Control. I think it’s what transition has been all about for me. An exercise in extreme control to the point that it took me the better part of two years of HRT, not to mention all that lead up to it to come out fully to my parents and my brother. Control to the point that I’m not out fully to my own child. Control to the point that I can count on one hand the people that know the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

And in the end it’s control that’s holding me back. My last transition attempt was such a disaster I responded this time by tightlly controlling every aspect I could of transition and now that I’m all but fulltime, it’s actually holding me back. It’s the fear of losing control over who knows what and what they’ll do with that information that’s keeping me from taking that big step forward.

It’s control that I see starting to negatively affect my relationships. I can’t move forward with Michael, even if it is just to fail. Even that feels better then a fantasyland relationship that will never happen as long as the world still perceives me as male. It’s the delicate relationship I maintain with my son that will undoubtly suffer by not being completely honest about this issue and what it means for him.

Despite all that, I can’t seem to let go. My son has asked to see my therapist with me a number of times, and yet it would involve admitting that I even have a son to him. It was control and the fear of him not being willing to help me that lead me to exclude any mention of my son for the nearly three years I’ve been seeing him. Now my fear is in having to admit that I lied, by omission, but lied none the less.

I think I have everything under control and yet the reality is I have nothing under control and yet I can’t see to let go and just be Ryleigh. It’s not that I don’t want to, I think I just fear losing control and that is actually what’s controlling me.

I hate it.


False Pretenses

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I work with the best partner ever; having said that, two weeks into deployment, we joke about going for couples counseling when we get demobilized.  Knowing I have severe body issues, he’s generally supportive and even tries to tell me my “man boobs” aren’t that bad.  Yeah, “man boobs”, he has no idea.  We talked a little yesterday about my body issues and I admitted that my boobs were the least of my concerns.  I stopped short of saying they were probably the thing I liked the most about my body.  He’ll be one of the first work people I come out to, but not yet.

I hate that I’m incapable of just being honest about my life.  That so much of my life is built on false pretenses.

I’m not a guy, I don’t really act like one.  Well tomboy is pretty close, but there’s a line and I try not to cross it.  Yet, on face value alone I’m regarded as a guy.  All my relationships, in my mind, are based on me being Tristen, but yet everyone sees the guy that I’m not (anymore).  Again, false pretenses.

I brought my meds with me this time, as opposed to the last deployment.  Having just switched to injectibles I made the tactical decision not to take the vials and needles with me.  It seemed it would be too hard to explain myself, and rather outing, if, in the limited privacy we have on deployment, someone interrupted me injecting myself.  Of course between my meds and vitamins, I take a fist full of pills every day, its not like my partner doesn’t know.  Heck, I take them in front of him (estrace included).  So he finally jokingly asks if one of those pills is my estrogen.  I laugh sarcastically and say “No!”  Once again, false pretenses.

What would my blog be without an obligatory Chris reference?  If you haven’t figured out by now, I love him more then anything else in my life.  I’d like to think in a couple years, when he’s done with school and I get everything worked out I need to, we can get married and live happily ever after.  I texted Chris quite a bit the other night, even admitted at some point if his relationship with his father wasn’t as bad as it was, we probably wouldn’t be as close.  Full disclosure, Chris is younger then me, not Jerry Sandusky younger  then me, but young enough (he’s 23) that I could probably be the significantly older brother he looks up to.  False pretenses, I’m not trying to be his or anyone else’s role model of the man they want to be when they grow up – far from it.  Again, I’m just trying to be the Tristen I know how to be – yet it’s not like I’ve been completely honest with him either.

I had once told my therapist that I struggled with coming out because so many relationships were already based on who I was becoming, not who I was.  I fear losing those relationships just as much now as I did then.  But, the longer I live under false pretenses, the more I risk losing them.

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