You know, waaaaaay back when I sometimes gave in to my need to be a girl, I would just assume becoming one was pretty much impossible anyway. I could look with envy at the lives of females, but I could never have one. I would look down that path, and see impassible mountains and large guarded gates between me and my desired destination. But now that I'm finally trying to make it happen, I'm finding it almost easy. Those "mountains" are turning into gentle hills, those "gates" are not only unguarded, but unlocked, and open at a touch.

There are a lot of clubs in the world. There are dance clubs, and country clubs, athletic clubs and book clubs. And then there is this club. Some famous people are members. Oprah is, for example. Its not exclusive, but it sure can cost to be a member. But once you're in, you belong for life. There isn't a secret handshake, but some members say they can recognize a fellow member without them saying a word.

What is this club?

The sexually abused.

One club nobody ever wants to join, but estimates say 1 in 4 girls and 1 in 6 boys will become members.

I am coming to recognize how I have allowed the events of my past to make me paralyzed in the present. After having my ability to act or think or feel for myself broken, its going to take some doing to learn how to take charge and to no longer be a victim. Its not going to be easy to break this, but break it I must, if I want to be more than a pinball in a pinball machine, as a friend said. I have to learn to trust myself to make decisions, to live with the consequences, and to stop being a deer in the headlights, because we all know how that turns out.

think we've all asked that question on occasion. But maybe it has special meaning for trans people like me. More than anything, I feel a need to know if my gender issues were caused by my rape, or would I have them regardless? I believe I was always going to be Dorothy, no matter what, but I don't know that there is any way to be 100 % sure while I'm still alive. The only real proof I have that I am on the right track is that I have made significant progress in dealing with my past, and there's no sign of a decrease in how much I want to be a woman physically.

She and I were talking on the BC chat site, and she made me a pretty little Lolita dress. Since then, my mental age has been about seven or so - I spent the rest of the night on the chat site looking for my teddy and trying to get people to join me for a tea party. Okay, so it was fun to let my inner girl out like that, but now I worry she wont want to go back in ....

Ah, well.

We were on coffee break, and one of my co-workers told me this story: She had tried to explain who I am and what I'm doing to her daughter, who is 11. The girl said, "So he is a boy who wants to be a girl?" Then she paused and said, "Smart." I thought it was kinda cute and funny.

I know I've been a bit of a Negative Nelly lately, and as good as it might be to get those kinds of feelings out on paper (or on computer screen, as the case may be, its past time for me to start focusing on the positive. So, I'm going to list all the things for which I am grateful.

This can be the worst time of year for people like me, who are trans. Far too many of us are either rejected by our families, or forced into the closet to please them, and that stings even more during this season, which is often seen as "family time." How can we endure it? More specifically, how can I?

Been struggling with a feeling of impending doom the last couple of days, which is why I wrote "Five years gone". Not sure why, but it might have to do with the stress at work and getting some negative feedback over my speed there from my supervisor. I hope I can get through this feeling, but much more importantly, I hope the doom doesnt happen.

I had an interesting moment at work. A customer was waiting for service at the jewelry counter, so I paged for a cashier person to come over. As I was walking away, his wife came up, and said she had had no luck finding someone to help them. Then the man pointed at me and said, "She paged for us."

"She."

This was no sales person hoping for my business, nor even a co-worker with an obligation to be tolerant, but a customer, a stranger.

I bought a 3 dvd set of Jim Henson movies: The dark crystal, Labyrinth, and Mirrormask. They are incredible, and its interesting that two of the films have teen girls as the lead characters. Its also kinda interesting how much I could identify with these two girls, and how much I learned from them. Just one of those things, I guess.

I know most trans-people try to be as stealth as possible - some going as far as changing towns to escape from their past as the opposite gender. But for me, because of my circumstances, this simply isnt an option for me. I have no choice but to be up front about who I am and what I'm doing. There are many times when I wonder what it would be like to be treated as a woman, full stop, but I doubt that will happen. Ah well.

We got a phone call from my aunt Pat last night, saying that her eldest son has cancer. Apparently, he had some before, and was cured, but the new one isnt the same as the old. I guess he is estranged from his dad, and Pat is angry that the boy's father cant put aside their differences because he's sick. It reminded me of the rest of my family, who have taken the ability to hold a grudge and perfected it into an art form. One of these days I should find a way to come out to them, but as they are not part of my life much, if they reject me, I dont lose much. Ah, well.

Of all the aspects of myself that give me trouble, (which are many, and profound) the one that is on my mind at the moment is my ongoing internal narration. I seem to have an author within, recording and commenting on my thoughts and actions from a third person perspective.

I believe the medical term for this is disassociation.

I'm having trouble figuring out my ex. Yesterday, after the Christmas do at my brother's, I took my daughter home, and since I didn't have to work, I came into my ex's house for a bit. While I'm there, my ex starts playing with my hair, complimenting me on its softness and length, and making suggestions to help cover up my bald spot. Then today, when I was dropping off my daughter, she noticed I now have pink gloves, and gave me the third degree for their color. Like I said, she confuses me.