There's a first time for everything
When I got up this morning and groggily stumbled into the bathroom, I asked myself the same question I've asked myself on 262 of the past 263 days, "Do I really want to do this?" where "this" refers to administering my testosterone prescription. (The missing day was lost to travel, when there was no opportunity to apply it.) Every single time, I have enthusiastically answered in the affirmative, until today.
My junk has been occupying altogether too much of my thoughts over the past few months. I thought I was adjusting well to this change, minimal as it has been.* I'm no longer distracted by obsessively keeping my bits from rubbing against my underpants, and I don't worry about my partner not being attracted to me because of this difference. I made a significant discovery about the root of my resistance to change, admitting that I choose to ignore something I have and don't want instead of facing the pain of wanting the impossible.
In spite of these promising signs of acceptance, I'm left unsatisfied with the situation. Sometimes it's fun to experiment with new ways to get off but it always requires effort. I thought that maybe it would be reminiscent of playing with some new gadget, foreign and detached, but it's rather the opposite. I can't just refuse to give it attention, and not being able to fall back on what I'm used to is really putting it under the microscope. Or, rather, a magnifying glass, if even that, because my dick no longer needs a microscope to be brought into focus. tl;dr It's big and fickle and last night I got really frustrated trying to get it to make me feel good. Change is hard!**
And so, I didn't apply my T today. This is hardly rational, since it is in all likelihood already permanent, but here I am. Throwing a tantrum. At myself. This is by no means an expression of wanting to stop T. For one, this isn't a good time, when I feel it's contributing positively to everything else in my life (although I'll reconsider if I find myself in a different environment and everything else doesn't otherwise suck immensely). For another, when I think about my future, even tomorrow, I see myself expressing gratitude for the bottle of gel and happily slathering 1.25 g of it onto my thighs and looking forward to many changes yet to come. Who knows, maybe I'll cave and just do it a few hours late today after I've suffered enough deprivation. The point of this post is to force me to write these thoughts so I cannot later deny having had them.
*Haha so prior to writing this post today, I had not sought out pictures of trans male genitals, mostly out of prudish fear and what I guess is some form of homophobia wherein I disapprove of myself even hypothetically feeling sexual attraction based on pictures of body parts that I relate to as I would my own. As it turns out, I am apparently pretty average for being 6-12 months on T, which is shocking given that I'm on a quarter the dose my endo gives to binary trans guys and I still menstruate, i.e. some of the most female parts of me are not being affected as strongly by T as my junk is.
**No pun intended, but this does seem like a good opportunity to name my dick. "Change" has a nice ring to it, dontcha think?
My junk has been occupying altogether too much of my thoughts over the past few months. I thought I was adjusting well to this change, minimal as it has been.* I'm no longer distracted by obsessively keeping my bits from rubbing against my underpants, and I don't worry about my partner not being attracted to me because of this difference. I made a significant discovery about the root of my resistance to change, admitting that I choose to ignore something I have and don't want instead of facing the pain of wanting the impossible.
In spite of these promising signs of acceptance, I'm left unsatisfied with the situation. Sometimes it's fun to experiment with new ways to get off but it always requires effort. I thought that maybe it would be reminiscent of playing with some new gadget, foreign and detached, but it's rather the opposite. I can't just refuse to give it attention, and not being able to fall back on what I'm used to is really putting it under the microscope. Or, rather, a magnifying glass, if even that, because my dick no longer needs a microscope to be brought into focus. tl;dr It's big and fickle and last night I got really frustrated trying to get it to make me feel good. Change is hard!**
And so, I didn't apply my T today. This is hardly rational, since it is in all likelihood already permanent, but here I am. Throwing a tantrum. At myself. This is by no means an expression of wanting to stop T. For one, this isn't a good time, when I feel it's contributing positively to everything else in my life (although I'll reconsider if I find myself in a different environment and everything else doesn't otherwise suck immensely). For another, when I think about my future, even tomorrow, I see myself expressing gratitude for the bottle of gel and happily slathering 1.25 g of it onto my thighs and looking forward to many changes yet to come. Who knows, maybe I'll cave and just do it a few hours late today after I've suffered enough deprivation. The point of this post is to force me to write these thoughts so I cannot later deny having had them.
*Haha so prior to writing this post today, I had not sought out pictures of trans male genitals, mostly out of prudish fear and what I guess is some form of homophobia wherein I disapprove of myself even hypothetically feeling sexual attraction based on pictures of body parts that I relate to as I would my own. As it turns out, I am apparently pretty average for being 6-12 months on T, which is shocking given that I'm on a quarter the dose my endo gives to binary trans guys and I still menstruate, i.e. some of the most female parts of me are not being affected as strongly by T as my junk is.
**No pun intended, but this does seem like a good opportunity to name my dick. "Change" has a nice ring to it, dontcha think?