(no subject)
I just got back from a massage therapy appointment. I had been looking for a place to go since I found out that Megan's benefits include massage therapy (!!!), and I settled on this place that is run out of a naturopathic clinic. Well, that's not totally true, I have been looking to have massage therapy for quite a while. I originally wanted to go to deal with the back pain from binding, and asked my therapist for a referral to a trans-positive RMT. After surgery, I decided that I wanted massage therapy to work out my scars. Vera eventually got back to me with a RMTs name, which I promptly lost. She called me yesterday to give me the person's name again, but I'd already made an appointment with this place...
So... it was interesting, to say the least. I quickly felt out the situation to see if I could disclose my transness, and decided that was a huge no-go. I had originally booked the appointment to have her work on my scars, but decided against it when she didn't even know what a bilateral chest reconstruction was ("oh, what did you do? Car accident?"). She confessed that she didn't know anything about working scar tissue, so I told her to just concentrate on my back.
We did the small-talk thing.
She talked about having weird clients, about getting into massage therapy because she didn't know what else she wanted to do with her life, that she didn't really know anything about anatomy and had forgotten everything she'd been taught at RMT school. She talked and talked... and I learned that she's 31, she is getting her breast reduction covered by OHIP because her doctor told her to claim 'neck pain', she is physically unable to have children, she's a Christian (and pretty involved in the faith), she doesn't have a boyfriend, her nephew's father died (and that's why I should have children, because I'm 'able' to), that her friend whom she never thought would ever get married, GOT married, and then left her husband for, her other friends speculate, a woman. We talked about my work at Brock around gendered spaces, we talked about bathrooms and why or why not they should be segregated ("well, do these masculine women WANT to be men? They should just use the men's bathroom then. And what about sicko's? And boys and girls do different things in the bathroom. Ewww, no."), we talked about homeless and street active people, and we talked about Rosie O'Donnell and the View.
It was interesting... but the entire time I just felt like I was walking this fine line between being a little too weird for her and having to make stories up to protect myself. For example, I told her that I had a hormone deficiency which caused my breasts to grow and I had to have them removed (which, I guess if you think about it, isn't really THAT far from the truth... right?) to explain my way out of the bilateral chest reconstruction surgery. I guess I could've made up some story about getting into an accident or something... but I just hate that I feel as though I have to make stories up. I wish I could just tell the truth and not have to worry about the repercussions (real or imagined). At any rate, I doubt I'll be going back there.
I think I'll try the guy that Vera referred me to. I really do think massage therapy would be a great way to get these scars whipped into shape.
So besides that, I've been reading, marking papers, and having depression and anxiety attacks. It's really bothersome... I mean, granted, it feels different this time around. My entire world isn't crashing down and I don't feel overwhelmed with emotion that I can't handle... but I've slipped back into my depressive behavioural ways, like oversleeping or not wanting to get out of bed, or overly checking email/LJ, or not being able to force myself to get any work done. And of course, I'm being overly critical of myself, and I'm really frustrated with myself for not being able to snap out of this, even though I know it's happening. But I guess that's depression, right? Oh well... it'll pass, I'm sure. It always does. I just need to bide my time and not let myself go absolutely crazy while it goes on.
So, transition update:
I'm working on some decent sideburn hairs. They aren't growing in thick or coarse or anything, but they're now a dark brown and are showing up from a distance. Mind you, they look like dirt smudges on the side of my face, but I'm cherishing those dirt smudges, so they'll stay. Until Sunday, when I shave them off to go see my parents for the holidays. And then I'm growing them back. Aside from that, it seems like my voice is about as low as it's going to go, which is sort of sad. I kind of wish it would keep going... I don't know, I was just really enjoying having something that I could feel and hear happen. It made the transition exciting and real. Now everything happens so slowly that I don't really notice... and I get impatient because i'm like JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, HURRY THE FUCK UP. It's like watching grass grow. Except it's hair. I'm literally watching the tiny little hairs on my body grow. Prime time viewing, let me tell you. I should sell it on HBO.
anyways. My weight is fluctuating like a mother fucker. We've been keeping my measurements and my arms, hips, waist, and legs seem to expand and shrink every few weeks. The only thing that's been consistent is my finger, shoulder, and neck growth. I imagine it's because my gym-going has been majorly interupted. I still manage to go about 2-3 times a week, but it's nothing like it was over the summer, so I always end up feeling like a slacker.
I've been having issues with my weight gain too... I keep looking at my body and seeing a whole lot of overweight. I can't believe i'm 200 pounds. I feel huge. I hope that this will eventually work itself off. I feel so chubby, especially in the face.
I have a patch of hair in the middle of my shoulder blades. My treasure trail is coming in pretty decently. I think that's pretty much about it.
Oh yeah, and isn't THIS the cutest thing you ever saw? (I can't get the 'embedded media' thing to work, so you get a link instead):
http://www.vidilife.com/index.cfm?f=media.play&vchrMediaProgramIDCryp=BDA1184F-2498-4BAB-957C-F&action=12
No comments on how much of a suck-ass I am around cats.
So... it was interesting, to say the least. I quickly felt out the situation to see if I could disclose my transness, and decided that was a huge no-go. I had originally booked the appointment to have her work on my scars, but decided against it when she didn't even know what a bilateral chest reconstruction was ("oh, what did you do? Car accident?"). She confessed that she didn't know anything about working scar tissue, so I told her to just concentrate on my back.
We did the small-talk thing.
She talked about having weird clients, about getting into massage therapy because she didn't know what else she wanted to do with her life, that she didn't really know anything about anatomy and had forgotten everything she'd been taught at RMT school. She talked and talked... and I learned that she's 31, she is getting her breast reduction covered by OHIP because her doctor told her to claim 'neck pain', she is physically unable to have children, she's a Christian (and pretty involved in the faith), she doesn't have a boyfriend, her nephew's father died (and that's why I should have children, because I'm 'able' to), that her friend whom she never thought would ever get married, GOT married, and then left her husband for, her other friends speculate, a woman. We talked about my work at Brock around gendered spaces, we talked about bathrooms and why or why not they should be segregated ("well, do these masculine women WANT to be men? They should just use the men's bathroom then. And what about sicko's? And boys and girls do different things in the bathroom. Ewww, no."), we talked about homeless and street active people, and we talked about Rosie O'Donnell and the View.
It was interesting... but the entire time I just felt like I was walking this fine line between being a little too weird for her and having to make stories up to protect myself. For example, I told her that I had a hormone deficiency which caused my breasts to grow and I had to have them removed (which, I guess if you think about it, isn't really THAT far from the truth... right?) to explain my way out of the bilateral chest reconstruction surgery. I guess I could've made up some story about getting into an accident or something... but I just hate that I feel as though I have to make stories up. I wish I could just tell the truth and not have to worry about the repercussions (real or imagined). At any rate, I doubt I'll be going back there.
I think I'll try the guy that Vera referred me to. I really do think massage therapy would be a great way to get these scars whipped into shape.
So besides that, I've been reading, marking papers, and having depression and anxiety attacks. It's really bothersome... I mean, granted, it feels different this time around. My entire world isn't crashing down and I don't feel overwhelmed with emotion that I can't handle... but I've slipped back into my depressive behavioural ways, like oversleeping or not wanting to get out of bed, or overly checking email/LJ, or not being able to force myself to get any work done. And of course, I'm being overly critical of myself, and I'm really frustrated with myself for not being able to snap out of this, even though I know it's happening. But I guess that's depression, right? Oh well... it'll pass, I'm sure. It always does. I just need to bide my time and not let myself go absolutely crazy while it goes on.
So, transition update:
I'm working on some decent sideburn hairs. They aren't growing in thick or coarse or anything, but they're now a dark brown and are showing up from a distance. Mind you, they look like dirt smudges on the side of my face, but I'm cherishing those dirt smudges, so they'll stay. Until Sunday, when I shave them off to go see my parents for the holidays. And then I'm growing them back. Aside from that, it seems like my voice is about as low as it's going to go, which is sort of sad. I kind of wish it would keep going... I don't know, I was just really enjoying having something that I could feel and hear happen. It made the transition exciting and real. Now everything happens so slowly that I don't really notice... and I get impatient because i'm like JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, HURRY THE FUCK UP. It's like watching grass grow. Except it's hair. I'm literally watching the tiny little hairs on my body grow. Prime time viewing, let me tell you. I should sell it on HBO.
anyways. My weight is fluctuating like a mother fucker. We've been keeping my measurements and my arms, hips, waist, and legs seem to expand and shrink every few weeks. The only thing that's been consistent is my finger, shoulder, and neck growth. I imagine it's because my gym-going has been majorly interupted. I still manage to go about 2-3 times a week, but it's nothing like it was over the summer, so I always end up feeling like a slacker.
I've been having issues with my weight gain too... I keep looking at my body and seeing a whole lot of overweight. I can't believe i'm 200 pounds. I feel huge. I hope that this will eventually work itself off. I feel so chubby, especially in the face.
I have a patch of hair in the middle of my shoulder blades. My treasure trail is coming in pretty decently. I think that's pretty much about it.
Oh yeah, and isn't THIS the cutest thing you ever saw? (I can't get the 'embedded media' thing to work, so you get a link instead):
http://www.vidilife.com/index.cfm?f=media.play&vchrMediaProgramIDCryp=BDA1184F-2498-4BAB-957C-F&action=12
No comments on how much of a suck-ass I am around cats.