Living my greatest metaphor

Fuck, I hate my mother's reaction to my detransing! I'm already a mess from this damn shock of a realisation and she's just pressuring me more and more, I can't deal with it. I can't shut off her opinions and go my own way when she's constantly on me like this. It's disheartening, makes me tense and and even more confused. I wish she would just shut up and mind her own damn business. I get she's worried but this is just not cool anymore. She's never acted like this before. Whatever it is that's triggering her defense mechanism she's going out of her way to try to tell me something.

I'm starting to realise more and more what it's really about. It's her fucking prostitution hangups. Yeah I lied my way out of it this time too, but this won't hold for long. My father suddenly understands me better, and that's a literal first. I talked to my mother on the phone and except from her own highly biased opinions based in worry, she also told me something my father thought of me, that she thought would offend me but it warmed me. She said he thought that "when I was a guy I looked like a girl trying to look like a guy, and that now I look like a guy who's trying to look like a girl". He fucking nailed some of my inner most feelings. My confusion, my awkwardness, my stumbling in the dark. My thinking that I feel like a male crossdresser and that I was never truly a trans guy. He put it into words I wished that I could. How he can apparently see that, like right through me, I don't know, but that struck a chord in me, and positively so. Yes, that is how I feel too. It might sound like a harsh thing for a father to say about his detransing daughter, but the brutal honesty and directness in that statement did not make me feel like a failure at both genders... not at all... it made me feel relieved, and understood. I couldn't express that properly to my mother though.

I don't think either of my parents could understand how well that phrase resonated with me, or that I find relief in it having been said. I'm hurting, a lot. I don't think either of my parents understand that either... not at all. And I don't know how to tell them. The last thing I want is their pity, or sympathy. Or for them to suddenly start thinking I'm getting suicidal again or whatever might be going through their minds. But this pain is too real and my mother's prodding slashes my wounds open again and again. I can't deal with it.

Yeah, I'll definitely talk to the gender therapists without my mother present in the room. Cause I really need to tell them this. My mother is not being a support for me now. Not at all. She's acting like a harsh critic when what I really need is a gentle hug. I fucked myself up bad by lying to myself I was actually a guy and now she's telling me over and over again how bad I am at being a girl. Not exactly what I need. I know I'm not "bad at being a girl" cause there's simply no such thing, but that's the message she's giving me, constantly, and it's really hurtful. I want to curl up into a ball and cry, but it's better if I can get these thoughts out of me instead so they don't get stuck on a rampant loop in my head and heart. I need to sleep soon, so yeah. Gotta clear my head and I know this is the best way to do it. Just write it all down and then toss it somewhere online.

I feel like I've lost so much of my strength. Like I can't hold myself together or stand up against bullshit as well as I could before anymore. I feel so very vulnerable, like my shell broke. Well, in a way it did. I did let go of a huge escape mechanism, so in that sense, I am standing naked before the world as a woman. And it hurts so much more to be wipped on bare skin than on armour, and everyone can see all of my mistakes and wrong-doings, as well as my hindsight and grief. How do I survive myself? How do I find a way to live peacefully with the choices I've made? Cause I don't know. I don't know how much longer I can stand up, before I'll fall to my knees and start pleading. Where's my strength? I kinda need it now. No, my strength is still here. It's the forces attacking me that got even stronger, and my old armour doesn't fit my new form anymore, and thus my original strength is in need of an upgrade. It didn't get worse, it just hasn't caught up with newer malware programs yet. Oh where do I find an upgrade?

I'm cold, so very cold, I'm literally shivering and my hands are freezing. It hit me so suddenly when I had hung up the phone. Along with anger, frustration, but also emptiness. And resignation. Like wanting to sigh but being too tired to even do that. Holding the cigarette for several minutes without taking a drag cause I zoned out in the masses of thoughts fighting and climbing on each other like a bunch of starving monkeys all trying to reach a single apple hanging on a string from a roof. I couldn't even focus on a single one of all of those thoughts. And my cigarette blurred out of my focus too. And a wave of intense tiredness hit me.

I don't even remember all the crap she said and what I said but whatever. But basically it's the "slutty" type of femininity I wear that she decided to rag on me about again, and even tried to explain to me exactly what type of clothes bothered her and why. I'm so tired, mom, please leave me alone. Just leave me alone in my fucking grief. And the only fucking thing I can hold on to and feel comforted by, you're trying to tear apart cause you think whores are the sadest, most pitiful people on Earth and you don't want for me to get that kind of reputation. Well I told you now that's a tad too late cause I've already had that reputation for a long time. It doesn't bother me, it never has, cause I don't think so fucking badly of whores. They're PEOPLE, just like anyone else. That if random people think I'm a whore cause of the way I dress I really don't care cause I don't think badly of those who have that kind of job. But you don't understand and I'm hurt.

It's not even about it being my stupid "dream job" cause it's not about that. Not at its core. At it's core it's about my own subjective idea of womanhood, that I first thought of as something gross and shameful, but that I now embrace and tell her she's truly beautiful and valuable, and should be proud of herself. She's not dirt, she's gold. No matter how useless and worthless she feels for the pain she suffered. No matter how badly she hated herself for being strangers' fuckhole and that she hated herself for thinking she was just as bad as a whore. That she was broken for all that sexual trauma, that that's what made her that way, and that's what made her connect womanhood to filth.

At it's core, it's my sexual revolution. That I found pride, pleasure away from shame, self love away from thinking I was filth. I didn't wash my filth off, cause that's what I had been trying so desperately beyond the point of flaying my skin sore after hours in the shower scrubbing the same areas over and over and over again, then devastated by that the horrible filthy feeling remained so I didn't shower again for a week, and then repeated the cycle. No I left the filth on me cause I knew it was never actual filth to begin with. It was my body. And I express that with my slutty style: my way back home. To love myself, my body, my sexuality, to stand proudly next a prostitute saying "I'm not the same as you and we don't even have the same job, but I look like you and I feel like you, and I'm just as proud of you as I am of myself. I do not idolise you anymore, now I simply fight by your side, and if you don't want me to, then I'll simply be by your side." Cause I don't need to be a prostitute to resonate with that atmosphere, and I don't need to be one to dress like one. It's not about actual prostitution, it's a metaphor.

A real life metaphor, that I impersonate for the sake of releasing myself from my own prison, thus show myself as the most true me as I possibly can be, by looking like something I am not, but that I feel reflects me. It's a paradox, meant to be paradoxal, and reveal what it's hiding and hide what it's revealing. And that is why I've adopted it. It's like playing theater acting as yourself, while no one knows it's you and they tell you how badly you portrayed your own self. I can't properly explain it. I've always known this, but it's always been beyond what my words can tell. Prostitution is not really something I aspire to have as a job, or rather it doesn't matter if I do or not; it is something that I simply resonate with, as though it is speaking my truth with another story.

And that's why it hurts me when she stomps on my style because of what other people may think of me, when that's exactly why I choose to still hold on to that style... cause I, alone, know I am stronger than the crowd. "Jump, they say" but I walk away. But my own mother is in that crowd, telling me to jump. I can't. I just can't. She used to be the only person I could never lie to. Now she's the only person I can't tell the truth to. What happened? What happened...

Grim light (poem)

I stand in shadow and gaze at grim light
dimmed by my hesitation, wondering is the future even bright?
too far to see and not enough to show
am I blinded by what I already know?

Never knowing if I'm too hopeful or too bitter
left dithering between choices, unable to tell dust from glitter
but I lean forward, to dip my toes into the cold water
hoping, waiting, but time grows as I faulter

And I stumble into the unknown
as fear ruptures my excitement, and hides what I want shown
but how will I ever touch it and feel
if I cannot somehow make it real

It's dangerous they say, and worry for my health and sanity
but I grew weary of care based on a taboo, disguised as humanity
and now I wander freely into the dirt to find brittle gold
to the fringe of society where my shell can be repeatedly sold

And all my reasons to fear, what might not even come to pass
will follow me all the way through, alas
and all the times I'll misjudge and get hurt, I'll recall that hesitation
exasperated by the doubts of others
but without this chance I'll be lost in my stagnation

(written by me)

Martyr for my own success

So, it's getting close now. I bought a "new" (thrifted) phone that I need to buy a new battery for (nice, they sold me a broken fucking battery), got a free sim-card to use for that phone if I can get it to work so I can have that as my "work phone" for contacting clients. Nope, you can't have that number, unless you also want to buy some sweet time. I'm still gonna keep using my regular phone and number for everything else, so it's not a replacement. I set up a new e-mail address/account to be my "work e-mail" for the same reasons. I bought a camera, memory card and tripod so I can take decent looking photos of myself for my profiles/accounts on escort websites.

Now... there's not much more left to do. I just need to get those photos taken, get that damn phone in order and hope the new battery I just bought will do the trick, and then just go over my checklist a few hundred more times. Then I will start. The scary adventure shall begin then. I expect that I will start selling sexual services to other men, from sometime during the first week of May, give or take a few days. It feels surreal now, as I've been planning it for months, and thought about/considered doing it for almost a decade. To just be a week or two away from setting off... it's surreal.

I did manage to take at least a few photos today. For my profiles on escort sites, that is. But fucking hell, I prepared myself for I don't know, maybe 3 hours, then took photos and checked angles and fixed with the camera for like 2 hours, and... got 10 pictures. That's like 2 pictures per hour, if you put it in perspective. With all my breaks for cigarettes, coffee, online scrolling and food included, it was more like 8 hours in total though. Cause I started at noon and I've just sat down feeling done at 8 pm. Sun went down, and I won't get the kind of lighting I want anymore today.

By the time I was done preparing myself with manscaping, shaving, washing and trying out outfits I was very fucking tired and gulped down coffee while cutting my nails, sighed and wondered how the fuck I was gonna have any energy to take any pictures at all, while also grimacing at the setting sun cause it reminded me that I was starting to run out of time and I should at least try to take a few pictures to get some profit for all that work. I googled a trustworthy escort site for men and looked at some of the guys' profiles there to get some inspiration for what kind of pictures to take of myself. Instantly found a gold member who looks really fucking high-end professional and I was certainly inspired... damn, that's a hot guy who definitely knows how to show his best side on camera...

Anyhow, I was mostly inspired by him cause he doesn't look too mainstream, like he has a bit of an alternative touch to his style, with tattoos and dyed hair (dark with some highlights, so nothing crazy). Because I don't want to look too mainstream in my own pictures, although I also don't have the intention of looking like I'm a bdsm-obsessed vampire living in the dungeon of a castle either. So, more like mainstream but with a goth touch and a hint of a bdsm interest.

Although there's one outfit that I just must bring out in photos... fake leather vest in biker style, fake leather gloves also biker style, my old leather combat boots, and a pair of tiny thongs that look very "rock chick" feminine that I randomly found in a wilfully forgotten moving box of mine. I really had an epiphany when I thought of that look. To dress my female parts in feminine clothing and the rest in masculine: to highlight my transness in a creative and sexy way. Hell yeah, I'm best of two worlds! However, I didn't wear anything for the photos I took today. Thought mostly I'm gonna need to have pics in which I'm just simply naked, whether my privy parts show in them or not. I just wore my silver dragon necklace and piercing jewellery like I always do.

I started out posing with a pillow at the edge of my wider sofa bed. I don't have any fresh looking white sheets or pillow-cases, so a freshly calm, medium dark, cool blue colour just had to fucking do. I mostly posed lying on my side, lying on stomach and lying on my back, trying to smile seductively and not look too tired. Tried to take some of me sitting up as well but the angles and zoom would not have it, so I gave up on that for today. Since I had to get back up from the bed to look on the camera between every photo, and re-position the camera and re-fix the settings obnoxiously much, it took for fucking ever to just get 10 decent pictures and around 5-10 crappy ones. And by crappy I mean over-exposed, angles that made me look like a total sack of potatoes, test pics, pics with either my head or my crotch cut out at the edge, and pics with really bad orangey colours cause of wrong filter. Those I deleted from the camera right away when I was done, so I wouldn't be confused about that when I return to that project next time.

Just to be clear, I don't mean that I think I actually look like a sack of potatoes. The pictures I did keep look real damn good, at least from what I could see on that tiny screen. Especially one in which I'm lying on my stomach with one hand to my face and look at the camera to the side. I look fucking gorgeous and sexy and the light is just so nice on my pale skin without being over-exposed. And another one in which I'm lying on my back with one hand on my chest and the other slightly spreading my pussy and I look so comfortably horny and inviting for a gooood time. I'd fuck me in those photos! So, there's no issue with my self-esteem, but there certainly is something lacking in my photography skills, and making the pics look good really has nothing to do with what I think of my actual looks. Cause I can look like a gorgeously handsome god in one pic, but like Yabba de Hut in another.

My mother conveniently called when I was still strutting around butt naked trying to fix camera settings and go blow my nose. So, I kept walking around naked in my entire apartment while talking to her on the phone. I'm glad it's finally warm enough to do that, these days. I've no idea if people walking on the street outside my living room window can see what's going in my living room or not. I'm on the second floor but the window is really big. I mean... I don't give a fuck, but people have been reported for "indecent exposure" for less. Well ain't that a risk I'm just gonna have to take, huh? Cause I kinda need some damn sunlight in my nudes, cause I ain't got no damn decent lamps and I need it to at least almost appear professional looking. But who am I kidding, right? I'll likely still look like a skank in a messy living room. But at least I'm trying to look professional. I'm a beginner at this with no damn money to spend on super high-tech equipment and I really can't think of anyone who'd freely (or for pay) be fine with being a camera-man for my fully naked, slutty pictures in which I might be masturbating, so please cut me some slack, okay?

No, I certainly didn't get enough pictures, but it's a start. One problem though, is that I need to take some upright pics as well, but as far as I can tell, I can't put the camera in vertical position on that tripod. Only horizontally. I'll take a closer look at that tripod and see if I can make that possible somehow. Cause fucking hell the instructions for that thing are practically useless and I've gotten way further figuring things out with just my creativity and sheer dumb luck.

I can't decide if I should buy some kind of harness for strap-on’s or not. Well I want to and I also don't. The thought of me saying "yes" to any possible client wanting me to penetrate them gives me the most nervous boner ever... Like fucking hell I wouldn't even know how to! I may be somewhat experienced in bed by now, but on that particular point, I'm completely clueless. I don't think I even know how to attach a dildo to a strap-on harness, let alone using it on someone else. And yeah, anal is also damn tricky, but at least I know how to prepare my own ass for a fuck. And cis guy asses are not that different from trans guy asses, except from that actually quite exciting thing about a prostate. To stimulate, of course. I can't help but admit I've been fantasising about that... But would I even like fucking another guy's ass? I have no freaking idea. I'm not sure how much actual pleasure I could get from it, you know. But then I'm also extremely aware of that pleasure happens just as much in the mind as it does in the body, so there's some potential however low or high with that.

Even though my "dick" wouldn't be real in that scenario, although I've thought of maybe possibly spending some extra cash to get a hyper-realistic one, like a prosthetic for trans men, then. Cause it would feel nice if I'd have a strap-on that literally looks like it's part of me. Cause yeah, I've seen some real nice such ones online. Like really hyper-realistic ones that seriously look like the real thing to the point of fooling people (not that I would though), that can be glued on.

But then they also cost quite a bit. Count on at least a couple of thousand kronor. So maybe for later. I can't quite piss off that much money in one go right now, also with shipping from the US and added extra fees like customs and what not. Especially if I don't even know if it would be something I'd enjoy. So, I'll probably start with simpler, more common types of strap-on’s, that rather cost a few hundred kronor and can be bought from Swedish websites. If you wonder if there even are any cis guys who'd be into me fucking them with a strap-on? Two words: you bet.

Yeah, they're not that many, but they most certainly exist and I've come across a few. Some vers bi guys who want to both give and receive penetration. And yes, I think I can get to have a good time also with paying customers, even though that will of course slump down to second or third priority. As their pleasure and comfort will be my first priority. But I can have more than just one priority and somehow I think quite many guys would actually quite highly appreciate it if their whore is having a good time with them too. It's very easy for me to feel pleasure in sexual situations, practically regardless of who with or what we do, but it's very hard for me to cum when together with another person. My sex drive is so sky high that I only need to think about sex, or be naked, or be given the slightest sexually implying touch even by my own hand, or even just being desired by anyone at all, to get really really turned on and keep it that way. So I say pffft.

It took a while to get used to living with that kind of extremely sensitive, high sex drive, 24/7 fulltime. As you can probably imagine. Just sitting in a car feels like sitting in a giant vibrator sometimes to the point of actually orgasming without doing anything, right next to my (hopefully) unknowing family members. Although it's rare, it actually has happened. And I had to get used to eating food while being very turned on and unable to stop thinking about sex, which was hard for me cause I think food is one of the biggest turn-off's ever and sex is the biggest appetite-killer ever. And getting used to that horniness almost always returns right away after climactic orgasm when it's impossible to keep going comfortably.

It took some damn getting used to being horny and trying to distract away thoughts about sex in literally any given situation no matter what, with whom, how or when. And getting used to automatically fantasising about having sex with practically every new person I ever meet (like doctors, nurses, cashiers, neighbours, various staff of various instances, etc) and most strangers I just happen to pass by on a street. My sex drive/addiction is almost a handicap at this point. But I'm okay with it now, for the most part. But I need to fuck the living shit out of it, before I burst. Did you know that boners, even if you have the female variety of equipment, do get painful if too intense for too long, cause it feels like your junk is gonna explode from the blood pressure? Well they do.

But also, whether I'd be totally into penetrating other guys or more "meh" about it, as long as it's not a turn-off and I can at least seem totally into it, I think I should at least be open to having that as an option for clients to choose from that menu if they so want to. But the thing is if I do put it on the menu I also have to deliver if I get that specific thing ordered, if you know what I mean. I'll sell services, pretty much in the same way a restaurant sells meals, although with a bit more leeway to say no if I don't think I can do it, but I should not offer services that I never even intend to deliver. Like, if I for example put up receiving anal penetration on the list of available services, then yeah of fucking course I can say "not available" about that specific service on a day my stomach is extra cranky or I was just ripped apart by some previous client and the ass needs a fucking rest to function.

But then I should consider saying "yes, doable" maybe next week when things are peachier in that area. Like I should be able to do it if I'm able to do it, and therefore, I should probably not add things I'm not really into or am very uncertain about. At least not for starters. I can always expand that list later on, if I so wish to. And I've already got a huge fucking list of various things I'd be perfectly fine with providing, so it's not like I need to squeeze in stuff I feel uneasy about just to fill that list, or something. But eh, only providing myself as a total bottom seems really inflexible and I worry it might not give me many clients at all if I don't top... I guess that I have to suck up either one way or the other. Either accept getting fewer clients, or learn to fucking switch. It's just work, right? Just because you don't like sorting the "miscellaneous" pile doesn’t mean you can get away with it by complaining. And maybe sorting it won't be so bad, after all? Who knows what I may find. We'll see what I'll decide for in that particular department...

I have actually considered if it could be possible and/or reasonable to sell my anal virginity, for a bit extra then, cause that really only can happen once. Like if there would be a market for that sort of thing, even. Don't tell me it's sad though, cause it's not, it's fun! I really don't take sex seriously anymore, unless I'm in love. But otherwise it's all just fun and games until someone cums, or falls asleep. And any form of prostitution is like playing strip poker, spin the bottle, or just business, or a combination of all three for me.

Yeah, I'm definitely the type of person who's suck off the boss for a raise, even if he's really ugly and fat and is a total prick. Especially if I'd be drunk at some business party or something. I'd probably over-think it for a few days, but ultimately be fine with it. But now I've never had such a job and I most likely never will. Instead I'll be the guy those bosses hire/rent cause their employees won't put out for a raise. So I guess I might fuck them anyway then. Hmm, sleazy men turn me on a lot... and I might be the only person in history to ever say that and mean it. Oh, dear.

But back to the point about what I want to add to "available services" or not, I just mean I should try to not look like a total scam. But it sure felt good, despite being exhausting, to fix around with that preparing and photographing today. Like it felt liberating somehow, that I'm so close to being all ready set go for prostitution and it just fills me with such... relief. Like I feel more alive, and more awake than I am physically. Like my endorphins are really dancing around inside me. It's like a calm, happy, freeing feeling like breathing fresh summer air by the ocean. Similar to how I tend to feel post-orgasm but less gooey and more alert. Kind of. It's hard to describe cause I don't think I've felt it before. These two or so most recent years and still ongoing, I've felt a lot of new feelings I haven't really felt before. Positive feelings, of comfort, satisfaction, arousal; gentle, soft, warm, enticing, joyful, embracing, exciting, stimulating, awake and soothing feelings that I never even knew existed in me. That I barely knew existed in others. Most of them very subtle and abstract. It's really good to get those feelings, as they seem to almost have replaced all those shades of darkness I was so full of all the years before, that anxiety and death-obsession. That now I have shades of light where they used to be.

It must be the fire burning warm and lively within me. My joy of living. The one I almost thought had gone out completely, revived. It makes me so hopeful about the future, no matter what happens or what I worry about. It's like I got that fire making me never ever want to give up again. And it might seem contra productive or backwards, but for me, pursuing prostitution feels like my first real step on the ladder that's gonna take me to the sky. To real life. To the life I want to live, and yearn for and breathe for! It's my wings. Even if it turns out to not be so fun and more like a chore, if I can at least just do it and keep doing it, and find enough meaning in it to keep it up long term, it's my ticket to my own big enough economy to get the hell out of here and on towards the big city on the main land. My ticket into real adulthood with responsibilities threatening to drown me but that I can't keep slithering away from if I want to reach my dream. I'll learn how to pay my own bills on time, how to clean my damn shower drain without passing out and puking over how gross it is, I'll learn to handle things going wrong in my apartment or at least who to turn to for help when my mother's not just a car ride away anymore.

Cause I've only got the "easy" things under control this far. Like keeping my apartment clean (except from the shower drain, so thanks mom), keeping myself clean and fed and somewhat rested, taking my medication, taking care of my laundry, get the garbage out, cleaning the dirty dishes and not letting things start moulding, grocery shopping, keeping my mood up and finding purpose in life. Okay, that last one most certainly wasn't easy. I had to scramble in the dark for a loooong ass time to find actual purpose in my life. I know I have it somewhere around here now, but I don't know exactly what it is. Whatever it was that sparked that flame within me to burn like it does now, that fuel, is the purpose I found. But what is it?

It's my will to do everything I can possibly do to get off of this fucking island for good, including selling my ass and doing it frequently and long enough to earn a significant amount of money (and wish me luck with that cause it's like 40% taxes in this damn country, I'll almost lose half of what I'll earn, so my ass will almost literally be on fire) that I can stuff the most of into a saving's account on my bank while living on noodles and meatballs, and then spend all those savings on an apartment or a house somewhere in the Stockholm suburbs. But my dream doesn't end there: it starts there. And that's what has me kicking my own figurative nuts like crazy to get me to jump up high enough to get me going somewhere, anywhere, anyhow. As long as I keep moving and don't stop for anything.

But until then, I guess I'll have fun editing my own pussy-pics and then trying to get it fucked by enough guys to make a damn living. I expect it will be harsh in the beginning, I might even ask myself repeatedly "what the fuck am I doing?" without an answer to give, and scramble to get by on less money than I get from my allowance now, making my parents really angry and worried about my choice of job and that I even started a job at all (I'm tired of their over-protective asses, is why I'm not even gonna ask for their "permission" and is why I expect they'll be angry at me), and struggle to understand even how to do it legally with paying taxes and running my own company and how to even label it (I suppose "sexual services" won't go over well with the authorities), and I expect I'll be more scared and stressed than happy and horny when I've just started and get very aware of the real fucking reality of what it's like to be a whore.

But I also think it will get easier with time if I'll just stick with it and give it more than just one chance. Not give up unless there's no other way and I have no other choice and have tried literally everything else; giving up should only be a last resort of a last resort, and I'll shove that notion up my butt if I have to. Here's my promise: I promise I will not give up on prostitution unless there is no other way in any sense and I have exhausted all other options. I'll drag my ass through yet another Hell if I have to. As long as I keep dragging it through, there should be light somewhere on the other side, if I just keep going. This is what I want to do, the only job I've ever truly wanted to have. I'll play my last cards into it if I have to. I'll give it all I've got, and then I'll scramble for more.

Sometimes living in contradictions feels like being in a perpetual motion machine that I'm trying to stop. Cause they're also impossible, you know, and eternity scares me. Maybe I think that if I can't stop the contradictions I can't die, that they make me eternal... immortal. And it makes me so pale to think about, cause it would be the worst of all nightmares. They say immortality is impossible, but so they say about many things I've done and had happen to me. I hope that what they say is true and that I cannot be immortal. I don't know what I would possibly do then. Maybe if I fell asleep drunk in a wood-chipper would be lethal enough, even for an immortal... or God I hope so. I do not want to die now, or anytime soon; I want at least 30 more years on this Earth if I can, or at least until dementia takes my mind. But I do want to die in the sense that I don't want to live forever. I'm so scared of immortality, and it's the most irrational fear ever to have, isn't it? It's like being scared of time travel, or mermaids. It's so irrational and makes no fucking sense cause it's not even real or possible. But it is a fear that I have, nonetheless. Cause my mind makes it real.

It just hit me, but maybe that's why I keep wishing for grey hair and wrinkles. A clear sign of some sort that yes, I am ageing and I'm not gonna live forever. That my body will age and wither like everyone else's. Cause every day I see my ageless face in the mirror that's still stuck on 20-ish, it's like I'm looking at eternity. A digital clock that's stopped ticking but still glows. Like empty space. And wrinkles or grey hairs would be like finding stars. Hope. Relief. Oh yeah, I'm really fucking weird... But that's yet another contradiction, isn't it? That I'm chasing both life and death at the same time hoping to... yeah what am I even hoping for? Control. I want to shorten my lifespan just enough, yet fill the years I allow myself to have with as much life as I possibly can.

Cause I want control over both my life and my death. I'd rather take my own life despite being happy and at peace, than lose all the control I ever could have, forever. Dementia scares me far more than death ever could. I hope I won't get it, but doesn't seem too likely I'll escape that fate. Sometimes I even hope there's nothing more after death. That it just goes black and I cease to exist. It sounds very relaxing and free of pain and fear. And it would save me the trouble of trying to fight God to stop my reincarnation cycle. I'll exhaust the last of my will to exist in this life. Take it all at once, like a really intense last spurt towards the finish line. It's just that for me it might be "the last spurt" but for everyone who knows me, it's the entire race. Cause they missed most of the distance that I've already run. Damn I must really look like an idiot.

The crash course. I'm trying to fit a 200 years long course into a life of barely 70 or so years. That's why I'm always so exhausted. That's why I can't make sense of anything. While others chill or waste time on a boring job and a boring family, I exhaust myself to the point of no return until I'm boiling in my own brain and seek out the shitty experiences that others try to avoid, cause that's where the good juice of knowledge and wisdom is found. And then I kick myself bloody over my horrible choices.

I think prostitution is definitely the type of job that's gonna give me exactly what I need to reach higher peaks of knowledge and wisdom. Cause it's a dirty, shameful, barely legal job with many risks involved. That's exactly what I need to drag my ass through and it feels weird to announce it, but I'm looking forward to that pain. I've become a martyr for my own success. And that, I think, is my actual success.

Connecting mind and body

I do feel more connected to my pussy these days. I'm starting to almost like it, or at least appreciate it for what it is. In some ways. I feel sexy with it somehow, like I don't think I have before. And I'm starting to see some kind of beauty in the mismatch, like it's an interesting combination. Can I make it, can I make it without the surgery somehow? Cause I want to know, and I need to know.

I groomed myself for two hours this evening. Not what I had intended to do, nor did I expect for it to take so long. But I kinda didn't mind it. But why does it not work to shave my pussy with regular razors? Pretty much nothing happens, yet I had a freshly new blade. I might as well have used a comb on it. I used hair removal cream first, but it didn't take very well. There was still a lot of stubble left, so I thought what the heck, might as well try to shave off the rest. But it took an hour and it made the skin there rather sore and raw, cause I had to go over the same surfaces with the razor probably 20 times for it to have any effect at all and it still didn't get all the hairs. At some point I just had to give up. But I did get most of it, and somehow managed to not cut open any wounds, which is a first.

I've found out that it's comfortable for me to be hairless on the sensitive parts there, but not on what I suppose is called the "pubic mound" like that extra hairy sort of triangle area just above the clit. It itches and I get ingrown hairs there if I shave that area, so I leave it hairy but trimmed. And I also leave it hairy so that it won't look stupid with my hairy stomach. I definitely don't want to shave my stomach, cause that dark, thick carpet of hair is the only damn thing that makes me feel like my stomach isn't fat, by the illusion of a shadow. So I only shave my pubes from clit to butt crack, or even just to the area between my vag and anus, cause I don't see a damn thing all the way back down there and no mirror in the world can save me on that point. But anyhow.

I feel a lot better when that area is shaved though. Like I feel cleaner, over all nicer looking, and I like that I can actually see my clit then. It helps with my dysphoria, my body issues due to trauma, feeling sexier and my over all self esteem/confidence. It also makes masturbation and washing the area easier. I guess the only drawback is that it smells funky sooner after a wash. But that's also a good reminder of needing a shower... I'm pretty sure that me masturbating and lubricating so much is actually what makes me stink faster after a shower as well, and not just the shaving. Since I have a wank more like 2-3 times a day instead of once a day, as of lately. I'm really fucking horny.

I'm starting to like grooming my body and keeping my pussy neatly trimmed and hair free, which I do about once a week or so. Then washing it and moisturising it. Then masturbating while fantasising about my lover fucking me and cum hard. Then whiping off all of that extreme excess of lubrication and put on clean and comfortable clothes. Then go out on my balcony and relax with a very tasty cigarette and feeling amazing. That feels like more than just self care... it's self love.

Just writing that hit me hard with the insight. Do I love my pussy? I'm not sure, but I don't think I hate it anymore. I can hate the dysphoria and all the emotional stress that it's filled me with over the years, but I don't think I can hate my pussy. What harm has it ever actually done to me? Damn it's the most healthy pussy I've ever... heard of? Not sure how to end that sentence. I mean I've never had any diseases or infections or anything in that area. And considering how much unprotected sex I've had, not peed after sex most times, and been lazy with that kind of hygiene quite a lot too, whipe myself from back to front after toilet needs, sharing sex toys with others, and forgetting to clean my sex toys as often as I should... I seem to have the immune system of a literal cyborg. Did I also mention I never get sick? Last time I had a cold was like 2 years ago, and the last time before that was like 6 years ago. Especially considering I'm a heavy smoker with exceptionally crappy food and sleep habits, on top of that. Yep, my immune system deserves a medal or something...

Literally the only thing that's ever been wrong with my pussy is the atrophy from the testosterone, but that's hardly an illness or even unhealth. Just sad effects from a lack of estrogen. I wonder... if I can keep stuffing it with local estrogen pills for the rest of my life? 5, 10, 30 more years? Cause I do want and need to keep it usable, while at the same time I never want to stop taking testo. And I'm getting my ovaries removed as well. At least I plan to, I don't know when but I don't think it should be impossible to get that done this year.

Then yes, I will absolutely ask the gynecologist or whoever is my best bet, if they can sew up that top part of my vag (where my cervix currently is) extra tightly so that my internal parts can handle some rough fucking without possibly rupturing, after it's healed properly, of course. Cause I've heard of that being an option to get it extra sealed up in there, or something they can do, for female-born folks who do want to get hystos but still use their vaginas for sex. Because for a total hysto I'll not just have my uterus removed, but also ovaries, fallopian tubes and cervix. Of my internal reproductive system and genital stuff, there will only be the vaginal canal left. Then of the external genitals, I'll just keep it as it is. Although if I'm vain and rich enough, I might wanna get a labia reduction, plastic surgery, at some point.

Especially if I do build a career in sex work, those extra long flaps of skin might make me even more self conscious about how I look down there. It wouldn't be for the career though, but I'd more so consider it an almost, very light, sort of transition related surgery. Cause I am kind of dysphoric about them being so large, like they look a little gross in my eyes, and I don't really have much of any erotic sensation in them either, so losing some nerves in that particular area wouldn't bother me and I think getting them reduced would help with my dysphoria. And it would be an a lot less invasive surgery than any actual SRS. Reading up on it online, it said it's usually done under local anesthesia. But, I'm not saying I'd remove them completely, just reduce their size a lot. But I'd better never want metoidioplasty again if I'd truly consider such a reduction though.

I am talking about the inner labia, in case that's confusing. I'm fine with the outer ones. Really though. I know they're pretty big too, but I like that in a certain sense cause then it kinda looks like I have a little bulge in my pants, even though it is just a "puffy" pussy and probably looks exactly like that too. But yeah, my inner labia bother me a bit, and they always have bothered me, to some degree or another. I pretend to be more fine with them than I am though, in real life interactions with sex partners. But if I'd go ahead with that kind of modification at some point in the future, I'd be careful to make sure such a plastic surgeon wouldn't mess with my clit or its hood. And hope they could handle working around such a big clit that isn't exactly... erhm, typical for cis women to have.

I've been starting to use more female anatomy terms for those parts of mine, as of lately. No, I'm not detransitioning, I'm still a man but also a man who has female body parts. If I had a dick, I'd call it a dick. I feel that using female terms to describe my female parts is kind of helping me in my journey to come to peace with those parts, by acknowledging them for what they are instead of pretending they're something else. I still sometimes call my clit a dick when talking about it with other trans guys, or beat around the bush about it to avoid triggering their dysphoria, but I don't really ever call it that with anyone else, especially cis people. I'm very much for that "call a spade a spade" kind of mindset for my body. Like when I talk about my chest how it was before top surgery, I call my tits just that. And I'm fine with using other slang words for that body part such as boobs, rack, or even honkers if I'm in that kind of mood. However the word "breasts" makes me cringe a bit. But I can still use it if that's necessary or whatever. Ever since surgery I've just called that area of my body my chest, and then naming things specifically like pecs, nipples, ribs, scars, chest hair, etc. But I guess the irony with that is that in Swedish both words "chest" and "breast" translate to the same word "bröst" and it still makes me cringe to say that word in my own language.

I went swimming yesterday, at the swimming hall here in Hemse (takes about half an hour to walk there, from where I live) and it went really well in many different ways, and I felt so relaxed when I was back home again. I don't want to ramble about it forever, but in conclusion: I was a lot less nervous than I was last time, a little over a year ago. I've never felt so natural and free about my chest as I did there yesterday, walking around shirtless among other people; it felt as though I had never even had tits and like it was just 100% normal for me to go around bare-chested; for the first time ever! That was huge. Showering in the men's locker room went fine too, although a little nerve-wrecking, I was fairly calm about it and didn't even bother to hide my crotch all the time. Like I didn't feel very scared about the other men there seeing it, and I most certainly wasn't alone. Open showers with no cubicles or curtains, just one room with 8-10 showers on the walls next to each other with not even one meters space between, and there were 5 or 6 more guys in there at the same time, all of them much older than me.

Well that is a reason I was calm too: I trust older men much more than guys of my own age. Older guys might be more likely to lust after me, but I think they're also more likely to not be predatory about it. And I really don't mind it if they like watching me, if that's all they do, or I mean... of course I'm not the kind of young guy to say no to an older hottie hitting on me, but I do mean that asking first is appreciated. Yeah, that's certainly worth fantasising about too. But perhaps I should keep that to myself. But in terms of my fantasies, I do want to say that they feel so much better to have in my mind now that I can actually align my physical sensations while masturbating to what I fantasise about. Cause fucking hell I've missed that so hard I want to cry and hold it tightly and never let go.

Finding pleasure in vaginal penetration again, after 10 years of not having been able to get to that point, but not having been able to stop trying or let go of that dream to find it again... then suddenly actually finding it... I don't have words to describe such a reunion.

I've no idea where my mind went just now... but... has anyone else ever had this thought? If a trans guy gets phalloplasty but keeps his vag... can he then, theoretically of course, penetrate himself with his own dick? That thought turned me on a bit. Cause I've seen porn videos of cis guys penetrating themselves anally with their own (rather long) dicks, and I guess my thought wandered to trans guys with phallo, cause well yeah the vaginal opening is closer to the dick then than the ass is to the dick on a cis guy. I'd love to see such a porn video of a trans guy penetrating his own vag with his own dick though... that would be hella hot to see. But not that many post-phallo guys on pornhub, sadly.

But I digress. But where do all my thoughts come from, seriously? Cause I don't know what kind of swamp the majority of them plop up from. I wouldn't call them "intrusive" but rather just "unexpected." But considering how much porn I've been watching for the past 16 years or so... I'm not all that surprised, actually.

But anywhow. I felt strangely aligned with my body at the swimming hall yesterday, although nervous, it could have been much worse. I expected it to be much worse. But I totally felt like a guy there and I wasn't uncomfortable about having a pussy, just the situation my pussy was in that was a little scary. If that makes sense. I wasn't uncomfortable about the rest of my body either, and I knew I was meant to use the men's locker room. Not once did I even consider using the gender neutral one instead. That's the kind of crazy I really take pride in being. The brave kind of crazy, the "I'm scared shitless and can count a million things that can go wrong with this but fuck I'm gonna do it anyway cause I know it's right" kind of crazy. You wanna know why? Come closer, I'll tell you... Cause the emotional reward it gives me is almost worth dying for. Cause it's food for self love, personal development, insights and inner strength. Cause it makes me feel so alive.

I hope I can keep connecting more to my body, while still also work harder to make myself start and continue exercising. By the time I'll start karate again, I want to be ready for it. Both physically and mentally. Then give it all I've got during practice. Prove myself better than I think I ever can be. I want to reach my full potential, somehow. Both physically and mentally. I know I can't just focus on one or the other of those, cause I think one of the most important things I can do for myself in this life... is to connect my body and mind by building them both together, in harmony. How's that for a plan? I think it sounds great. Cause with me being trans and dysphoric, I think I really could make good use for working with myself in that kind of way. To little by little work on both improving my mind and improving my body, at the same time, together. As though I'm forcing and encouraging two enemies to hold hands and do teamwork. Cause I think that's just what they bloody need to get along.

And of course... I do see me starting sex work as also a way for me to connect my body and mind. Sex, very much is, exactly that. At least it is for me. Cause the more I connect my mind to my body during sex, the more amazing it feels, and the more liberated I feel afterwards. And I also think that when I'm being sexual with someone I'm into, no matter how much or little, that is when I feel the least dysphoric and the most self-loving, handsome, attractive, wonderful and actually really cosy in my own body. It's no bloody wonder I got so obsessed with sex when it's basically a drug for me. I wonder what's up with the endorphin receptors in my brain... cause they seem to go really crazy on me when I'm in the mood to fuck. Well, as long as my mental health issues aren't muting them, that is.

It's been a long time... but I remember it as yesterday. I almost buried that dream thinking it was lost forever. But damned if I do, cause now I'll never give up on it again. I'll do everything I can to revive that pleasure to the skyrocketing insanity levels it once reached again. Or I'll die trying. I'll meditate on it, I'll medicate on it; focus on relaxing and being one with my body, take care of it as well as I can and learn to be fine with how it is, I think is a good start to finding that kind of fire again. That kind of fire that could warm up the coldest of winters, tenfold, thousandfold. I want to become an orgasmic god again, and I'll never ever give up on my vagina again. It may be of the wrong sex, but damn it knows how to bring me to a paradise that's really worth fighting for. How could I ever throw that away?

I think I wanted to believe it was dead, gone and buried so that I could go ahead with getting SRS and look fully male, without looking back or feel regret. But oh, now I think there was a huge chunk of wishful thinking in that belief. I didn't want for my pussy to start working again, but damn it's even more stubborn than my hopeless mind is! It's almost as though it had been gasping for air at the brink of death while taking a beating constantly for a decade... and then it just smacked its torturer in the head with a force strong enough to crack a skull, and it kept beating back while screaming "listen to me, you fuck!" So I guess the message is... don't underestimate a pissed off pussy? I think my metaphors are getting a little trippy... no, I swear I'm sober. Haven't had a drink in days.

I might be high on the spring though... the changing of seasons for brighter and warmer days. Some years that has a positive effect on me, other years it doesn't. But it fairly often feels like a good time for a re-start. Especially cause it gets extra symbolic with my birthday being in spring as well. Even though turning 29 is hardly a special number of any symbolism, whether for myself personally or in a more objective sense. It just doesn't mean anything really. And I think I see it more as a continuum of the change I went through around New Year's last year (2016 becoming 2017), but maybe a bit more like version 2.0 of it. Hopefully. Or it will just continue to be version 1.0 until I manage to kick my lazy ass off of this damn chair and get started with working towards my goals.

I'll start trying out sex work rather soon, but how soon I can't know yet. Still some stuff I need to wait for to arrive, and some stuff I need to do and prepare, then waiting for guys to start requesting my services, which I really don't know how long that could take. Anything between a few days and a few months, I guess. The waiting for clients to wanna buy me, that is. The other stuff? At most a couple of weeks from now. So I'll start advertising myself as a sex worker (escort) very soon now. Meaning in or around beginning of May, most likely. I'm so excited about that I don't know what do with myself. And I'm hella nervous too... I'm not sure what to expect...

I probably should tell my lover about those plans as well though... guess I don't wanna but I kinda need to. Especially if it might lead to us becoming a couple, which it could, but I'm really not sure and nor am I wishing either which way. But it's possible we might be heading there even though I'm far from ready for a new relationship. I might have to pull the breaks and say I'm not ready if it would come to that too.

But first things first, I know I can't be with him if he'd make me choose between him and sex work. Cause I wouldn't and won't choose him over that. As much as it would hurt, as much as I'd probably cry over that and feel awful, as much as I'd rather hold onto him... sometimes you just can't have it all. And I need to prepare myself for that possibility just as much as I need to be honest with him about my plans. Cause it's not just a hobby... it's about a career. And I mean that in the true sense of the word. I mean "career" as in a job I'd invest really a lot in, and fight through hell and high water to make it work, have as my main source of income and never give up on it unless it's literally impossible for me to continue, to build my life around it and be able to rely on it eventually. Whether I could become rich from it or just barely scrape by with a lousy paycheck, doesn't matter.

But I will try hard to earn as much as I reasonably can without killing myself in the process, so that I can try to save up enough money for a place to live somewhere in the Stockholm suburbs. I mean that I want to earn money for necessary things. Like a new home in a place I don't hate, a driver's licence and car so I can do my job better and have a more convenient life, and then we can take it from there. I want to truly work my fucking ass off to become good at that job and earn as much as I can, establish a good reputation within that branch to evolve further and get even better business opportunities which would most likely be porn-related. I don't want to become something else than a sex worker. Ever. That, is what I consider a "career". You don't choose a potential boyfriend over that, what is essentially the glue of what you'd prefer for your entire future be like. What is essentially your dream. I can only hope that is understandable.

But one thing I want to make clear: I wouldn't do it for fame, not in any way. I don't think I'd like being famous, I think it would be an awful way to live, not being able to hide in public. I'll do it for finding purpose in my life, to find meaning. I feel it beating in my heart, like this is my calling. It's strong, it's powerful, and it wants the best for me. Yes, it's unconventional, but if you know me, it shouldn't be of any surprise that I find an unconventional field of work to be my calling. But no, I'm not doing it for attention or to feel special either. But of course, it does feel special to me. Like a burning passion I just cannot ignore and that I refuse to let go of. And I don't care about what others may think of it. It's not gonna be their jobs to sell sex, now is it?

I'm walking to the beat of my own drum. Others can chose to walk beside me if they want to, but I will never let go of that drum for someone else's. That is not my path. I have to follow my heart, even if that means it might break sometimes, for the people that I care about who can't walk beside me. That is my strength, and that is also my weakness. I've made the choice to not give up; at the very least, not before I've even started.

Pick a hell and go with it

I need to ask myself this but fuck I don't want to... Have I really tried enough? Cause the fatality of my mind is that I keep trying my very best yet failing miserably. But can I afford to fail my own body? Is the price not too high to pay? Fucking hell.

Cause I keep stumbling across Buck Angel's posts on facebook as he makes them rather often and they're on my feed. And it feels as though it's a sign that I shouldn't disregard his message as not applicable to me. But all of my essence wants to disregard it as inapplicable. Every essence of me! How should I approach this?

Cause I can't ignore it anymore. One more try, I have to. Am I desperate? Am I trying too hard, or have I not yet tried hard enough? Of course I'm desperate. But the second question I do not know the answer to. I'm spinning in circles and cannot find a way out. I'm dizzy and nauseous with existential dread. Buck's message, for all this time, has always been: embrace your vagina. But how can I? How can I even just try to imagine being like this forever without crying? Without wishing I'd rather be dead? I can't imagine cancelling surgery without it tearing me up from the core.

But maybe I have to. If it's really all or nothing, as I keep saying, and I'm struggling more and more to think having the surgery will actually improve my life, and I like having sex with my vag again... perhaps it would be better to just cancel it all off and keep my genitals as they currently are. Just writing that sentence gave me a literal chest pain and made my head spin. I have to face this; I have to be honest with myself. Hear out my own, real, true, honest thoughts and feelings that I'd rather not acknowledge. That I wish weren't there at all. How can I, how could I, now what do I do? Breathe, that's always a good start. And stay calm.

It's just a thought; it can't hurt me. But hell, it makes my heart race and ties my stomach into a knot. I hate my pussy but it's obvious I can't truly live without it. I hold onto it for dear life. The dick I crave to have, I can't have. What use would I have for metoidioplasty anyway? Did I ever ask myself that? Cause no, I bloody didn't. What would I do with it? Too small to penetrate with and likely too small to stand up to pee with as well. Then what? A dick doesn't really have any other functions. If I'd get that surgery, I'd only limit what I can do with my genitals more, for looks. Is that even worth it? No it's bloody not!

Maybe I should, for two seconds, focus off from my vag and consider the rest of that vulva mess for a bit. I hate that I have a pussy, in general, cause I'm a guy and there just should be a dick there instead. But there isn't one and you know what? Ftm SRS fucking sucks. I wish it was better, that it could give me a fully sized, fully sensate and fully functional dick. But all I have to choose from is a tiny, fully sensate dick with little to some function that looks good - or a fully sized, not very sensate and somewhat functional dick that looks bad. It's not good enough, and I hate to say it, but it frustrates me to no fucking end. That I just can't get what I need, and I don't think what's available would suffice. Because it's not a replacement... it's a reduction.

Fucking hell, even if I opt out of it, I still need to get that damn hysto. Cause I need to stop my ever so constant anxiety about possibly ending up pregnant or my uterus getting a random hiccup again and causing periods to happen. I've had constant anxiety about that for at least the past almost 2 years now. So getting that stuff thrown out of there is something I never have any doubts over. And I should get it done before I'm starting to doubt that too, cause I should NOT be reproducing, and I've always wanted to stay on testo forever. So I need to get that trash taken care of, whatever else I do or don't do.

This means something else though, doesn't it? If I'd go that route, I won't ever be able to open up to a therapist about my dark past. Not if I still want to have the option to possibly have SRS later on when techniques get better or whatever. My entire body suddenly feels so heavy in my chair, like it's trying to sink through it and through the floor as well, and hide itself in the dirt beneath the building. But all I can think and truly feel about my vag, especially right now, is "I want to keep it, I need it in my life" whether I hate it or not. To hell with you, to fucking hell with you...

It's not really my choice, you know. All I can do is measure my random feelings and see which one wins. Using logic is really just a way to calculate those random feelings to make sure the calculation is correct, but the choice is not mine. The choice, is my random, unchosen, subconscious feelings'. And it breaks my heart, it breaks it, it shatters it. Knowing that, stings even more. For fuck's sake, I need to stop flinging myself into mental walls like this. The pendulum can't swing further than this, it's making 360 turns at this point. No damn surprise that I'm dizzy...

Dare to try... imagine the unimaginable... despite my entire mind fighting it. I have to, if it will so make me literally vomit. Go out for a smoke. Bring a bucket. Let that thought rape my mind a bit. It's not like I haven't put myself through worse. I'll handle it. Somehow. Well, at least I opened that pandora box, although I didn't really dare to step into it. Only dipped my toes in it. I got so close to the finishing line, I don't want to realise that maybe there is no finishing line for me. That I might need to just keep going. The thought is drowning my flame. It would be very difficult to keep it burning. The lyrics of the song playing right now just hit me like a brick wall in my face: "One of these days you're gonna realise just what you've thrown away." It has me gasping.

If I don't do it, it's gonna ruin me.
If I go ahead with it, it's gonna ruin me.
Damned if I do, damned if I don't...
I should just pick a hell and go with it.

But I can't do it! I just can't... and I can't live with myself if I do it and then regret it... then I'd rather keep it, wish I had done away with it, cause then I could still potentially do it later. But I probably shouldn't, considering how inconsistent I've always been about this. It's the one decision I cannot possibly make. It's not a difficult decision, it's literally impossible. Cause it's been nine years, nine fucking years, of trying to make this decision and I'm still back at square one. To hell with it then. If I can't decide, I shouldn't do it.

I suddenly feel so lost. Life... where do I take it now? Well yeah, I still have to try to start whoring, cause I know I'd rather have sex with my current equipment than what I'd have post-op, and I guess just that says quite a lot. That I wouldn't even enjoy having sex with my post-op parts, or at least I don't think I would enjoy it as much. Having sex with a pussy of my own, I think will always be more fun than if I had a dick instead. At least that's somewhat of a pale comfort. I shouldn't cry, I should try to embrace it instead. It feels so good to get that pussy fucked. Embrace that, and enjoy it wholeheartedly. Don't care so much about gender. I look mostly male and pass clothed. If I just worked harder to start exercising and building more muscle mass, I could look really good and manly. I'd have a lot higher chance of making success in the sex work industry if I still have that "bonus hole" as I do enjoy that kind of sex now. Post-op trans guys really are not a hit in that line of work.

Fuck, if Buck Angel can look like a total man while still having a pussy and be the bloody king of tranny porn, then so can I and I'll be the prince of tranny porn. If I just gave it a damn chance. Yeah, practicing karate, going to gyms, swimming pools and what not, will be difficult to manage. That's the biggest hurdle of them all. That's what I can't make myself do at this point. I'm too self-conscious and feel too vulnerable. I guess I need to toughen up some more, huh? Leather skin isn't enough, bring on the steel. Oh hell, it's gonna hurt to get there, but it might just be worth it. Cause no, I can't trade in my 1st class pussy for a 3rd class dick. I just can't. Not with my passion for sex. You get that right? I have a passion for sex. It's my 4th interest, but I never recognised it as such, or noticed it, until recently. That's why I can't draw or write or play WoW these days, cause I'm too occupied with my 4th passion. And that, not the surgery, but my passion for sex: is what I realise I can't throw away.

Give me more time, I need to be sure, as I keep saying. But now I've flung myself in the complete opposite direction of last time's conclusion on this topic, that I should probably cancel the surgery entirely. Not do vaginectomy and not do metoidioplasty either, but I will and still want to get the hysterectomy done. However, if I'd cancel all the other stuff, then I'll probably have start over and get the hysto done at another hospital which could happen sooner, but not likely if I'm gonna keep at it like this up until the day I get a surgery date booked... I've never thrashed myself so bloody over a single decision before. But, not a single physical wound have I caused myself over it. I'm okay... somehow. And these days, I dare to put myself through the uncomfortable thoughts and feelings I never would have before, because I know they can't harm me, and because I'm stronger than before. That has me almost believing, that I might make it even without the surgery. And I might make it better. But it would be even harder.

That flying from a cliff metaphor I used last time I wrote about this, doesn't seem so fitting anymore. Cause I don't think those wings will carry me. It was just wishful thinking. I'm gonna have to climb down that cliff and walk towards my goal instead, or I might hurt myself really badly. As much as it hurts to know, humans can't fly. But I still know there are other means of traveling. Cause that's the real reality that I don't want to face. There's no fucking fantasy fairytale ending, and I can't treat my dysphoria. I'm just gonna have to learn to live with it. Now I really want to break something.