid, nothing worth the pain they felt seeing me slip away slowly into nothingness.
I began locking myself away. I began hiding from them. I couldn't let them be my lifeline any longer, working to save me and giving all they could give.
There's only one way to stop being rescued from drowning, you swim to the bottom, dig your limbs into the ocean floor and fill your lungs up with sea water. I plunged head first into Hell. I tore myself down, ripped away any thoughts of a happy life and just as I was about to dissapear, I found a reason to stick around.
There is nothing like Love to make someone ignore the easy way out. I couldn't run from her, I couldn't lie either. I started tossing bits and pieces of myself at her. She never flinched, so I gave it all up. I told her who I was. I told her why there was nothing worth living for, because I wasn't alive. I could breathe, I could talk and walk and think, but that's not living. Life is being aware, awake and a force of change in the world. All I was, day in and day out was a tower guard, keeping watch over a person I knew well, but no one else thought exsisted. There was nothing evil about this prisoner. In fact I was the one who succombed to evil acts to keep this innocent locked up, acts that have weighed upon my chest ever since. I thought I knew better. I thought if This inmate was freed, vigalante justice would ensue upon such an unaccepted and misunderstood person, but I looked into the cell one day and saw death as a welcome escape for someone so very alone.
I got the keys and opened the decaying cell door. I was too quick and didn't think about how eagerly anticaipated this moment was for a person locked away for years upon years. A blur passed by me and the chase began. I was too far behind, I was yelling. I just wanted to help, to explain things, to protect and teach, but why believe the person who held you captive, If the roles were reversed, I'd keep running.
It was clear I'd never catch up, but Love came through again. My Love, my girl, waiting to embrace and comfort the former inmate.
Love was angry, confused and worried. I don't blame her. She saw what I had done all these years. She knew I had to make this right. She knew I could be strong and she knew I wasn't evil, just confused, but I could only protect, I could never teach the prisoner, after all, I'm nothing more than armor.
I watched from a distance at first, as Love began her lessons. She was an excellent teacher. She had her hands full, but I think she liked that because she never walked away in frustration, instead she pushed the prisoner to understand what it meant to look inside, to allow a person to develop, to be human and to be female. The prisoner became a person and that person was a perfectly happy girl.
I grew closer to both of them, but I knew I was only armor, only this young girl's strength and perserverance. I knew I wasn't always going to be around, my job ended after this train ride. I'd protect both women, I'd do the fighting if it came down to it, but once the journey was over, I wouldn't exsist, but my traits would live within this girl, my evil deed would be a debt payed and Love would have a person in her life that brought her happiness, that would protect her.
The train keeps going. The world outside is no more than static and flashes of color. I focused on the fight ahead, preparing myself for the one thing that was worth living for.
The young girl enters the train car from the back. She shoots me a smile and she knows I'm on her side now. She starts leafing through the clutter all around and finds the pile of hazy memories I tossed out. She gathers them up and sits down in the seat next to me. I'm overjoyed about the fight now. I can't wait for the first person who doesn't have the decency to hold his toungue.
She picks through the things I tossed away and she giggles and laughs at the items she once owned. She tries to make a joke about having bad taste as she remembers these items clear as day. The joke gets cut out by laughter. I look at her, she's dressed well, looks cute, pretty, beautiful.
I wonder how she is so normal and lovely after all those years locked up. I figure it out there and then. I was the armor, but the strength and the perserverance was hers all along.

"Sex, Drugs and Rock Bottom"

I know how this girl feels. I guess a lot of people out there know how she feels.
I saw this picture and it reminded me of who I use to be and why I used to drink large quantities of alcohol, even though I'd end up sleeping next to the toilet or should I say next  to "A" toilet, depending on where I had chosen to get intoxicated.
Drinking was a huge escape for me and honestly one of the major reasons I was able to realize that I was transsexual was having to quit alcohol. I wasn't an alcoholic, but I was on my way.
I drank to socialize. It was very hard to be sober and go out in public. If I was drunk, I was friendly, outgoing and I could easily pretend to be a guy. It's funny that I never let anything about being trans slip out when I was drunk. It was almost as if when I was sober it hurt to pretend to be manly, but when I was drunk I was numb to the pain. It's tough to explain, because while I was comfortable projecting my fake personality, inside I was thinking all the same feminine thoughts I had at all times, but I was also numb to the pain of thinking about what the girls at the party were wearing, or what they were talking about.
So basically I thought I was happy. I drank and when I did get drunk it didn't make me go out in a dress and heels without inhibition and it didn't make me sad about faking my social attitude, I just had no feelings about them either way. I knew I had to be safe and not let my secret slip, other than that I had no worries.
I have said before that once I accepted myself I began remembering childhood memories of wanting to be a girl and the same is true for my drunken nights. The funny thing is that I had no emotion about my sexuality and gender when I was drunk, but now it makes me sad to remember the things I was thinking of at those times and places.
The girl above is a perfect example. She could have easily been a friend of mine at one of those parties or even a girl I had never met who had come to the party with someone else. I hated when girls got way too drunk. I wasn't sad because I couldn't sleep with them. I wasn't laughing at them as some of the other guys did and I certainly wasn't excited that I could take advantage of her like I'm positive some guys around me were thinking. I hated when they were that drunk because I put myself in her position everytime. I understood the embaressment she felt the next morning. I hated that if I tried to console her it would be considered as a plot to be sleazy and grope her. I hated that if I was her I wouldn't have been that drunk, or at least I don't think I would have been that drunk.
What I'm trying to say with all this is that when my memories flood back from those intoxicated times in my life, it's never a memory of talking about a girl's tits with other guys or what I could have done to score with one of those girls. What I remember is the mumbles of the other males fading into the background, every so often listening to key words in their sentences to make sure I could stay in the conversation, but the clear images that come to mind are what the girls were wearing and what items of clothing I liked, things about their outfits I hated, jealous thoughts about a girl who had a pair of shoes I would have killed for. As these images pop up more memories pour into my mind. I remember the girls I thought were cool, the girls I wanted to be like, I remember looking at groups of girls and wanting more than anything to be one of them.
I had sexual feelings towards them, but not like the other guys. They all talked about harsh, rough sex acts. They wanted to "Ruin", "Plow", "Fuck" these girls. I never thought like that. I wanted to talk to them, get to know them and I wanted to kiss, touch, and passionately have sex with these girls, but I couldn't. I was afraid to even try, because I couldn't even consider doing some of the things that my guy friends talked about. I assumed these girls would never want to be with a boy who wanted to be a girl and feel like a girl in bed.
So I became friendly with these girls and I made sure to be the funny guy. I had a dirty sense of humor and it was amplified when drunk, so it was easy to seem like I wanted to "Fuck" and at the same time be too pushy and sexually course about sex that most girls would always, eventually turn me down.



The bar scene was harder. At least at house parties I was surrounded by friends, but the bar was a place full of strangers. Overcoming this fear came in the form of what people call "Pre-Gaming". I would start by drinking whatever alcohol I could come across at home, but a lot of the time the bar wasn't stocked, so to speak. This meant finding another means of getting myself chemically courageous. Smoking pot would have made me paranoid and I can't say Marijuana has ever made me all that social or outgoing, so I started experimenting with my parents madications. Sometimes vicatin, sometimes another opiate would suffice. I'd pop a few pills, drink whatever booze I had, if any; and go to the bar feeling very loose and very talkative. I guess I should have been a little stronger and just waited until I was out and about at a bar and just had a few drinks until I loosened up, but I made a big mistake and it wasn't until I was taking anywhere from 4 to 7 pills before going out and drinking 7 to 10 glasses of alcohol that I noticed I had a problem. In fact it got so bad that if I didn't have pills or alcohol in my system I would choose to stay in and hide in my bedroom watching t.v.. Then some nights I would take a handful of pills and still make the choice to stay hidden away.
I hated going out. It was always the same thing. I would get obliterated at the bar, envy the girls, be annoyed by the same conversations that arose every time men get drunk. They talked about pussy, they talked about sports, about cars about fighting. I tried talking to the girls, I tried breaking into the girl talk, the drunken party girl good times. I tried to be one of them, but I couldn't. I didn't know how to talk to them. I couldn't talk about girl stuff, that would be un-manly and the guys might hear me. So, I would pass the time getting more and more messed up until the night ended.
The ride home was either a race to the toilet, where I would puke and pass out or if I had been to broke to afford enough to make me vomit I was immediately online.
The internet was a bad place for me when I was drunk. No inhibitions and the ability to chat can be dangerous. I'd log into a Tranny or Crossdresser or Sissy chat room, I'd start by telling the room I was drunk, looking to chat and I would label myself whatever was most popular in the room. I'd get responses in seconds. Men and other T-girls, it didn't matter who. I just wanted to talk about being a girl, a tranny, a sissy....whatever they wanted me to be as long as it was some form of release. I'd make plans to meet people, I'd send out my picture, I'd have deep conversations about being Trans and I'd have dirty, filthy sometimes perverse cyber sessions.
I never met any men that I made plans with when I was drunk. I never could go through with it when I sobered up. I'd realize that I hadn't set up a safe meeting or that the person I was to meet was a little too odd for an actual meetup.
 I have met men online and I will post about that soon, but when I was at this point in my life, when I was drunken and doped up, the one good thing that came out of it was that I never did meet anyone or do anything I would have regreted.


I don't drink anymore. Sometimes I'll have one drink if I am at a special event or party, but I don't like being out of control like I used to. I don't demonize alcohol, I know that I abused it, I know that I made the mistake to drink so much, to take pills and I know I did it to stop feeling the constant and awkward pain I felt everytime I met someone. Anytime I had to pretend I was someone else for an extended period of time. Anytime I was with anyone else whether they were friend, family or a complete stranger. Eventually I couldn't be around myself when I was sober.
I got lucky in a weird way. I had an acid reflux issue and was told I absolutely had to quit drinking. Somehow I did. I started my sobriety poorly, as I found several excuses to drink, but in time I found myself alone in my room, without the chance to drink and I started remembering who I was. I met my girlfriend around this time and I honestly don't know if I would have been able to deal with the truth about my gender and my life if it wasn't for the need I had to come clean about crossdressing and the eventual need, the urge, the desire to tell her that I couldn't pretend to be a guy that I was never supposed to be in the first place. She was weary at first and I don't blame her. All she knew about my gender identity issues was the part of it I had shown her and that was a sex filled world of fetishes. Eventually as I became comfortable with my issues, so did she. I became less interested, less obsessed with sexualizing my feminine self and she began to see that I was not just a guy who wanted to wear dresses and have boobs because it made me horny. She began to see that the girl I was inside was the real me. I was happier, nicer, kinder, more romantic, more loving, more emotional. She saw the real me and she was the first person whoever knew the real me. I may have had some reason down the line in my life that forced me to face myself, but without my Beautiful and more than loving girlfriend, I would be alone in my room analyzing myself for years to come or worse I could have neded up a prostitute or settled for a life as a boy or life as a lonely fuck doll for dirty old men.
It was my need to tell her, to be honest with the one person I loved more than anything in this world that gave me the strength to Know I'm a girl, See myself as a girl and to finally Love the Girl that I am.



"I Sincerely Apologize"



A picture is certainly worth a thousand words and this picture uses those words to speak on behalf of the strength of women.
It reminds us that, in the darkest of times, women have fought, sacrificed and done their part.
The so called "weaker sex" can roll up their sleeves and do what it takes to survive.
This picture also reminds us that strength does not erase one's femininity.
This hard working woman, who is rolling up her sleeves and showing her strength,
is also still a woman.
Her lips are red, her brows are tweezed, she still shows herself to be a woman.
Her makeup maybe a superficial aspect, but once again I must remind you of the thousand words a picture seems to speak.
Weakness was not an option, but just because a woman may have to fight or perform the tasks that are thought to be associated with man's work, it does not mean they are no longer a woman or feminine.
They roll up their sleeves and show the strength that lives within every woman and every transsexual woman.



Some girls find no interest in being a rough and tumble hero of the old west.
and that is fine. No one should be forced to be anything they don't want to be, but sadly, in this world, sometimes you are not given that choice.
But, if the world forces you to be something you are not, you have two options.
You can accept what the world wants you to be or you can fight back, and I'm happily noticing that, even though I may not want to fight every day, and push my strength and courage to new limits, the struggle is better than the force of third party opinions and actions.

These days women are not the damsel in distress princess types they were once considered.
Even in the once male dominated world of comic books, female super heros have become richly developed characters. They don't need protection from the forces of evil, they don't wait around for a man to come save them.
They stand and fight.
They defend themselves and others without ever backing down.
But not just in fantasy, do female creatures have this strength.
Mother's have found it in themselves to lift cars off their children, female animals defend their young to the death if they must.
Women face the pain of child birth if they so choose and it is a pain that few men will ever come close to understanding.

Women work in the business world and are still forced to make a smaller wage. Face sexual harrassment and sexual discrimination. Women have been more victimized and degraded more than any other minority group in the world.
Imagine trying to pay someone less money based upon their skin color, their religion, their sexual appeal.
Women still continue to fight for their rights and have still come so far in this world, only to have to fight harder as television and pop culture and magazines and movies tell them they are only sex objects and as sex objects they have no value unless they are as pretty as a photoshopped picture that is a flawless mockery of a female.
I started this blog with the idea that I was transsexual because I liked pop music and girly stuff and pink soft things, but that's not why I am transsexual. My hobbies do not define me, my sexuality does not define me. Only my actions and my beliefs define me. I am a woman and always have been and will be, but I regret that my confusion was an idolization of what real women strive to fight against. In some ways it was an insult. and I'm so very sorry to all women whether genetic females or transsexual women who are considered freaks and perverts because they are piled in with a completely non-related sexual aspect.

I love girly things, like fairies and I adore pink and absolutely love fashion and my ultimate vice is my love of shoes. I am not ashamed or apologetic for these things. I will never be apologetic for the things I like or love in this world, but they are not everything that I am. They are not all there is to me and the person I am inside. These things are specks in a vast universe that is the person I am. I also love Westerns and the Rolling Stones and so many things that are much more considered male, I have interests that have no gender label attached to them. I am woman because I am, I just know it. I feel it in my soul and in my heart. My brain has always thought a woman's thoughts. I don't know why I feel this,
 I just do.

I am not against any sexual fetish that happens between consenting adults, as long as it is safe. I don't think people should mutilate themselves for sexual pleasure, but your body is your body and I hope that you will respect it's limits. I am not trying to demonize anyone for any sexual reasons, I certainly have my own kinks and fetishes, but please know that sex is sex. You must not be ruled by that one aspect of yourself. I did allow myself to desire a purely sexual lifestyle and I now see that it was due to my self loathing and depression. Life is now so much better. My girlfriend showed me that. When we first met I was a purely sexualized shell of a person, I wanted her as a Goddess who would use me as her sissy slave, but I look back and realize that's not what I wanted. I just wanted to be a girl so badly that I'd have given anything to be one, even if it meant losing my freedom and even losing who I was forever. Luckily she forced me to confront myself and to find the courage to admit what I really wanted and needed. I now have come into my own as a female on the inside. I still have work to do, but I go about my more female hobbies, like clothes and shoes, etc....
without the sex and arousal involved at every turn and I'm alive again. I see my beauty and I see the beauty and love within her. I feel for her, love her and want to know how she feels, soothe her if she is sad and join her when she laughs. I am no longer a self loathing, self centered shell, I am a confident, happy, unique person and a proud woman. I haven't come out and though I am still doing the work I need to do on myself inside and emotionally I have officially broken through the wall of denial that had so often stopped me and beaten me down. There was no courage or strength in the man I was because he didn't exsist. My courage comes from the girl I was and the woman I have become. I urge all women to love themselves and believe in themselves and I urge any transgendered person to let go of the facade and embrace the person you are, because only then will you see that life is so much easier as yourself, as the real you. I always read stories where transitioned transsexuals had one regret and it was that they had not made the change sooner. I wish I had listened, because they were right. The only thing wrong with you when you are in the closet is the closet itself. Being transsexual is a cakewalk compared to being a lie.

"Don't be a fetish, Be yourself"

We all desire to be her
The girl with the perfect hair,
perfect face, breasts, butt, tummy,legs.
Dressed pretty in our high heels every day, but
that isn't being a girl.
We all assume that we should be weak,
helpless, useless beyond the task
of caring for our man or master.
I was at that point. completely sexualizing my emotional need to be female
and I came out on the other side of the whole sissy thing
with a desire to be a strong independent woman.
A real person, beyond what turns me on.

My fantasy when I was young was that a group of pretty girls
would transform me, but the fantasy quickly went from being forced into femininity
and became a new fantasy where I pleaded with them to help me,
to change me,
to save me from the hell I lived in.
But I still only had a sexual outlet.
My emotions were kept in the center of my chest,
in the depths of my stomach and
in the subconcious of my mind.

Of course I had become depressed.
Of course I contemplated suicide,
but would I be a girl in Heaven?
Was there a Heaven?
Was there a God somewhere who heard my prayers as a child,
but remained helpless to save me?
I was in hell,
So I was sure there was a heaven.
It turns out that I had to gain the courage to face my feelings
and face myself to finally find comfort and freedom.
I still feel the pressures of the hell I lived for so long,
but now I can see the Heavens and I am on the path to reach them.
No matter how dark and scary it all seems.

I have no issues with the Sissy fetish, but to be transgender or transsexual I think it goes beyond sex. We can't really want to be owned or abused forever and I think that if you want that lifestyle you have issues deep down that you haven't dealt with. I hated myself when sexuality and perversions ruled my life. If you want to be a sissy in a sexual situation then by all means do what you will as long as you and another consenting adult agree, but please don't make it a sure fire part of transsexualism. We have to start thinking beyond sex so that the world sees us as something more than a fetish, especially the kids who deal with gender issues who look online and only find sex and fetish related sites, when trying to find acceptance and a normal world in which they can discover their true gender. I want to be a hero to those kids and a role model. I am transitioning in a time where Transsexuals are more accepted than ever, but we still have a long way to go. There is a burden left upon me and all other Transgendered individuals to fight for what is right and to gain our place in the world so that those that come after us simply have a place to go and to become who they are inside. Sex is something amazing and beautiful, no matter what gets you turned on, but it is not what defines us as people or as a group.

"Life as a shell: Prolougue"

Not being happy with my gender role was something only I knew, and despite the size of my secret, it weighed very little upon my mind around the time I was fifteen years old. The twin towers had fallen, and the world began to change.
The mentality was different in, what I thought was, a country of freedom. We all united in the aftermath of 9/11, but then people got scared. Issues like Gay Marriage were brought up and, being naive, I assumed it would be accepted by the majority. I was sure that type of bigotry had long since passed. It was a new era, how could anyone be evil enough to deny people love and happiness?                         
But, as the debate raged on, it was brutally amazing to see so many defiant people on t.v., or even being in the same room with fellow human beings who dissaproved of gay marriage. It seemed that who I was as a Transgendered person was even more despised and misunderstood.
 I felt my secret get heavier. I feared the reaction of anyone who may find out and soon became obsessed with hiding the girl that I was.
As each day passed, the weight I was carrying grew and grew, so, I stopped crossdressing, threw out any clothes that were remotely female, stopped researching the future I wanted and I stripped away the pounds of my secret one by one. Unaware that I was leaving a trail of my true self, personality, and emotion.
I'd soon realize that the dead weight was all I had left upon my shoulders.



I had only one outlet for the girl in me.
SEX.
There was no way of getting out and having sex in the real world so,
I escaped into a world of chat rooms and online pornography.
Wishing I could be the girls I saw and turning my emotional desire to be female into
an all consuming fetish.





And as my desires remained hidden and sexualized,
I saw others go from crossdressers
to transsexual women.
It seemed the sex industry was my best best.
But the deeper you go and the older you get
denial builds a wall.
Sex became the only reason to feel feminine,
to feel anything at all.

So eventually I was consumed by sissification and the belief that I needed to be degraded,
because I was weak.
But women weren't weak. They were strong and because I wasn't a woman
and certainly I wasn't a man,
I thought I was undeserving of love, happiness
and a life.
Luckily, I am free of that trap, but the road I traveled
is littered with dangerous sexual flings and missed oppotunities.