Well, I would like to take a break from my regularly scheduled whining and remember all the gifts i have been given this Christmas. These are in no particular order, but here goes:

1: my home. In a time when far too many have none, i have a safe, warm bed, a fridge full of food, lights, TV, internet, and i can dress how i please in it

2: My mom. Her acceptance of me as Dorothy has simply amazed me, and gives me such comfort when i am struggling.

3: My daughter. I love that bundle of energy more than i thought i could love anyone, and i know she feels the same about me.

Over the last week or so, i have been struggling in various degrees with bouts of anger. It feels like when i havent wanted to curl up and cry i have wanted to shout or even hit something. A friend of mine has suggested that this might mean things are coming to a head inside me, and i will have to make a choice of letting Dorothy out, or losing it. And since the barriers to doing the former remain, I feel like i have been backed into a corner with no way out. The only place i feel human is online where i can just be me without those costs. Real life sucks.

Well, today was one of those "mixed bag" days. First, the bad. I tore my pants to pieces working in the back, no fun. The good: my supervisor actually bought me a new pair, so that was nice. the frightening? Well, while trying to describe how i managed to destroy my pants, I found i could not come up with the words "screwdriver" and "furniture" for several minutes. For a person who depends on words as much as I do, that is very scary.

Well, I wanted to reassure everyone who has been worried about me that I am okay. I have had no repeat of "glitch" that made me feel like hurting myself. I do want to assure everyone that should i feel like that again, I will run, not walk to my nearest ER or call the support hot line A.S.A.P. As for my proscribing doctor, well, he is gone until the new year, but I will mention the episode to him when I see him.

Well, as of yesterday, "Santa School" has become my most successful piece to date in terms of comments left, surpassing even "The Dead Kid". Fifteen people have taken the time and effort to say something publicly about it, and that is wonderful, and I wish to thank them, as well as everyone who left a kudo. Regardless of how it does in terms of the Christmas contest, it has been an uplifting experience for me. There is only one fly in the ointment so to speak, however. I showed it to my mom, and she said she found it sad.

I would like to talk about my last two pieces together, because the one led to the other. I started working on "tears of the phoenix" because I was struggling with flashes of attraction toward men, and it was scaring me. As I had jean say, I felt like i was losing the last part of my male self, and i didnt want to. This struggle formed the first half of the story. At the same time, I was struggling with grief over Misty's "Out of the Ashes". I really hurt when Dolores died, and i wanted to say something about how her death affected me.

I have something that I would like to be able to share, but I am leery of actually sharing it since it might pain some others here. Basically, I had a flashback last night, and instead of being just a victim, i thought about writing it down. The result is a nearly full description of one of the last times i was assaulted. Trouble is, too many people here have had rapes happen to them, and i have no desire to bring those memories back for them unless they can handle them. Any ideas?

A few days ago, I had causally mentioned to my mom that next time i had some cash, I wanted to look for a ladies coat. To my surprise and delight, today she took me shopping. Even though i went in male clothes, it felt like a genuine mother-daughter shopping trip. We found a nice coat that fit me, and I feel much better for it. Do I have the best mom, or what?

I went to an online chat (IMVU, if you care to know the name) and decided to visit a christian room and get some prayer support. Unfortunately, one of the people there noticed my avatar was wearing a TG symbol, and asked me about it. I tried to explain my history, how I felt. Her response was to tell me i needed deliverance from a demon. I told her how i had prayed about this since i became a christian, prayed, begged, cried. How i even tried to kill myself, and even asked God to kill me rather than let me offend Him. How i finally reached the point where i had to accept what I am.

When I first started this journal, the only real rule I set for myself was that I was going to be as honest as I possibly could, and I think i am succeeding.

Mostly, it really hasnt been much of a struggle, other than the difficulty of finding the best words.

I have talked about good times, bad times, and all the times in between, and most of the time, I have felt no hesitation.
Indeed, most of the time, i have been anxious to share.

But today, I find myself struggling to write this.

I want to just babble on about my writing, or whatever.

I may have mentioned before, I am not a fun person to sleep with. Between night terrors, snoring, and the simple fact i dont sit still, even when i am dreaming. But last night was a topper. I remember having a dream of going downstairs, picking up a pile of presents, and returning to my room. Along the way i had turned off my alarm. Once the dream was over, i woke, and it had felt so real i actually got up to check if i had brought stuff up. I hadnt, but I had turned off my alarm, and there were signs i really had left my bed while asleep. It's a little frightening, to be honest. Ah, well.

Had another series of flashbacks yesterday, and thank God for the friends who chatted with me online as i worked my way through it. I am finding all kinds of ironies in my struggles, both with the assaults and with my gender. For example, I realized that i owed to my abusive step-father a thanks, because by forcing us to move when he did, I was able to escape from the monster who was using me. And despite his other flaws, he never touched me sexually, which gave me some opportunity to heal enough to function.

Well, it has been an interesting day, to say the least. I am still fighting a bit of a cold, so I chose to stay home and not go to church today. I went on a chat site to talk to some friends about my depression, and while we were talking, I started having a pretty strong flashback. One of my friends there has my phone number, so she called me, and listened while i cried to the point i could barely talk. Feeling slightly better after i unloaded, i fidgeted, played video games, and made lunch. Then, some remnant of my flashback nagged at me, and i started to write.

Well, it seems like i am fighting the first major depression since i started taking my medication. It started with a sleepless night last night, and pretty much has gone downhill from there. hopefully, i can ride it out, and find a way to hold on until it ends.

I would like to take a moment and talk about the origins of the story i published called "A Cop's Story" It stared during a horrible moment, but by the time I finished writing it, it had become a sign of my progress. You see, I started having a flashback at work, and it was terrible, and i wasn't in a position to do much at that moment. But, instead of just being a victim, I responded by writing, and before long, i had mastered the flashback, and i had crafted (what i think) is a pretty good little story too.