The Voice

I hear your voice on the wind
And I hear you call out my name.
"Listen my child," you say to me,
"I am the voice of your history:
"Be not afraid and come follow me.
"Answer my call and I'll set you free...."

It's so strange, you know, being on the other side of the veil. I spent so long as a teacher, ostensibly a member of the faceless majority, trying to teach about things like apartheid or genocide or segregation to students who couldn't really comprehend how it ever got that far. And, in the back of my mind, I kind of knew how it happened. People have jobs and families, pensions and payments, children and friends, fears and hopes - all the trappings of the web of society - and they have something to lose. If it doesn't affect them, if they can ignore the effects on other people, then most will do nothing - not their fight. They may even sympathise with the affected, may agree they deserve better, but at the end of the day they have to look out for themselves and theirs. And if the system reaches out and plucks someone from their circle they will commiserate and visist while they can, offer tea and sympathy, and then... go home and be thankful it wasn't them.

"I am the voice of the wind and the pouring rain,
"I am the voice of your hunger and pain."

Some don't care that much, even, and get on with their lives. A minority enjoy the system grinding down others they dislike or who simply aren't them, and thus will take all manner of abuse from that system in the sure knowledge others have it worse. A minority of a minority will carry out the systems wishes willingly and knowingly. But they were never the problem. Maybe a couple of brave souls will fight the system. But no one ever prevents the system from happening in the first place and only a very few systems are successfully challenged from within - most survive until war displaces the regime or continue to survive to the present day.

And, now, I get to know what the minority feels like.

"I am the voice in the fields when the sun is gone
"The depths of the leaves when the autumn winds blow;
"Ne'er do I sleep throughout all the cold winter long,"

I never blamed the people that let things happen - it was always my personal nightmare: I wouldn't act from a position of privilege if I saw something happen to those in a less privileged position. I get it. I understand. I still don't blame people. My Dad for assuming I have stayed using men's toilets and that I still would - the guidance doesn't affect you, he said, does it? My Mum for earnestly believing that none of this will really happen, isn't really happening, that people are blowing things out of proportion and I shouldn't worry so much. My Team Leader at work sympathising, she can see it may be an issue, but if the guidance is right then she guesses I'll just have to use a secluded space and pee on the bus wheel on shift. It sucks, but what can my workplace do?

"I am the voice of the past that will always be,
"Filled with my sorrows and blood in my fields."

That author, whose discord I am on, wanted to say 'thank you' for me reading their work and offered a free commission (they're out of ideas and need a quick project). I assured them I would happily share an idea and it shouldn't be seen as a commission, they were free to do as they wished with it. I have the money, I'll pay as if a commission (haven't told them that yet, I can't recall what platform they use, but I'll find out).

"I am the voice of the past that will always be,
"I am the voice of your hunger and pain.
"I am the voice of the future."

Socialising is hard, you know? Couldn't make the last Chams, last meet up with Abbi cancelled due to illness, and that's... it. Like, I can't make nights at the Vegan gaming cafe these days, what withg my shift pattern, even the occasional one-off. Last I checked very few of the people I was aware of were still going anyway. Going to the bar, as I do now and again, yields as much interaction as it ever did - which is to say, none. I've tried to get back talking to people online, which is sorta kinda working but it's not the same and not very much. I'm not complaining, really, I'm not. I'm noting it.

Flock of Elephants

Herd!

What?

Herd of elephants!

Course I have! And there's a flock of them in the room!

One is familial - a genuine attempt at honesty by me, for a change, out there in the real world. But, alas, I am too honest (this is not me trying to suggest that I am not at fault) for I shared that I had shared, which had been forbidden. But I needed to talk to someone about it, to share the joy, to practice. A day and a night but the only comment upon completion was a complaint that I had failed to follow protocol. I'm not asking for thanks, for fun times and accommodation, but I had hoped I would get more than a telling off. No, the incident was not specific enough to recount nor call to mind, but it had happened at some point. I confess that I do not know how one learns from vague recollections of wrong doing when one does not remember the incident in question oneself.

Two is national - I am not, legally, a woman in a single usage of the term. However, that is now a legal precedent and there are vultures circling who will capitalise on that judgement. It could be a thin end of a wedge, it is most likely the beginning of multiple many-pronged campaigns against me and my personhood (and that of others, to be sure). It will not end here. It will get worse before, if, it gets better.

Three is also familial - I am called to arbitrate twixt brother and Mum once again. I have been defending my brother, his lack of communication and seeming evasiveness, to my Mum for some time. Been trying to get her to be a bit better about organising visits and to not take slight from my brother being nigh uncontactable. Similarly to my Dad (who said of my 14 months long six month wait for a second GIC appointment: "I suppose it's not a priority." Thanks, Dad). Today my brother started venting via text to me about Mum. She's arranged to visit, but had phoned and mentioned coming on 4 April, then nothing until this morning. My brother suspects dementia. I asked if he'd been in contact at all in the interim (I know he hasn't) to check. Honestly, in this case, my brother is in the wrong. But I can't tell him that. Oh, this came out of the blue and is the first time he's been in contact since thumbs up reacting to me saying I've sent a parcel for his son's birthday (back in mid-March). I know the present arrived via my Dad, but no word from my brother.

Four is personal - I struggle too much and in all the wrong ways. I share too much to the wrong people. I am exhausting. I am exhausted. I take on extra hours because, well, what else am I going to do? Better to work and be paid than not and... well, waste my time watching videos. I suspect this place is dying. I haven't chatted to people on FetLife or any of the Discords I'm on. It's too much. I can't. If I can't make thhe effort, I don't see why anyone else should.

I have heard of voice dysphoria and boy, oh boy, it's hitting hard. Playing Warhammer, with amended rules so Youngest could use his Orks against Middlest's Seraphon, and I could hear myself getting more and more male. It was horrid. Fun game, they seemed to enjoy it, but ugh, my voice. Droning has continued since with no signs of abating.

Dark Souls

Rollercoasters have less whiplash... Joanna, struck by a laser, was unable to finish a treatise. Some cling to this scrap for warmth.

This is actually from Friday, with the 
obscene amounts of Chinese and the 
sour beer. 

My Mum's comment: "Your legs look 
rather big." 

Thanks, Mum.

Last Thursday but one I attended Chams, which was great as I got to chat to Lynn and see Izzy and others. Also I cycled, so it was good exercise and I managed to get home before midnight - I do enjoy weather that is dry enough to cycle. There were qualifications - I am so removed from 'the scene' that there is much I found myself unable to join in with nor even listen. A new person offered a chance to have the sort of 'grand gesture' conversations that Tilly said I was good at (not a compliment) but it turned out I had little in common with her and that fizzled quickly. A mixed bag.

The appointment, re-booked, followed and was pretty good. Turns out I'm on such a low safe dose that the doctor I spoke to was, frankly, amazed that I would be noticing any differences at all in the time I'd been on HRT. Good to know. Stuff takes time. She told me that I was being realistic with my expectations, which is always the sort of praise I like to hear, and was pleased I had arranged an appointment with my GP about blood tests and shared care. However, I get the distinct impression that I am speedrunning things - that appointment followed on Tuesday and I booked a blood test for the next Friday. I e-mailed the Pride in Health Team and they were shocked into action - sending a blood test request before managing to get the Shared Care agreement sent and only on the evening before the blood test. I've saved the money precisely for this purpose though, so I don't mind spending it. Things seem to be in order. The blood test went well - my blood doing its thing of being quick to clot and heal, so the nurse had to go in through my hand. She also offered my favourite kind of praise by being surprised my appraisal of how my blood behaves was spot on and that I was fine with the needle in the hand. Ah, validation.

Oof, that shadow on the chin...
This was the Awards Evening on
Thursday.

Shrug was a size too large. Bust a size
too small. Very cylindrical.

Tuesday's laser was attended, only through roping Abbi to go with me and metaphorically hold my hand. Had I not taken her then I suspect I would have bottled it entirely. Here there was more pain than I anticipated and I, shamefully, winced and flinched my way through the appointment. Worse, I actually asked for it to be turned down above my lip and down to my chin. Not a proud moment that. Still, I didn't ask for a break and the whole thing was over in twenty minutes. Because I had work the following day and day after I did end up applying make-up and that may have led to a bunch of angry spots forming. Normal spots, likely due to blocked pores, but big ones all the same. Now, almost a week on, it feels fine and I am finally noticing some lessening of hair growth (the first couple of days there was more than normal and enough uneven swelling that shaving was bloody difficult).

Awards Evening went ahead and I had invited my old driving instructor as my plus one and there was a colleague also attending with whom I get on. Due to these provisos it was actually a decent night. We made our fun, well, me and my colleague did anyway and that made the night a significant improvement over the one last year. That and having a proper portion size with the meal and better wine on offer really helped. A late finish meaning I was glad of the day off on the Friday (and having booked the blood test for after midday). I also had the weekend off, just normal rest days, and so I had an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet for lunch, bought the next volume of Fruits Basket and finished with a beer. Sour. Iron Brew. Vault City. Lovely.

I have a Blahaj, I am become meme.

Saturday I ended up running for a bus to make a meeting for lunch with Tilly and the boys, which was surprisingly hard - I suspect a present from HRT as my feet are retaining water and thus I found it harder to run in my dress - and we had spicy chicken. Combining the heat of the day, the establishment chosen and my running meant that my face felt very swelled that afternoon, but Middlest and I had fun watching various videos and having discussions. Sunday, he and I decamped to IKEA and I mentioned looking at stuffed toys. Middlest took delight in reminding me after we ended up having lunch and was cock-a-hoop when I ended up buying a Blahaj, cos he knows that's a trans meme. A bit of background, he's been playing Celeste - a computer game made by a trans woman about a trans woman with music created by a trans woman - which is something of a trans meme also, most trans femmes of a certain age have played the game (though it is overwhelmingly played by cis people). Thus Middlest wants me to play the game and was alive to the idea of enabling a trans meme.

Work has, concurrently, given me time to muse and my brain reminded me that No Regrets was a song I loved in my first year of University. And remembering the lyrics and the music video from that time (since checked on the internet) coupled with the fact that the Pet Shop Boys definitely had a role in it (beat and Tennant on vocals) unlocked a new aspect of my dysphoria from then. Like... it was an anthem to my feelings back in the day. My brain then 'helpfully' reminded me of Come Undone by Duran Duran, last analysed back in my old job pre-pandemic for a Desert Island Discs thing I took part in and during which I discovered the music video. But, more prominently for me, associated with a big event in my tumultuous relationship with Toby that involved quite a lot of crying on my part, alone in my car with this track on tape. It was one of those songs that unexpectedly moved me to tears. Later that year it would be You Choose following Love is a Catastrophe (both by the Pet Shop Boys) that did something similar and the tears were enough to make have to pull in and stop the car.