Tuesday, March 5, 2024

You will be warm again

The title is a quote from "Rythm of War" by Brandon Sanderson, and it's spoken to a character who struggles with trauma and reoccurring depressive episodes. It speaks of hope. Yes, things might be bleak, but it gets better. 

This winter has been hard for me, on many levels. I've been pretty much exhausted since my top surgery in mid September. December was also really stressful, and since then it feels like I haven't been able to get my head above water. Sickness, mental fatigue, drama online, another hater I had to report to the police (marking the 7th such hater in under a year), sick kids, uncertainty with regards to work and my own future, financial worries etc. 

In addition, Novice gradually withdrew from me more and more, and since New Years' we almost didn't touch each other. She wouldn't let me touch her, not even in completely non-sexual ways. I didn't understand why, I don't think she did completely either. The lack of physical touch became a real problem for me. I just wanted to hold her and be held. I missed it so much. Missed her. We almost weren't talking either, not like we used to. It scared me. 

Now, suddenly, it's better. We're cuddling again, and talking. Having proper, long conversations, without fighting or her completely dissociating. It feels amazing. I feel like I've gotten my girlfriend back. She's been a rolled up armadillo, looking and behaving like a scared rock, for so long... Seeing her unfurl herself, look at me, smile... Hearing her say she wants to be with me, loves me, enjoys our time together, believes in a future together...

It's a balm on my scared, battered and very overwhelmed mind. It made me incredibly happy.

The scary part is that I have no idea what caused that withdrawing in the first place, and I have no idea why she's suddenly coming back more now. So I won't be able to stop it happening again, nor fix it if it does.

It's March now, the first month of spring. Outside, the snow is thawing and the sun is shining. This winter has been long, and hard, and cold. But I have hope. We will figure this out. I will be warm again. We will be warm again.

Sunday, January 21, 2024

Swept up in the dissociation vortex

Today, Novice and I had a... Fight? Misunderstanding? Falling out? I don't even know what to call these things. They happen sometimes. I say or do something that makes her really uncomfortable, and then she dissociates. Sometimes she's partially gone for a few minutes, sometimes she'll be completely gone for a full day or more. (I've even made up a system to classify how "gone" she is*. That's how frequent these things are.)

While completely gone, she is able to take care of her own basic needs and do something "mindless" like play a computer game or scroll on Reddit, and that's about it. She can't help it, and I feel absolutely terrible for doing that to her. It's never on purpose, but my intent doesn't really matter when the effect is so devastating. 

The falling out today was particularly unexpected and felt more volatile than usual. She quit in the middle of a board game we were playing, packed it all up in a huff, and then was "gone". I had to leave her apartment a couple of hours later, and tried talking to her several times before that, but she wasn't present enough to really answer me. I don't understand what caused this, I don't understand why she reacted so strongly or firmly, and I don't understand what I did. But I know I did something, because she doesn't fall out like this when I'm not around. 

I try not to let that guilt eat me up, because I know that me feeling bad will only make her feel worse. I don't want to make her feel even worse, I've made her feel bad enough already. On the other hand, I feel incredibly rejected and convinced she hates me. My mind tells me that she doesn't want me anymore, that I'm bad for her, that she can't possibly love me now. I need desperately for her to tell me that she loves me, that we as a couple are ok even when she's not. 

I ask her if she loves me, if she wants me to leave, and all she can do is shrug. Which to me feels even worse; The adult I love most in this world can't even confirm that she wants me to stay when I ask! I'll tell her, a shrug isn't consent. I can't stay with her, or hug her, or whatever it is we're doing at the time, if she doesn't actively consent to it. And of course that is true. "Unconscious people don't want tea." However, it's also incredibly unfair of me. Because she isn't actually unconscious, and that's not actually how consent in a relationship works. 

Because she DID consent. She did consent to me being there, or sitting with me, or whatever it was we're doing. That consent is still on-going, even when she dissociates. An established couple can and do have on-going consent to interact and exist in the same space. The potential consequences of treating that consent as on-going, and then possibly being wrong, are miniscule (at least in the short run). As opposed to for example her dissociating completely during a kink scene, in which case I'd have to stop or potentially be guilty of assault. Just like if she'd fallen unconscious. Consent to do rope, or spanking, or sex, is NOT of the on-going kind, because the consequences of potentially overstepping are massive. 

And she IS able to take care of her own basic needs. If I do something she really doesn't like, like accidentally squishing her boob or tickling her, she will stop me. Regardless of how far gone she is. She isn't actually unconscious, even when she's close to catatonic. She certainly won't make a big decision, like dumping me, on a whim while she's not even fully present. It's hard for me to trust that fact, because a part of me keeps expecting to be abandoned at any moment... But I'm pretty sure it's true; Novice thinks things through before making a decision, and when she's dissociating she almost isn't able to make decisions at all. 

I ask her to confirm that she wants me with her, but what I'm really asking her to do is to make a decision which will make me feel less insecure. And when she isn't able to do that, it makes me more insecure. I treat it as if she actually made a conscious choice to reject me, when she absolutely didn't. She can't help dissociating. She can't help being nonverbal. She can't help me, because she isn't present. 

She hasn't rejected me, personally, she's rejected everything. The world, her feelings, everything. I'm just being swept up in the vortex. She can't help it. She can't be blamed for any of this. It isn't a choice. And I need to fucking get a grip, and be accountable for my own emotions and reactions. Not look to her to try and fix them. 

  

*The system for how "gone" Novice is, goes from 1-10 and I've tentatively defined the levels like this:

  1. Perfectly fine, but will tap out if she gets close to overwhelmed. Meta-aware.
  2. Touch-and-go whether she's present or not, will fall in and out seemingly at random. Usually short duration. Is mostly verbal, can have some short meta-discussions about her mood. Can usually verbalize that she loves me, but is more comfortable being tactile than verbal.
  3. Uses mostly monosyllabic words or our tactile language. Can be contact seeking or need space, seemingly at random. Can "fall out" for somewhat longer duration, but surfaces again in less than an hour. 
  4. Doesn't speak much. No facial expressions. Needs more space. 
  5. Is able to respond to "I love you" using our own tactile signals (3-5 short taps with a single finger indicates "I love you (too)"). Shrugs to answer most other things.
  6. Shrugs to almost everything, nonverbal for longer stretches of time. Will not answer that she loves me in any way. Is able to participate in a conversation of sorts, as long as it's a completely "safe" topic and has short duration.
  7. Can move around if she must, for example go sit at her desk to play Heartstone or watch Youtube. No facial expressions, no words. Will participate in a conversation of sorts, as long as it's mostly tactile or through shrugs and grunts.
  8. Can scroll on her phone. Glassy stare. Doesn't move much. Typically lying down. Shallow breathing. No words.
  9. No movement or facial expressions, glassy stare or closed eyes, no sounds other than the occasional monosyllabic grunt. No phone. Will still pull away if she doesn't want something.
  10. Completely catatonic. No movement, facial expressions or sounds. 

Saturday, January 20, 2024

Is it a "gaydar", or do they just make me horny?

 I keep hacking away at the stubborn tree root that is my sexual orientation. Just the other day, I wrote:

"I feel like there's an invisible wall between us. My eyes will look, my body sometimes turns on, but consciously I don't feel much at all. I'm not letting myself feel those feelings at all. "

Today, I had another epiphany in this direction. I saw a performer in a song competition, a woman singing a country/pop song. I'd never seen her before, but got an immediate sense that she was gay. My "gaydar" has previously been pretty accurate, and a quick google search confirmed that I was right this time too. But what am I really sensing?

Is this "sense" that a woman might be gay, really my unconscious ATTRACTION to her? Am I externalizing that feeling of attraction, because I'm unable to deal with that feeling inside of me? 

To attack this from a different direction: I recently saw a "thirst trap" on social media.. A shirtless, bearded guy. Traditionally right up my alley, but now I'm not so sure anymore. Similarly, I recently chatted with a bearded geek on a dating app, looking at maybe hooking up with him, and I... Don't know if I want to. 

The guy from the thirst trap is undeniably attractive... But (like I wrote back in my egg crack in October 2021) do I want to fuck them or BE them

And I... Have no idea. None at all. To be clear: I'm not even sure I really like men anymore. Or if I ever did? This makes me question everything. Every man I've ever fallen in love with, every man I've ever been sexually interested in.. Has it all been.. Something else? Not attraction, but an escape from a more dangerous truth? A way to hide from myself, because men didn't feel dangerous to me? 

To be clear: I don't doubt that I've deeply loved several men, including T and Saint. I'm obviously able to fall in love with them. The love was true, and still is. But do I thirst for men? Really? Because if I liked women.. And the idea of lesbians gave my gender dysphoria.. Then I had to be trans. That was the dangerous truth.

A part of me, that part who's listened to way too much anti-trans rhetoric, is questioning if I'm even trans. The terfs claim, after all, that transmasculine people really are just confused, repressed lesbians. As if anyone would think being trans is easier than being gay, in our day and age... And I am trans. I don't truly doubt that, this is just some old gremlins mumbling in the corners.

Writing this fairly short post has taken me over an hour. There's obviously something here, something I'm afraid to touch. It's similar to when I wrote about decommissioned robots back in august 2022. I could follow the trail of my own panic, to unveil things I'd previously hid from myself. I don't think I'll get any further right now, but this topic of my sexual orientation is obviously something I'll keep returning to. 

I'm curious to see where this journey of self-discovery will take me. 

Thursday, January 18, 2024

Defeating Beholders

It feels like Novice and I are in a better place now, compared to a few months ago. I think back at some of our fights / misunderstandings / hurts... They feel smaller now, often less severe, and usually of shorter durations. Not to say that we don't accidentally hurt each other. It still happens much more often than I'd like. And not to say that I don't struggle with my own demons still, because I do.. But we know each other better now. Trust each other better. And know ourselves too. 

We had a couple of really, really tough weeks in the start of October. That's the last big one, and the one we'd had with the longest duration. We called that conflict The Beholder, because it sort of took on a life of its own. And we had to conquer it together, to get anywhere. Looking back, it was a perfect storm leading up to it, it just had to implode; 

I was two weeks post op after top surgery when it began, on October 1st. Still limited in mobility, still sore and tired, I'd just started trying to sleep in a regular bed, but it wasn't going very well. Novice still hadn't looked at or touched my naked chest, which made me feel sad and unloved. 

On her side, she'd been coped up with me for two weeks straight, almost no alone-time at all. Somewhat triggered by my healing wounds, but also hating herself because her triggers hurt me. She also wasn't out as a transwoman to her family yet, which was laying heavy on her mind.. Then she had a weekend of a ton of socializing and learning, which exhausted her.

I'd been stuck on her couch most of the time, I was under-stimulated and over-stimulated all at once. She loaned out her projector (that we use for playing Playstation and watching movies) for the weekend, but once she got it back she didn't put it back up. She was too exhausted (logically). And she wouldn't let me put it back up either. 

For almost two weeks. 

And all of a sudden, her appartement didn't feel safe anymore. She'd taken away the main thing I had to occupy myself with, wasn't able to fix it herself and refused to let me fix it for us. And because it was her appartement and her projector (and her Playstation and her... everything), I was powerless. I just could not wrap my mind around why she would do such a thing, and was incredibly hurt by it. 

I kept trying to give her space, but wasn't able to do so for long periods of time because I was really dysregulated myself. So I kept pushing her to flee, and we never got anywhere. Even after she actually put the projector back up, I was still dysregulated. I didn't dare to start using it again. If the things I use and like, can be taken away at any moment, can I really trust my surroundings at all? Can I ever relax?

After well over two weeks, I finally managed to get a grip, to let it go, to conclude that this is just how it is. What cannot be changed, must be endured. So I started using the projector again, playing Playstation again. It felt scary as fuck, but I did it.  It took 17 days of us both being, in varying degrees, dysregulated and miserable and hurt, before getting to that point.

That act of letting go, managed to help her out of her loop as well. She realized that she hadn't been able to let me put the projector back up, because she has a mental "hang-up" on her audio and video stuff being set up "just right". She needs to do it herself. This realization, in turn, made her actions more understandable and therefore bearable to me. She wasn't purposefully being unkind, it wasn't an attempt to drive me away because she didn't care about me.

Because that's the root of most of it: We're both fundamentally insecure, angst-ridden lumps of self-doubt. We struggle to believe that the other person really loves us. We expect to be abandoned. We can't wrap our minds around someone as much as liking us. When I hurt her, I hate myself for doing so, and she reacts in pretty much the same way. So emotions become scary, because if either of us displays hurt, the other person will hate themself for causing that hurt, making the first person hate themself for causing the second person to hate themself. We both take on absolutely all the blame, in every situation.

There isn't a quick fix to this. We will just have to learn over time, that the other person DOES love us. That their actions and words are NOT intended to hurt. That emotions ARE ok, and that someone else's self-hate and angst ISN'T your fault. And I feel like we're making progress. 

Novice has been struggling with insomnia these past couple of months, and is trying to get a handle on it now because it was getting out of control. That means she's much more tired that usual, and therefore more fragile too. On my side, I'm overwhelmed and somewhat burned out from everything happening last year. So I'm not my most  high-functioning self either...  And it's ok. We occasionally hurt each other or misunderstand each other, but we have more tools now than we did three months ago or a year ago. We grow, we learn. We love. 

And I think we'll be ok. 

Monday, January 15, 2024

Internalized transphobia made me afraid of lesbians

 Why do I have such issues accepting that I find women sexually attractive? 

I'm starting to wonder if it might be internalized transphobia... Because remember, I didn't realize I was trans until I was 35. I'd subconsciously kept that knowledge hidden from myself, ever since I was a child. Knowing that I was trans, was dangerous, my unconscious self had decided that it wasn't safe for me to know.

So anything that could make me doubt my own gender, was subconsciously kept from me. At the same time, anything that would entrench me deeper into the "woman" category could subconsciously trigger dysphoria and cause me pain. So I was super fascinated by lesbians, because of how they broke the gender stereotypes... But at the same time, they felt very "other" to me. I remember going to a women-focused kink event hosted by my good friend B, and feeling completely lost. Because even though I knew, even then, that I could theoretically be attracted to women, they all just felt... Terrifying. Strange. "Other". I had nothing in common with them, like a fish trying to fly. 

As it turns out, that gut feeling was right. Because I wasn't a woman. That part makes so much more sense now. I was, and still am, attracted to women, but hanging out with lesbians must have triggered my dysphoria something fierce. Because I wasn't like them, and deep down I must have known that.

I'm not a man, but I'm definitely "man-adjacent". So my attraction to women is more in a... Straight way? On the other hand, there's very little in typically male sexual norms that I want to embrace. I'm too queer for that, and too much of a feminist. 

This all doesn't really make sense to me. When I look at attractive women in real life, people I don't already have a sexual relationship with, I feel like there's an invisible wall between us. My eyes will look, my body sometimes turns on, but consciously I don't feel much at all. I'm not letting myself feel those feelings at all. There is not even a sense of pushing them away, they weren't permitted to exist in the first place. 

That smells very much of internalized -phobia to me.. Something shameful, hateful, something I SHOULD. NOT. BE. And I don't think it's internalized homophobia, because that doesn't feel dangerous to me. The idea of just being gay, frankly, feels appealing. Like a relief. So that's not it. 

I think it's internalized transphobia. Because girls like boys. And lesbian girls like girls. And if I like girls, but really aggressivly don't feel like a lesbian, then I can't be a girl. And not being a girl... Now that's scary and dangerous. There's some old robots here, doing their thing. I need to find them all, and turn them off. They aren't needed anymore. 

I'm trans. 

I'm really, really not a girl.

And whilst that might feel scary, or dangerous, it doesn't stop being true. 

I'm not a girl. Girls just turn me on. And that's ok. I'm trans, I'm queer, and that's all ok. 

Now, how do I make myself less scared?

What sort of sexual creature am I?

I wrote the other day about how I could have gotten sex, if I'd wanted it. I even registered for a couple of dating apps again. I just.. Don't go through with actually scheduling a hook-up. Why?

It's not just the effort and forced socialization and autistic masking, though that is a significant part of the picture. These last few months have made me pretty burnt out, and I'm seriously down-scaling my social life, to try to regain some spoons. 

No, I think the main issue is that I don't really know who I am anymore, as a sexual creature. I have vulva, a clit, and I enjoy being penetrated... I crave a more passive, receiving role than I've had in most sexual encounters. I want to be touched, want to be desired, want to be fucked... But I really, really don't want to be seen as a woman. And I'm scared, because being seen as a woman hurts.

On the other hand, I don't want to take on just a typical masculine role either. Because that's all I've ever done, looong before I realized I was trans. I've been the hunter, the seducer, the taker, the dominant... 

And I enjoy those things, I really do, especially playing with a strap-on is really affirming... But I don't want ONLY that. And except for with Arthur, I've pretty much done ONLY that. Why? Because I don't have to be vulnerable, when I'm the dom. I don't have to feel my feelings, I can just focus on the other person's needs. So for me, being in a top/dom role is uncomplicated. 

It's masking, in a way, because I can set my self aside and just be what the other person needs me to be. And up until recently, masking felt very easy. Because I hadn't opened that Pandora's box, I hadn't started trying to take those masks off. It's very easy not to feel your feelings, when you're pushing them away all the time. It becomes automatic, you don't even notice that you're doing it.

I want to feel my feelings now. I want to breathe, and experience, and enjoy myself while both giving and receiving. I want to be touched, to be desired. Not as a femdom kink-dispenser, not as a woman, not as a man. I want to be touched and desired just for... Me. Whoever the fuck that is.

I think, I hope, the solution to this is just more queer sex. Queer sex in queer spaces, where gender and gender norms can be set aside for a bit. Where I can just focus on sex, without preconceived notions about who's the knife and who's the fork. 

So I've signed up for a sex party.

The party is female-focused, but is inclusive to everyone who aren't a cis man pretty much. I don't know if it'll be filled with mostly cis gendered lesbians, or if it will feel gender queer enough that I'll actually feel comfortable... If they see me as a man, they might not even welcome me.. But if they see me as a woman, I'll just get dysphoric and really uncomfortable. I also don't even know if I'll handle a sexparty focused on women. I realized intellectually that I was into women over two years ago, but it still feels emotionally... Scary. 

However, there aren't a lot of sex positive, queer events in this city, so... I figured it's worth a shot. 

Sunday, January 14, 2024

I was the golden child

When I grew up, I was the golden child. My parents firstborn, I knew how to read before starting in 1st grade. I played my way through school, learned new material on my first read through, and I was excellent at memorizing. My vocabulary was much bigger than my peers, I was responsible and trustworthy even as a young child. 

My grades, once we started getting grades, were by far the best in my class, and my teachers loved me. They trusted me. liked me, above my peers. I asked intelligent questions and actually listened when they tried to tell us something. My father promised me 50 NOK for every top grade on tests and report cards, which he soon came to regret. I got significant income from that deal during the three years of junior high. 

At 15, I moved abroad for high school. My mother told me straight out that she wouldn't let my younger sister do anything similar, but I was so sensible she knew she could trust that I'd do well on my own. Which I did. In a foreign language, I didn't get top grades anymore, but I was still top 5 in my class (the other 4 were native speakers). In my family, I was also the one to always step up. If "someone" had to go take care of something, I was always that "someone". From fetching wood for the fireplace, to helping my dad with the computer, I was always "someone". 

When I met T, I remember struggling with him being more knowledgeable than me. He was just as intelligent, maybe even more, but in addition he had the advantage of being 7 years my senior and having other "intellectuals" as friends and family. There was no way for me to "catch up" with that. I told him, I'd always had my mind. My intellectual capacity, my knowledge, my "school smarts", were one of the pillars of my identity. And it wasn't good enough to just be "good", I didn't feel accomplished, fulfilled, unless I was among the best. Unless I was perfect, or at least as perfect as possible. 

I've kept struggling with this ever since, and reading up on "Golden Child Syndrome" a lot seems to fit. This isn't a medical diagnosis at all, but it's a collection of personality traits. A quick Google search gives the following: 

"A “golden child” is one who is considered “special” by their family and chosen as a proxy for a parent’s own achievements and magnificence. Unfortunately, the child must live up to perhaps unattainable levels of accomplishment and perfection. Being the golden child does not necessarily represent a positive familial position"

(...)

"Below are eight signs of a golden child:
  1. A need to achieve: Golden children recognize that their place in the family is deeply entwined to their ability to meet the expectations that their parent places on them. The golden child may never even think to explore their own ambitions, as they are trained to focus on what their parent expects of them.
  2. People-pleasing behaviors: Because the golden child recognizes that their specialness is tied to their ability to be what their parent wants them to be, they grow up focusing on making others happy.
  3. Filling an adult role too early: Golden children are often parentified, meaning that they are required to step into a pseudo-adult role by their narcissistic parent. Because golden children are perceived as more perfect or special, they are given greater status than their siblings hold. This is not healthy for a child’s development.
  4. Fear of failure: Golden children are treated more favorably than their siblings, but if they fail to meet their parent’s standards, the punishment may be out of proportion to their misstep. This ingrains in them a pervasive fear of letting themselves or others down.
  5. Overwhelming guilt: Typically, if there is a golden child, there is also a child identified as the family scapegoat. Everything that goes well becomes associated with the golden child’s goodness, while everything that goes wrong is blamed on the scapegoat. The golden child recognizes the inequity of this, and feelings of guilt for the treatment of their siblings may be carried into adulthood.
  6. Conflicting loyalties: Driven by the need to please their parent, the golden child may be asked to take a role in disciplining their siblings. This generates inner conflict, as the golden child recognizes that they hold the same family status as their siblings.
  7. Self-criticism: The golden child may feel that they are never “good enough.” If they were habitually compared to the scapegoat, they may fear a fall from grace and being dropped into the role of family scapegoat.
  8. Episodes of “need-panic”: This occurs when the golden child’s own needs suddenly bubble up and they are unable to keep them from spilling over or exploding."
Looking through that list, it really resonates. There's just SO much here, there's probably content for many blog posts.. The only ones that don't really fit are the descriptions for number 5 and 6. I can't remember ever having such a role with my siblings, nor was any of them always the scapegoat.... As far as I can recall, at least. Might be more stuff buried here.

This post is already long enough. I need to continue this at some later point. Might be a part 2 coming later.

Wednesday, January 3, 2024

Sexless, and happy

Novice worries that she's "trapped" me in "yet another sexless relationship". And yes, it's true that we don't have sex these days. That might change soon, or it might not, depending on her dysphoria and how much her insomnia is acting up... But it doesn't really bother me that much. 

Do I want sex, generally? Sure! 

But am I "trapped"? No. 

I have a need for frequent orgasms, to keep my libido from destroying all my higher brain functions... But I can easily get them myself. Satisfyer Pro 2 Gen 3 is magical and wonderful, and gets me all the orgasms I want. I still feel somewhat self-conscious about it, when I go to masturbate while Novice is right there in the small apartment with me.... But she says she doesn't mind, and I believe her. So I'll get over my awkwardness eventually. 

I could get sex, if I wanted to. I could contact NN again, or Student. They'd both probably be up for it. Or I could go back to the swingers club that I visited once a couple of months ago. I didn't get fucked by anyone then, but I could if I'd wanted to. Or I could start surfing Grindr again, if I got desperate enough. I'm not, though. 

I say I want sex, but it's not really true. If I wanted just sex, I could get it. And I don't. 

I want her. Her breath, her skin, her moans, her body, her embrace. I want to be connected with her, give her pleasure, give her my love in a million different ways. Since that can't happen right now, I'm content to wait. As long as there is other ways to form that connection, other ways to show that love, I don't need the sex.

We connect, and love, in a million different ways; We connect through cuddling, through our tactile language of taps, through conversation, through teaching and learning, through laughter, through games, through smiles. We see each other, we understand each other. Even when we don't understand ourselves.

We connect, we love, and I'm content. Not just content; Happy. The sex isn't that important. 

I can't promise this will always be the case. Sex could become an itch I need to scratch, much like the orgasms are now. If it does, I'll deal with it then. Probably by going to the swingers club and get fucked senseless once or twice per month. It's my problem to deal with, and I will. 

I love her. Looking back on 2023, it's all filled with her. Novice. My girlfriend. My partner. My love. On December 3rd, we'd been together a full year. I hope we get many, many, many more.

Thursday, December 28, 2023

No sex: All about perspective

Novice and I don't really have an active sex life. It started declining this spring, and has been in a gradual downwards spiral since. We also don't play much, BDSM wise. 

I remember vividly talking with her about her reluctance to touch me back in July, for example. We have had penetrative sex two or three times since my top surgery in mid September, and have done other sexual things (like cuddling while I make myself come) around half a dozen times. She's extremely hesitant to let me touch her in any way that could be considered sexual, and doesn't touch me in a sexual way at all anymore. We very rarely even kiss.

This used to bother me a lot. I've been in sexless relationships before, T and I were sexless for many years before we broke up. And the sex life of Saint and I is also dead by now. It's possible for a relationship to survive for many years without sex, but it's very far from what I'd prefer. I'm closer to the hypersexual end of the spectrum, I prefer to have a lot of sex. Several times per week would be minimum, if it was just up to me. If I had time, and no other demands on my energy, I would probably want to have sex close to daily. 

Of course I can take care of my own need for orgasms, and I do. It's not like I would die without someone else fucking me. But I like sex; I enjoy the intimacy, the connection, the intensity, the giving and receiving of pleasure, the sensations... Sex is nice. 

When my partner doesn't want to have sex with me, I feel undesirable. They don't find me attractive, I'm not sexy enough.. But also generally: I'm not good enough. We typically HAD an active sex life the first few months we were together, and then it disappeared. So obviously, they got to know me better and their desire for me went away. I'm just THAT despicable. 

This same thought pattern has been running through my head, ever since Novice stopped wanting to have sex with me. I've tried blaming it on the anti-androgens she's on, or the stress she's under, and sure that can explain some of it. But it couldn't be the whole truth, that just didn't make sense to me. I didn't have any other explanation for it, so the problem had to be me. 

Then a couple of days ago, it all got turned on its head: We came to a realization that it's ALL dysphoria. Every single time Novice gets turned on, she gets an erection. And every single time she gets an erection, she gets dysphoric as hell. Dysphoria isn't sexy. It doesn't make you want to do more of the stuff that made you dysphoric. On the contrary, dysphoria is absolutely horrible. If the dysphoria gets bad enough, it can make people want to harm themselves, or worse. 

Now, she isn't as able to withstand or ignore that dysphoria as much when she's stressed out or tired. So those factors still apply, just more indirectly. We might for example get some tiny drips of sexual contact, if she gets enough sleep. But mostly, I think the dysphoria is to blame. And for me, that changes everything.

Maybe I'm not so despicable? Maybe I'm not completely undesirable. Maybe, on the contrary, touching me and being touched by me, turns her on. She shies away from me, not because she DOENS'T desire me... But because she DOES desire me. Because she gets turned on by me and the things I can do to her. Dysphoria gradually gets worse as you crawl out of the trans egg. You start to really acknowledge all the stuff you've repressed before, and that brings the dysphoria to the forefront. This explains why we had an active sex life at first, but it gradually went in decline. 

So it's not about me, in a negative sense. It's not that I'm not good enough. On the contrary, it's sort of a compliment: She wants me. She desires me so much, that it becomes unbearable for her. That turns everything on it's head for me. 

Of course I still want sex. This doesn't change my desires. But the lack of sex is so much easier to handle, when it doesn't come with a huge helping of self-hatred and shame. I love her. I love that she desires me, I love knowing that I turn her on. It's all about perspective.  

Monday, December 18, 2023

Birthday hang-over

I had an anxiety attack earlier today. It came on the tail-end of a misunderstanding / fight with Novice, combined with Saint trying to change the plans that have been made for the Christmas dinner. I'm already really stressed out over Christmas, and I have a job meeting on Wednesday that I'm really nervous about, and I'm generally anxious about not being good enough for Novice... And so I just collapsed. Uncontrolable sobbing and hyper-ventilating. Not pleasant, for either of us. 

Afterwards, I feel numb. Like a big hot-air balloon with too little air in it; Trying to stay up, but only managing a pitiful hobble. I'm able to pull myself together, to some degree, when something needs to be Done or Handled. But as soon as the Thing is out of the way, I fall down again. Wallowing sideways.

I've described this before as being emotionally hung-over. I've had too many big feelings, more than I was able to handle, and got drunk. Now I'm hung-over. That means mostly I'm just numb. Like a fog, made of foam-rubber, padding my brain. But there are some feelings there: I'm at the same time incredibly sad, and also have the shortest fuse ever. Both of those feelings are fueled by an intense self-hatred.

I can logically see that not everything that happened was my fault, or at least that I didn't do anything bad on purpose... But that logic might as well have been on a different planet, it feels incredibly distant from what I emotionally feel to be true.

I turned 38 years old today. Not the best birthday I've had, to put it mildly. So horray for me, I guess, and anxiety sucks. 

Wednesday, December 13, 2023

More visual, and more impatient

The way I get turned on has changed. It's been a very gradual change, so I haven't noticed until now, but looking back to before testosterone it's obvious: 

I'm more impatient now, and much, much more visual. Where I before enjoyed reading smut, including long novellas with erotic content, I don't have the patience for it anymore. If I want to come, I want to come NOW (or within 15 minutes max). Not in 45 minutes or more. 

The first 8-12 months on T, I was a roaring caldera of horny. Absolutely anything could turn me on, and once I was turned on I couldn't turn off again without coming first. Like a volcanic hot-spot that just keeps going until it explodes. After 12 months, it's calmed down significantly, but I'm still more horny and easier to turn on than I was before. 

However, most striking now is that the WAY I turn on is different. I'm more visual now. While erotic art could fascinate me before, very, very few still images actually did anything for me in terms of turn-on. Now they do. I can find a specific picture of a bondage position, for example, and feel turned on immediately. Porn, in video format, also does more for me now than before. Before, I used to be focused solely on the audio. And whilst audio is still important, visual is has much more of an impact than before. 

It's strange how the "typically male" stuff, may just be hormonal after all. It's not society, it's not brain composition, it's not genes... It's hormones.

Body is weird. I love it.

Saturday, November 25, 2023

I'm autistic

Yesterday, I was officially given the diagnosis that I've long suspected could be mine: Autism. 

I tried getting diagnosed through the public health care system, but they just denied me. Repeatedly. And whilst self-diagnosis is valid, it doesn't (unfortunately) carry the weight of an official diagnosis. So I had to go privately, getting a full test done from a private neuro-psychologist. 

We spent half a day talking, half a day taking various tests (for IQ, working memory, executive function, concentration etc). Then another hour, at another appointment, doing some mental health screenings. In the end, she told me what I already knew: I'm autistic. 

The primary feeling is that of relief. I've known this for a few years, but getting it verified from a professional carries much more weight. I feel like I'm "allowed" to struggle now. That I have a proper reason, other than low willpower or laziness. My struggles feel... Justified. 

She also told me that she'd expect me to have 80% work capacity, given optimal circumstances and nothing else that "steals" from my capacity. But I have kids. And I'm trans, suffer from gender dysphoria. Those two factors obviously reduce my capacity. In addition, I have a job where I'm expected to attend meetings, talk to people all day, and generally be social. That's exactly the opposite of the sort of job the specialist thinks of as "optimal" for me. And I agree. 

An optimal job for me would be one where I could work mostly by myself, in my own little office. Where I could control the lights, where I could control the noise level (and kind of noise), and most importantly: Where I didn't have to talk to people much. Where the work was intellectually challenging and interesting, but familiar and predictable. Where I knew the other people, where I knew and trusted my boss, and where I could work from home some days per week. Anything other than this, would steal capacity from me. Make my real ability to work even less than 80%.

Up until now, I've worked in a people-oriented job. I've not only attended a lot of meetings and phone calls, I've also forced myself to be social with my co-workers. Coffee breaks, lunch breaks, never a moment alone to just.. Breathe. I've worked in an open office-space, with people all around. I COULD borrow an office, but we have an "empty desk"-policy and many people want to use those offices. So I can never feel safe there, it can never be truly mine.

It's only logical that having forced myself to work 100% under those conditions, I'd fail again and again and again. Struggle with mental health problems again, and again. To hear her say that I shouldn't expect myself to function in a full-time job felt like a blessing. A permission to just.. Exist. Breathe. Not perform all the time. Not try to be more than I am. 

I'm so relieved to have been given this diagnosis. I'm so happy to be able to call myself, officially, autistic.

Monday, November 20, 2023

A long and winding road

I recently read this post, and it really struck a nerve. It made me think back on my own journey, and take stock of where I am now. 

The second anniversary to my egg crack passed almost without notice. So did my "1,5 years on T" date in September. My second cracking, when I realized I was transmasc, was on December 2nd two years ago. That date is coming quickly too.

And while I do still think about these things, it feels like my identity has... settled... more. I'm not as much in a million pieces, like I was just after egg crack. I've picked myself up, put myself back together as a new sort of mosaic, and I'm staring to get comfortable with the pattern. It's not as new, not as frightening. 

That voice in my head, the gremlin that kept questioning whether I might not really be trans.. It's quieter now. Doesn't speak up as often, or as loudly. It's not gone. I don't think it'll ever be completely gone. But I've accepted it, just like I've more or less accepted the rest of me. After all; it could be right. I might have just fooled myself into thinking I was trans. I might regret this later. 

I might. I find it highly unlikely, but I might. 

And then what? 

Well, then I'll probably transition back. Partly, or all the way. And that's ok too. At least I did what I could to try to be happy now. If I change my mind, I'll do what I can to try to be happy then. I'd rather try, and regret it, than regret never having tried at all. 

Today is Transgender Day of Remembrance, where we remember our trans siblings that have been lost to anti-trans violence or suicide. I've never been actively suicidal, but statistically almost 40% of my trans siblings have seriously considered suicide in the past year. Mental health improves, statistically, if we are accepted by our family and friends. And I am. 

I've been immensely lucky, in this respect. I can imagine how much harder this journey towards self-acceptance would be, if I was all alone. If people didn't accept and respect me for who I really am. I can imagine, and I shy away from that thought. Because I'm already struggling. Not suicidal, no. I don't think I will become suicidal either. But my mental health isn't all that great.

So while my journey towards self acceptance feels calmer now, less bumpy, less scary, less unfamiliar.. It's still a long, and dark, and winding road. I stumble occasionally, because I'm really, really tired. I love how everything feels more settled now, but I still want more of that. More predictably, more security, more stability. Knowing both where I am, and where I was going. That would be nice.

My girlfriend

I can FINALLY talk about it: I have a girlfriend. 

Not a new person in my life. Not at all. Novice is my girlfriend. We've been together for almost a year now. She's a trans woman, and I couldn't write that here because she wasn't out to everyone yet. I've had to misgender her on this blog for the past year, using they/them pronouns for her. Now she's out, so I can finally be truthful about her here as well.

I'm so happy for her. I know how difficult it is to be deadnamed and misgendered all the time. How much of a relief it is to finally hear your own name, to dress in your own clothes, and to hear the proper pronouns. I'm also super proud of her. She's had a much longer and harder road than I had, and she's made it through. 

I'm also really happy for me, because now I don't have to keep misgendering her to everyone. It's really, really stressful for me, to keep secrets like this from everyone. I kept worrying I'd slip up, by accident. So her coming out now is a big relief to me as well. 

Most of all, I just love her.

Her body has changed a lot since starting estrogen, and I love it. I was attracted to her before too, but now... Damn! Her breasts, especially, are triggering Feelings in me I didn't know I could have. I hated my own, to the point where I needed to have them removed.. But touching hers, grabbing them, or just simply holding them.. It bypasses any logical thought or conscious feeling, and runs a lighting rod straight to my groin. 

"So, I guess I might like women..." has become a running gag with us, and for a good reason. I still struggle to truly, emotionally accept that I'm into women. It's been two years now, since my queer awakening, but still.. It feels dangerous. Forbidden. Scary. Sometimes I just sit next to her on the couch and marvel at her face, so feminine and beautiful. I can't quite believe that this gorgeous woman is my girlfriend. That I get to cuddle up with her several days per week. That she seems to want to be with me too. I'm scared, but also happy. There's a lot of feelings, all jumbled together. Mostly, though, there's love.

It's been a bumpy road, I won't deny it. We still struggle sometimes; we misunderstand each other or get stuck in a communicative rut. But it's worth it, at least to me. I love her, both her mind and her body. I'm so grateful, so happy, that she wants to be with me. My girlfriend. My love. Novice.

Tuesday, November 14, 2023

Lack of representation

I'm starting to notice the lack of representation. And it bothers me more than I was prepared for.

Basically, while living as a woman (remember: I thought I was cis until I was 35), I was used to society glorifying the female form. You know, the "male gaze". Sexy women are everywhere, like statues, commercials, on tv etc. My relationship to my own body was basically: "I enjoy people finding me attractive", but I didn't love myself at all. 

As I grow more masculine, I loose this representation. I don't see people who look anything like me, being seen as hot. As desirable. As beautiful. Nor do I hear it much. We don't compliment men or man-adjacent people, the same way we do women. Especially not "dad bod" types like me. 

And so I start to question my own desirability... Not because I regret transitioning (I don't!), but because I've lost that representation that I used to take for granted... I always hated my body, but at least I knew some people would find me sexy. Now I don't hate my body as much. On the contrary, I occasionally see things I think is sexy about myself.. Yet I don't feel desirable, because I've lost that representation and attention that I was used to. 

I might like myself better, but does anyone else? Can anyone look at me and find me sexy? Beautiful? Desirable? Get turned on by my appearance?

Liking myself more isn't enough. I would like others to desire me too.

Monday, October 9, 2023

Did I know what I'd look like?

I'm thinking about transition. Did I have a clear idea, before starting testosterone or getting top surgery, where I would end up? What my gender presentation would be, how I'd look? Did I have some sort of goal?

No. 

I just knew some things hurt, really HURT, and I wanted to get away from it. And some things, like wearing a man's shirt, felt good.... Because it didn't hurt. I'm not even sure if euphoria is really it's own thing, or if it's just the relief when the hurt goes away for a bit...

So I knew what I wanted to escape from.. But just like someone who's grown up with an abusive family, I had no idea what my life WITHOUT that hurt would feel like. Hurting was normal to me, anything else was almost inconceivable.

Looking at myself in the mirror now, I feel... Unbelievable. And not as a turn of phrase, but actually "like something I can't quite belive in". I'm so far away now, from anything I could possibly envision, it's hard to grasp.

I've had these periods of unrealness before as well, especially the first few months on testosterone. I know it's a result of my body changing faster than my mental image of myself. However, this time it doesn't feel jarring or unpleasant, not even a little. In stead, it feels like a really happy dream. And I'm afraid I'll wake from it. 

Sunday, October 1, 2023

Acknowledgment is existance

On September 14 2023, I had masculinizing top-surgery. Meaning I had my breasts amputated. I haven't written about it here previously, because I haven't felt the need. On one hand, it feels so incredibly natural. The way my chest has always been, really. On the other hand, that observation is done with a certain distance. I don't think I've emotionally really dealt with this yet. There's been a binder, and wound care, and small infections, and scabs that look pretty nasty still... I can't really touch all of myself. And what I can't touch, doesn't really exist. 

That's actually what I wanted to write about today. Not the top-surgery, but recognition. Acknowledgment. Acceptance. You see, Novice can't handle my body at all these days. There's three different ways this is apparent, all for different reasons, but the sum is that they can't deal with my body. When I'm around them, I need to close the doors, cover up, and not be touched. And that hurts.

I know Novice doesn't want to hurt me. I don't suspect malicious intent, not at all. That doesn't take the hurt away, though. The rejection of what I physically am. 

Here's the thing: A couple of days before my top-surgery, Novice told me they would probably have issues touching me or looking at me after the surgery. They get queasy at the sight, and though, of anything penetrating or parting the skin. Blood tests are really difficult for them, for example. So they told me, two days before my surgery, that they probably wouldn't be able to look at me at first. 

I had a lot on my mind (as you do, two days before major surgery), and didn't really process the true meaning of this at the time...

Now, it's been two and a half weeks. The bruises are almost gone. The stiches and surgical staples are out. Except for two small areas, the long wounds where my breasts were removed, are all closed up. The tiny wounds that are left are very shallow, and getting better every day. My nipples are still scabbing and look pretty bad, but they're always covered up anyway, so they aren't visible or in any danger. 

I'm pretty much healed now, and Novice still hasn't seen my naked chest. Still hasn't really acknowledged what I've done. Still haven't touch any part of me between my lower rib and my neck. And I feel so incredibly hurt by this. Rejected. Unloved. Much more than I thought I would.

One part of it is that I wasn't prepared for it. Springing "by the way, I won't be able to touch you or even look at you for weeks and weeks" two days before... That's not sufficient preparation for me, even had I understood what they really meant back then (which I didn't). If I'd known before booking the surgery, I'd probably postponed it. Not indefinitely, I would still want top-surgery pretty soon.. But the well-being of my partners is always incredibly important to me. So I'd probably want to think this through again, maybe make slightly different choices.

The most important aspect is the trauma, though. Because even though I wanted this, it's still a trauma: I've had parts of my body amputated. 560g and 650g respectively. I've had the shape of my chest radically changed. My silhouette will never be the same. This had radically changed my gender presentation, when naked or in form fitting tops. And I'm afraid. 

Not for me. I know I wanted it. But I'm afraid this makes me undesirable. Unlovable. That I really am what the terfs call us: Mutilated. Disgusting. 

Novice doesn't seem to see, or think, about aesthetics the way I do. Nor do they use words like I do. They never call my appearance beautiful, or handsome, or sexy, or anything else really. So while I know what I would do if the person I loved suddenly had big scars across their body, I can't expect the same from them. I can't expect words of affirmation telling me that I'm still beautiful, still desirable. I can't expect them to tell me that they love my scars, love me with my scars, love how my new chest looks. I desperately want that, need that, but I know it's not coming. 

However, up until recently, they did convey some of that same meaning through touch. They were always touching me, reaching out to me, as their way of showing love. Their way of telling me that they accept me, that my body is acceptable to them, that they want to touch me. So while I don't get the words, at least I would get the physical touch.

But now I'm not touched. I'm not seen. I can't even lie skin-to-skin against them. It's like that part of my body, from my lower ribs to my neck, doesn't exist. What you don't touch, don't acknowledge, doesn't really exist in your eyes. It's something disgusting, shameful, something to be hidden away, ignored. It certainly isn't worthy of love. 

Friday, September 8, 2023

Watching women's bodies

A couple of days ago, I wrote on a Discord server:
"I SEE women now. The way I think many men do. The way society talks about men doing, at least. And it's both affirming and terrifying:

I don't really see women (strangers) as PEOPLE anymore. 😬 Not until we start actually interacting. When watching strangers at a shopping mall or on a street, I don't see the women as people... I see them as bodyparts. 😬 A nice pair of legs there, a slim waist there, a really impressive cleavage over there.

I used to think (back before egg crack) that I wasn't even sexually attracted to women. Now... Now it's DIFFERENT.

And like I said: Both affirming and terrifying. Terrifying because seeing people as anything other than people, is wrong. Really, really wrong. 😬 That's not something I want."

The other trans people there quickly pointed out that this didn't quite make sense
" merely the ability to notice body features is [not] inherently dehumanizing. But it's a nice way to stigmatize it, or in this case make you feel bad for seeing it even though your beliefs don't confirm at all that you wouldn't see women as people."

And damn, that hit a nerve. I've never felt bad for being attracted to men... But men are.. Simple. Safe. Easy. I've started to wonder if a lot of that "attraction" was really gender envy, but frankly I'm unable to untangle those two. 

Women to me are not... Safe. Not simple. Not easy. 

There's so mamy feelings tangled up in this. Back before egg crack, women were my pattern, my blueprint for how I should be... And I always fell short. So I looked up to them, and also felt infinity inferior to them. There was also a lot of bullying when I was a kid, the worst coming from girls. So there's trauma there as well.. 

Then there's the fear of men. Of mysogynists. Rapists. Especially after #metoo, but I was well aware before that too. Because #yesallmen can be a threat to women, and women have no way of knowing which are the good guys. I don't want to add to that. I don't want to objectify, be leering or creepy, or make someone uncomfortable or afraid. I don't want to do something that could be unwanted. 

Because there's also a fear of rejection... If women are so much better than I am (because they were able to be acceptable women and I failed), then why would they want to have anything to do with me? I'm so much less than they are.. And yes, this is absolutely internalized transphobia (and misgendering), but knowing what it is doesn't make it go away. 

There's also been a shift in these past few months.. When I see women now, sometimes they aren't put in the same "mental box" as me. Instead of thinking “there’s someone like me/ who I’m supposed to be like/ who shares the woman category with me” I just think “ah, a woman”. This isn't consistently true, as I still misgender myself a lot in my head.. But it's started to happen more and more. 

And I think that's when it happens.. (Towards strangers specifically.. Perhaps BECAUSE they aren't in that same "box" as me anymore.) I notice attractive body parts. I don't even get as far as "I want to have sex with this person", just "damn, those legs look nice" . 

And that thought somehow makes me.. What? Afraid? Shameful? Obviously judging myself something fierce. So what is this? Is it something Ive internalize from an early age? That being sexually attracted to women is somehow Wrong? 

Because I AM, undeniably, sexually attracted to women. I admitted this, firmly, when my egg cracked. At what point do I stop getting surprised by it? I've accepted it intellectually, but I think I'm still quite far from accepting it emotionally.. 

Every little realization feels like a huge epiphany, but if i keep repeating it maybe I'll be able to accept it: I like women. I'm attracted to women. I want to kiss women, fuck women, touch them, eat them out, make them squirm and moan.

They terrify me (cis- and cis-passing women especially) .. They make me shameful and dysphoric.. But I still feel attracted to them. I can't change that. 

Thursday, September 7, 2023

Trying (and failing) to fit in

I cracked when I had the mental and emotional capacity to do so.

From my diary, I see signs back when I was 11-12. I was fascinated by lgbt- issues, and deviations from expected gender roles especially. However, I didn't have the vocabulary then. Trans only meant trans women.. Playing with gender was something only other people could do. Not someone like me.

I got to know a trans man when I was around 16, but I... Cared too much. Too much a stickler for the rules. Cared too much what others thought or what they saw as Right. I wanted to fit in. And knew I didn't. 

I MIGHT have cracked at... 20-25 ish. I was super fascinated by crossdressers and trans people. Knew several of them through the kink scene. But I was too caught up in performative femininity then. Again, I just wanted to fit in. To be accepted. 

So I tried harder and harder. Knowing I was "flawed" because others saw me as weird. Flawed because I could tell I wasn't fitting in. Because I really, really wasn't comfortable with femininity at all, but felt I had to be. Failing at all of it, but seeing this as a personal failure. Not as a sign of anything else.

By 35 I had a fairly stable life, a job, kids starting to sleep through the night etc. I had time to think again. To feel. And by 35 I'd started to give fewer fucks about it all. Didn't try to follow the Rules quite as much. Realized that it was POSSIBLE to choose something other than what society expected of you. 

That's when I cracked. 

It's really sad, in many ways. I wonder what my life would have been like, if I'd cracked earlier. 

Tuesday, July 4, 2023

Excavating anxiety

I've been working with a special stort of physiotherapist these last few months, doing psychomotor physio therapy. Her focus is the connection between the body and the mind, working on body-awareness among other things. The more I work with her, the more I dig down into my own past, my own feelings, the more I find. Like an excavator digging in what looks like a nice, grassy field, but finding an overgrown garbage dump underneath the grass. 

It's extremely uncomfortable, but I think it's important. I can't keep going as I have, repressing everything. 

After the last session, about two weeks ago, I had my first (two) panic attacks. Racing heartbeat, queezy, elevated blood pressure, hands and feet tingling. I recognized it for what it was, so I wasn't scared, but it was still very uncomfortable. Afterwards the increased adrenaline levels were very noticeable for at least another hour or two. I was extremely aware of my own body and physical sensations while it was happening. That's a sort of progress, I think, even though it doesn't feel like it. 

Tomorrow is my next appointment. Today, I've had increased levels of anxiety for many hours. Not a full blown attack, just generalized anxiety. Increased heart rate, tension in the body, problems focusing on a single activity, feeling very "on guard", eyes always moving, hands lightly shaking. Typical adrenal response, "fight or flight". I think I've felt like this hundreds, maybe thousands, of times before. I just wasn't aware enough of my own body to consciously notice it.

This feels like an automatic reaction. I think it's comparable to other automatic reactions... There's tonns of them... Muscular ones like your posture, mental ones like internalized transphobia, and emotional ones like trauma responses. You can't change your automatic responses, if you aren't aware of them. Though once you become aware of them, it's impossible to unsee them. Like systemic racism, once you know it's there, you see it everywhere. 

Anxiety seems like that for me. It's everywhere, all encompassing. I just didn't let myself know about it. (Like being trans.) How much of my life, how much of my reactions and decisions, have unknowingly been shaped by that anxiety?

I don't know. I have no idea how deep this garbage dump is, but I guess I'll find out. If I want to build proper foundations, make something stable and durable, I'll just have to keep digging. It stinks, but I think it'll be worth it in the long run. 

Saturday, June 3, 2023

Scared to lose them

Sex is easy, in many ways. Sex is just physical, or at least mostly physical. Even intensely scary, gender affirming sex, like I've had with NN and Student, is still just sex. I can enjoy it, can enjoy them, but the walls remain. I don't bare my soul. Don't let myself become vulnerable. 

Romance is different, to me. Falling in love wouldn't be possible for me, without also lowering my walls. Showing my true self, and seeing them for who they really are as well. When I love, I don't restrain myself, I don't hold back. I can't. Romantic love, to me, is all or nothing. I can't go into a romantic relationship halfheartedly.

So when romantic relationships don't last, it hurts. Not just because the relationship didn't work out, but because I showed who I really was and had those parts of me rejected. Found lacking. My relationship with Arthur was particularly difficult, because I loved him wholeheartedly, and he didn't reciprocate those feelings. Nothing I did could change that. Even when I'm the one breaking things off, like with Cord, or when it's fairly mutual like with Elle... It still hurts. Even when we're fundamentally incompatible, it still feels like a personal failure. I'm not good enough, or I'm too much, or I don't communicate well enough. 

Saint was the first person I had an openly romantic relationship with, after meeting T. After Saint and I got together, the ban on having multiple romantic partners was lifted and I tried dating others as well. I fell in love with Giant, who dumped me to be monogamous with a girl he'd fallen with. I fell for Dane, but we had so many communication issues, it ended after just a couple of months. Then there was Cord, where communications broke down as well. After him I met Elle. Elle and I lasted one day short of 6 months, before we (for all practical purposes) ended it. A mutual decision, and a good one I think. Still, it hurt. All of them hurt.

Besides, learning who I really am... How I really am... Who'd want to be with me anyway? They fall for a first impression, but I can't possibly keep up that mask over time. And once that mask falls, they leave. Or we end in other ways. Only my very first boyfriend when I was 15, my angry ex X, T and Saint have ever been romantically interested in me for more than 6 months. X ended it after 11 traumatic months. I was 18/19-years old then, and 15/16 with that first one. Since 2005, only T and Saint have held out with me for more than half a year. All the others have left sooner. 

All the others, that is, until Novice.  

Novice and I have been together for 6 months today. I love them so much, and I feel absolutely terrified about loosing them. Which isn't so strange, really, looking back at my the trainwrecks of my previous romantic relationships. I feel convinced that I'm not good enough for them, that I don't deserve love, don't deserve happiness or good things. I feel so terribly afraid of being vulnerable and having that vulnerable core rejected. Again. 

That isn't Novice's fault. None of this is Novice' fault. 

They struggle with their own demons; Believing they don't have any value, don't deserve anything good, they feel convinced that I'll leave eventually. I just need to realize who they really are, they say, and I'll certainly leave. 

That isn't my fault. None of that is my fault. However, I feel it's a sort of consolidation; I'm not the only damaged person, I'm not the only one struggling with feelings of low self-esteem and trauma. They're struggling too. For their sake, I wish they didn't. I don't want anyone to suffer if it can be avoided.. But since I can't change that, I'm glad it's the two of us who've ended up together. 

Being together doesn't mean we won't struggle. On the contrary, it means confronting our own brokenness, talking out loud of some of our most painful thoughts and feelings. However, I believe we will become stronger for it. Being together is better than being alone. Like two trees, almost broken by the weather, we can wind ourselves together and keep growing. It just takes time. Trees don't heal fast, but they do eventually heal.

I have dreams for our future. We both do. Plans for what we'll do in a few months, next year, five years from now. I can't know for sure if we'll be together then. We're still in the grip of NRE, in the light psychosis of being in love with each other. I can't make any promises, and neither can they. The only thing I can say for certain is how I feel right now: I love them. 

I love them with all my heart, with all my soul. Love being with them, cuddling with them, talking with them, breathing with them. Playing together or doing things individually, I love them. Seeing them smile, seeing them focused, seeing them as a dissociating robot, seeing them annoyed or upset, seeing them tired or sleepy, seeing them content, or curious or engaged; I love them. Not despite of any of it, not as a struggle. Loving them feels easy. Like breathing. Even when we misunderstand each other, argue, hurt each other, I love them. Like veins of gold, love flows through me whenever I think of them. 

I'm terrified of losing them. And it's worth it. Love makes it worth it. They make it worth it.

I'm raising my glass and toasting for 6 months together. Let's hope for 100 times that. I believe in us.

Sunday, May 28, 2023

Relationship styles and conflict resolution

When a conflict is unresolved, when there's tension between me and someone I love, my instinct is to seek connection. To seek understanding. To touch, to talk, to hold and be held. To show love, and be loved in return. I feel there's no issue too large for us, if we can only face it together. 

Other people don't process hurt or conflict in the same way. They need distance. Their instinct is to go away, to hide, to lick their wounds in peace. To only come back together once the tension, for them, is mostly gone. Saint is like this. So is Novice. (I sure know how to pick them, apparently.)

The problem, for me, is when these two instincts collide. We've spoken about this before, and usually, we strive towards a compromise; I can't get as much touch, connection and togetherness as I really need, but I can get enough to ground me. Enough to make me feel safe, loved. And THEN they can get the space they need. I still find this difficult, all compromises are, but it's bearable. Hopefully, it's bearable for all parties involved.

Compromises only work, however, when both parties are willing. If the other person withdraws from me, doesn't communicate, doesn't answer my messages, doesn't talk when we're together... Then I don't get any of my needs met, and yet they get all of theirs. And I sure as hell hope it's worth it for them, because it feels like torture for me. 

To be clear: I don't think they intend to torture me (although now that I think about it, if someone's mad enough at me, I guess punishing me in this way would be really, really effective). I don't believe in any nefarious motives here. I think they're short on sleep, depressed, stressed out, and struggling with all kinds of negative emotions. They're taking care of themself the only way they know how. Which of course they should. 

However, regardless of intent, the outcome isn't pleasant: I started today feeling dysregulated and worried, but 30-60 minutes conversation and lots of hugs could have... If not fixed it, then at least made me a whole lot more stable. It would have given me hope, made me feel more... Whole. (This started out as a tiny thing, it shouldn't be permitted to fuck up two whole days.)

I didn't get that hour I needed, though. In stead, I'm left adrift. Alone. The longer I'm left adrift, the more worried and dysregulated I become. I can feel myself spiraling down, getting more anxious. More guilt, more fear, more sorrow, more... Broken. Feeling like I can't trust anyone, right now. Not myself, and not anyone else. Crying, heart beating like I'm running on a treadmill.

If I could step out of this shit, I would. Take a deep breath and push it away, leave this spiral. It's not like this is a pleasant sensation, it's not like I'm choosing this. If I could stop it, react differently, have different needs, I absolutely would. I can't, though. 

And so I write. This is post number three today. It doesn't help, not really, but it sort of... Slows the spiral a bit. Makes me process, observe what's happening, in stead of just being aimlessly pulled down. It doesn't get better, though. This spiral only goes one way. 

And when we do get back together again.. When we do get a chance to talk... You bet I'll apologize. 

It doesn't matter if fighting is a team effort, it doesn't matter if we as a couple could benefit on us both working on our communication skills, it doesn't matter if some blame could be placed on circumstances or elsewhere. None of those things matter. By the time we get together again, I'll have been spiraling in a void for at least a day, maybe close to two. I'll be hurting so bad, I'll do ANYTHING, say ANYTHING to make this stop hurting. Not dishonestly, I still don't lie... But I obviously won't be able to hold my own very well, when I've been in an angstfilled void for two days.

So I hope this distance is worth it. I hope they find stability, and hope, and joy, and good sleep, and peace. I want them to be ok, I want them to be happy.

I hope they're doing proportionally as good, as I am doing bad. There's no way this math checks out otherwise.

Tell me what's wrong, or I'll start guessing

 I recently read this article about Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD) and how it's fairly common in autistic people. I've always thought about RSD as relating to criticism and actual rejections. And while I know I don't deal with that super well, I know others (like Saint, and Novice) who struggles more with it than I do. However, apparently it's not just related to stuff others purposfully do or say... 

This quote, in particular, struck a cord with me: 
"...their experience of RSD as an autistic person causes them to be “very observant of patterns, and so when someone’s behavioral pattern is different, I notice it and often feel a sense of guilt about it, like I must have done something for them to feel upset and that’s why their behavior has changed.” This increased hypervigilance, over time, can be traumatic for the autistic person."

And THAT is definitely something I do.

I also find it extremely frustrating and scary to ask what's wrong, and be told that "it's nothing". When they brush me off, I feel gaslit. Like I can't trust my own perception, like I can't trust reality. There's clearly SOMETHING. I can't tell if the problem is that they hate me, or if they have a pain in their neck, or feel tired, or are thinking of a work assignment they need to do... 

I can tell that something is up. But if the problem was completely inconsequential, they wouldn't have had a need to deny it. To hide it from me. Therefore, I conclude, it must be something serious. Something bad. Something relating to me. Something I've done, or not done, or said, or not said. And the more they deny that there's anything wrong, the more desperately afraid I become. Because I can tell that there's SOMETHING. It's emotionally painful and mentally draining.

If they could just tell me what's up, I wouldn't have to become so stressed out and afraid. Tell me you're tired and your mind is wandering. Tell me you feel conflicted, or afraid, or worried. Tell me your arm is asleep, or that you're thinking about that meeting with your boss last week. Just TELL ME, so I don't have to grow so afraid. 

It feels to me like such a simple fix.  Their non-verbal signals are virtually shouting at me that something's up. I don't understand why people struggle with this, why they won't tell me what's wrong. I'm confused. At this too. 

At everything, more or less.

Being read as angry

Both Novice and Saint seem to read me as much more angry / aggressive than I intend. It feels like any mild irritation I express, as well as annoyance, exasperation, even sometimes fear, sorrow or passionate engagement, is often read as anger. 

This is completely baffling to me. I can often feel annoyed, or scared, or worried, or tired, but very, very rarely do I feel angry. Slightly more often after starting testosterone, but still it's extremely rare. My reactions typically lean towards fear, self-hatred or sorrow in 99% of possible situations, and less than 1% towards anger or aggression. To be accused of having a feeling I really don't recognize at all... It feels really confusing, and scary. I'm basically being told that my reality isn't real, that what I think I communicate isn't the message they receive. 

When it was just Saint, I thought it was a consequence of his traumatic childhood, coupled with ADHD and depression. He often perceives things as much more negative than they really are, sees things in black&white. Not just with regards to me, but in general. So if I say I don't like something he's done, he'll very quickly jump to the conclusion that I don't like him. This makes communications really difficult. 

We've tried having me name my emotions more often, so that he isn't left guessing. Since his guesses often lean more serious/angry/dramatic than what I really feel. So I'll tell him: "I'm feeling mildly annoyed at this", or "I'm fed up by this, it bothers me" or "I'm not feeling angry, I'm feeling sad and scared". I think that's helped a bit, but I'm not sure. Hard to go against a life of conditioning...

Anyway, Novice told me last night that they ALSO perceive me as angry/aggressive. That's two people close to me, independently telling me the same thing. I can't brush that off, or blame it on their mental health issues. There's got to be something there, I'm just not seeing it. 

And even if there wasn't... Even if they're both objectively wrong... Does it matter? The effect is still there: They perceive me as angry, aggressive. The two adults I love the most in this world, are telling me that the way I behave is hurtful, damaging, scary. Objective truth doesn't matter, because subjectively to them this feels true. I'm causing them harm. 

I can't have that. I have to fix it. Fix me.

I have no idea how, as I don't even recognize this expressed anger in myself. Saint and I talk fairly loudly with each other, regardless of mood or feelings involved. But if I unwittingly raise my voice around Novice, they're quick to correct me. So I don't think it's a volume issue. 

I don't scream, shout, throw things, slam doors or hit stuff. I'm not like X, who shouted at me, tore down a shelf at my feet, and made a hole in the wall with his fist right next to where I was sitting. I was damaged by those months with him, traumatized. I don't do any of these things, but that doesn't mean I'm not causing them harm. 

I'm left really, really puzzled. 

Could it be a masking issue? I know autistic people often are perceived as angry/upset when they aren't masking. Perhaps I don't mask as well when I'm stressed / sad / tired / annoyed? That could affect my intonation, make my sentences flatter or more clipped, I'm probably smiling less etc. Could that be why I'm perceived as angry? 

If that's the case: Should I be expected to always remain high-masking in front of my loved ones? Am I really causing harm by not masking? This can't possibly be the whole explanation, there's got to be other things there as well. Verbal- or non-verbal things they're perceiving as anger, that I'm not aware of. 

How the FUCK (frustration at myself, not anger at anyone else) do I work on something, when I have no idea what the problem is?!? No tools to recognize it, no way to do damage control?! This feels like another part of social interactions that I wasn't aware even existed. I can't analyze and master something, if I don't know it exists. 

Well, now I know this exists. And I know it's causing harm. I'm causing harm. So I'll just have to figure it out. I don't want to hurt them. Where do I even begin??

Update: Tried googling, but coming up short. All the anger management stuff is focused on explosive rage. I don't do that, and I don't feel that. On the contrary, I don't feel I loose control at all. I even tried a Norwegian page, but encounter the same problem. How can I work on something I can't perceive?
I'm sure there's something out there, but I apparently don't even know what to search for. I feel lost.

Saturday, May 27, 2023

Changed from gel to injections

Today I made the swap from testosterone gel (applied daily on the skin), to intramuscular testosterone injections (one injection every 3 months). There were many reasons for it, but first and foremost I didn't want to continue exposing Novice to traces of testosterone when we cuddle.. And I want unrestricted skin-to-skin contact with them. So moving away from gel seemed like a good idea.

I also hope for a faster, more extensive masculizing effect, but that's never guaranteed. 

I got the shot at 11am today, and didn't feel much effect until tonight. Now I mainly feel really, really hungry.. But interestingly, my orgasms also feel more intense. I don't know if that's a fluke, but they feel stronger and more pleasurable now. Almost like they did before I started testosterone.

I wouldn't say I'm much hornier yet, but orgasms like that sure makes me... Motivated. 

Thursday, May 18, 2023

Ethical hedonism and the purpose of life

 "If I knew I'd die soon, would I be content with the way I'm living my life?"

That's a translation of the first phrase of the song "Riv i hjertet" by Sondre Justad. The title translates more or less to "Tearing the heart". 

Saint lost his brother today, completely unexpectedly. They're talking of heart failure, but both Saint and I are suspecting other causes. He was younger than me, only 35 years old. A single dad to a kid a couple of years older than my eldest.

Saint is shell-shocked obviously, but I can feel this affecting me too. Not because I was particularly close with my brother-in-law. We'd met a few times, but he wasn't someone I talked to regularly. It's affecting me, not because of who he was but because of the sudden death of a kinsman has an effect in itself. He was younger than me. He had a kid, a job, a life. Friends, family. Regardless of whether he did it on purpose or not, death suddenly feels a lot closer. 

It makes me review my own life. If I knew I'd die soon, would I be content with the way I'm living my life? If I knew I'd die soon, would I be content with my epitaph? To quote Havamal, verse 77-78: 

"Cattle die, and kinsmen die,
And so one dies one's self;
But a noble name will never die,
If good renown one gets.

Cattle die, and kinsmen die,
And so one dies one's self;
One thing now that never dies,
The fame of a dead man's deeds."

Once you're dead, you're dead. I don't believe there's anything afterwards. Even if I had hope for anything else, life here on this earth would end with death. That means there's only the now, here, this is my only chance. Chance for what, exactly? What is the purpose of life? What is the purpose of death? 

To me, those are two very different questions. The purpose of death doesn't matter for me personally. I'll be gone, it's completely irrelevant for me. The only thing I can leave behind, is my legacy, just like Havamal says. That means the people I've affected, the memories I've helped create... So the purpose of death, to me, is to leave behind the best possible legacy... But that's not all. 

Because life has purpose too. I don't believe in any sort of heavenly reward, that puritan idea that suffering and sacrifice in this life would earn me a perfect existence after death. Sacrificing myself for others might help my legacy, after death, but it doesn't do much for my life here and now. It doesn't directly make my life better. 

I'm not a philosopher, and trying to go down a philosophical rabbit hole just left my head spinning. Suffice to say these thoughts aren't well-digested and can't really be logically defended, however my gut feeling is that the purpose of life is pleasure. That means ethical hedonism; Maximizing pleasure, while minimizing pain, for ourselves and others.

I can minimize others' pain by helping raise my kids to be good, well-balanced people. I can minimize my own pain by taking care of myself the best way I can, being true to myself, working on myself to gradually lead a better, healthier life. By not being a burden, sure, but also by allowing myself to be loved. Because love is pleasurable, and feeling love for another (even for one as undeserving as I often feel), means feeling pleasure. By allowing myself to be loved, and to love in return, pleasure is maximized. 

By maximizing pleasure, and minimizing pain, here and now as well as in the long run, I also leave behind a decent legacy. People who love more, enjoy more, are happier and more content than they would have been without me. So the meaning of life might be pleasure, but being true to that meaning will also give purpose, meaning to death. Pleasure as a guiding principle will therefore hit two birds with one stone (poor birds). And that's all one can ask for, I think. 

Tuesday, May 16, 2023

Hormonal haywire

I've been in a bit of a funk lately. More depressed and anxious than usual, less horny. Then I got the results of a recent blood test, showing a significant reduction in testosterone levels. So that might be at least part of the explanation for why I'm feeling so down. 

I'm using a topical testosterone gel, applied daily, and have for over a year. I have no good explanation for why my levels have suddenly dropped, but anecdotally it could be related to reduced absorption rates in the skin, caused by increased hair growth and thicker, less flexible skin (both a result of testosterone in the first place). Apparently, it isn't uncommon. And I'm sick of my body reacting weirdly to drugs, trying to gauge what my blood levels will be and getting it wrong at least half the time!

For example, I had no significant change in T levels after doubling my dose (when I first started T), but then a wild increase (too high) after another 25% increase. Going back down to the regular dose, I was fine for months, until now all of a sudden I'm super low. Going by the blood-work alone, I might even be getting my period back, and I'm telling you: NO! That's so NOT happening!

Another important factor is that someone I'm regularly having sex with is a trans woman. She shouldn't be exposed to topical testosterone, if she wants to keep her own T levels low, and I risk transferring some to her if I keep using gel. I don't want to worry about how and when I touch her. 

So I've decided to try switching from gel to intramuscular injections. They'll only need to be administered every three months, but I'll need a nurse or doctor to do it. I'm scared of the pain, but I know tons of people who're using this version of testosterone regularly and they all assure me it's bearable. If they can take it, I probably will be able to as well. At least I hope so.

Anecdotally as well, switching from gel to injections might also give an increase in the masculinizing effect. Apparently that's a thing for some people, who've had slow effect of gel even though their blood work showed good T levels. That means more body hair, a more masculine scent and perhaps even more bottom growth, all of which I'll be very happy about if it does happen. Just hope my partners will like it too. 

Wednesday, May 10, 2023

I want to do good

Novice and I have been together for a bit over 5 months now. It's this phase where my relationships often go to hell, and I'm worried. I'm worried that my worry in itself will make me more on edge, more stressed, and thus it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. 

I worry because we keep having... I want to say fights, but we aren't fighting. Not at all. We're hurting. Hurting ourselves and each other, through misunderstandings, misconceptions, wrong assumptions and general miscommunication. And we're both too mentally fragile, most of the time, to be able to prevent it. So it keeps happening. 

It's just happened again, in fact. That's why I needed to write. 

They're angry at me, and hurt, and upset, and I can't fix it. I want to, but I can't. It's too late. I messed up, I said stuff I shouldn't have, I had the wrong tone of voice, or the wrong timing, a wrong turn of phrase, or probably all of those at once (and probably other stuff too), and I broke something. Again. Something unfixable. 

That feels... devastating. That there's no way to sort this situation out, no matter how much I want to try. And since I don't really understand what's happening until it's too late, I can't prevent it either. So I keep breaking stuff. Keep hurting them. 

Each time, I feel like I'm learning something. Growing, despite the pain and hurt. I feel WE are growing, too. Growing as a couple. We're not repeating the same stuff again and again, mostly. We solve most misunderstandings (eventually), and then (typically) don't walk into the same trap again. So there's progress. But I worry that I'm not growing quickly enough. because I keep hurting them! 

I can't keep hurting them like this, breaking them like this! I love them so much, the last thing in the world I want to do is hurt them! I want to do good. I want to BE good. But it doesn't feel like I am. It feels like I'm doing more harm than good right now. 

I want to be better. 

I just don't know how.  

Friday, April 14, 2023

Ejaculation / squirting

Before I started T, I'd read up on female ejaculation. I'd tried to do it, both alone and with partners, and never experienced anything even close. I've had plenty of orgasms while receiving g-spot stimulation (though I always need something on the clit too), so I knew I was in the right spot.. It just didn't happen for me. I assumed I couldn't. 

I was wrong. Turns out, all I needed was bottom growth. 

I don't know why this changed, but I'm guessing bottom growth affects the entire clitoral complex and not just the tiny external part. After all. the penis of young boys grows during their testosterone-driven puberty.. Makes sense if the same happens to the clit too, once testosterone is added.

Anyway, I felt something start changing after.. I guess about 6 months on T. Not squirting in itself, but the potential for it. Then I started getting small amounts of liquid, not squirting but trickling out of me. I realized I could put pressure on my g-spot and basically empty myself of that liquid, once I was worked up enough. It was a very different thing than orgasm. 

Then Novice started working on me, and things changed. A lot. They use a very intense, pinpoint vibrator, called Zumio E, directly on my clit. And as I squeal and giggle and try not to squirm, I loose myself in the sensation. So overwhelmed, I no longer have conscious control over my body. That's when it happens; I ejaculate. I ejaculate from external clit stimulus only. 

Each time they've done this, it's been easier for us to get there, and I've produced more liquid. The last time, they did something new: They kept pushing me. They kept pushing, and I kept ejaculating. First five times in short succession, three trickling and two proper squirts with some pressure behind them. After a couple of minutes break, they continued, making me ejaculate another four times. Two of those fairly big squirts too. There might have been some small ones in between here, but we both sort of lost count.  

I was stunned, I had no idea this was even possible. I thought that stuff only happened in porn movies... That a vulva could keep squirting, with pressure and all, and keep squirting, and keep squirting. Apparently, it's not just in porn. To me, it's also intensely gender. I fluids get involuntarily squirted out of my genitals, if I get stimulated the right way. A lot of fluid. That in itself, is slightly gender euphoric, and to me it's also really hot.

Squirting, or ejaculating, is also really different from orgasm for me. Whilst ejaculation is extremely intense, and that loss of control is both scary, sexy and thrilling, is isn't really pleasurable in itself. It's in some ways a release of pressure, but it doesn't give those waves of pleasure that I typically get from an orgasm. There's no ecstatic peak. 

Novice is the first person to make me squirt. They're also the first person to ever give me an orgasm, without any direct involvement from me since I was a teenager (back then, I was sometimes able to orgasm from fingering + oral). Quite a few people have been able to finger me to orgasm, while I use a vibrator on my clit myself. Novice has done it with the Zumio E alone, I wasn't touching myself. In many ways, that feels more intimate than the squirting. There's a trust there, that I've never had with anyone else. I'm ABLE to trust now, unlike ever before. 

I'm excited for the future with Novice. Who knows what other sexual discoveries we'll make or developments we'll have, as time goes by. 

Monday, March 20, 2023

Painting the colors of the wind

-"Why do you love me?", I ask in a particularly vulnerable moment. "What is it about me that makes you love me?"
-"You're asking me to paint the colors of the wind", you say, referencing a Disney movie we've both seen. "I know what love is, and I know I love you, but I can't explain it or describe it." I wasn't satisfied with that answer, but I let the matter rest. You wouldn't have been able to give me a better one. But I keep thinking about it, and about that allegory. 

Because it's true, you can't paint the wind. Not in a realistic way. That doesn't mean it can't be painted, though. First of all, it's possible to do it in a more abstract way. Just like an abstract painting can express emotions or moods, I'm certain it's possible to paint the wind as well. It's also possible to use lines or colors to suggest wind, much like Disney does in that specific movie during that specific song. More relevant to my original query, though, is painting the wind by painting what the wind DOES. You may not be able to see the wind, but you can see the trees bending, leaves being pulled from the branches. You can't see the air, but you can see dust swirling or someone's hair getting blown into their face. You can't realistically, truthfully, paint the wind, but you can paint the effects it has on it's surroundings. 

I think that leads me to the answer I would have wanted.  Just like I can't see the wind in a painting, I can still be convinced that it's there from the way someone's dress is blown to the side. Of course you can't describe an emotion. It's impossible. I don't expect you to. But you can tell me what effect that emotion has on our surroundings... And that might convince me that it's really there. 

Do I need that from you? Most of the time, no. But in my most vulnerable moments, yes. I need to believe that you love me. I need those words of affirmation. Even if, perhaps especially if, they're difficult for you to express. 

And since I'm asking for it from you, it's only fair that I try to paint the wind myself: 

I love you. It's the sort of love that makes my thoughts turn towards you, like a plant towards the sun, even when we're far apart; I think about something we've done or might someday do, I want to share something with you that I think you'd enjoy, I ponder something you said or some experience we had. You're in my mind many, many times every waking hour, regardless of where I am or what I'm doing. 

Thinking of you makes me feel optimistic. I always look forward to seeing you again. I smile when I think about you, and feel a flutter in my stomach, a tingling, happy sensation. Touching you makes that feeling stronger, and cuddling with you is one of the best sensations in the world. I love touching your body, your face, love having your lips against mine. Feeling you skin against mine, your breathing, your warmth, I can breathe too. I'm home. 

I love looking at you. Observing you when you talk about something you're passionate about, or seeing that quirky little smile of yours when you know you're being cheeky. I love the vulnerability you show me, when you dare to let down your guard. I love looking into your eyes and feeling connected with you. I love those emotional sparks that fly when we really bond over something. Some concept or piece of knowledge that makes us both smile. I love watching you when you really think about something, or when some epiphany you have remind me how bright you really are. 

I love exploring your mind, and through that process also exploring my own. I love how your trust in me, makes me trust myself more. We push each other into new experiences. I grow and develop with you, in ways that would have been near impossible on my own. You make me want to do better, be better, than what I am now. 

Your kindness, gentleness, beauty.. Your empathy, your humor, your mind.. Your strength and vulnerability... All wrapped up in one... all you. Not loving you was never an option. It was never a choice. I couldn't help but fall in love with you, and I'm so glad I did. You make my life better, in every way conceivable. I'm so glad I met you, and I'm so grateful you seem to love me too.

That feeling of love for you, which cannot be described in itself, influences every part of my life, every waking hour, every decision I make. Sure the love, the wind, cannot be painted. Whether it can or not is frankly irrelevant... Because my life is so full of love for you these days, it's impossible to describe any part of it without all of that love shining through. I can't paint the colors of the wind, but when there's a storm, the landscape sure looks different. You can't see the wind, but the effects are undeniable. Love, undeniable.