Sexy times…

R’s girlfriend spent the night again. Well, I allowed her to do that (it is my apartment, and I’m letting R live here for free, so it is my decision only).

She went home yesterday as planned, but wanted to spent today with R (and see my cats again), because it’s her birthday today. I don’t see a problem with that, as long as she doesn’t stay too late since I need to get up early Tuesday. I’ll just ignore them and keep doing whatever I want to do (again; my apartment). Since she lives a couple hours away (or something like that), she asked if she could come back during the evening/night and sleep here again. Okay. That’s fine. I’ll just deal with not sleeping as well as usual one more night – I have trouble sleeping properly with strangers in the same room.

I live in a one-bedroom-apartment (with a small kitchen, hallway and a bathroom). The only thing separating my bed from the rest of the room is bookshelves – I’ve put them so I get an almost-bedroom and a livingroom around/outside it. R is sleeping on the sofa bed on the other side of the bigger bookshelves, so not really more than a couple of meters between us.

I regretted being kind a bit after going to bed and trying to fall asleep.

They started having sex. And this time I’m sure about it. Amongst the breathing and quiet moans, I heard things like “Can I come?” and “Is it good for you?”. I had to listen to her having four or five orgasms – not something I like listening to!

I don’t know what exactly they did. If it was just hands, oral, or full out penetrations. But that really doesn’t matter! Who the hell does something like that? I think it’s pretty respectless to have sex in somebody else’s apartment, on their sofa bed, in the same room as the one letting you stay over! Am I alone in thinking that?

And I’m too fucking chicken to make them aware of me still being awake. And too fucking chicken to tell R that I don’t want them doing that in my apartment – especially when I’m still at home. Doesn’t matter if they think I’m asleep.

It would be different if I was the one staying over at their place. Then I would have to accept them doing whatever they want. Since it would be their place. Not mine. But now it is my apartment they’re having sex in. With me almost right next to them.

Right now they’re laying on the sofa bed, still under the covers, talking. Naked. Yes, I know that they’re naked. They’ve showed enough of themselves for me to be sure about that. And they weren’t really discrete when undressing last night either.

Hopefully they’ll respect that I need to get up early tomorrow. I have work again and I start earlier than last week. I don’t want to have to remind them when it’s starting to get late. I want them to respect me enough to actually realise when it’s getting time for her to leave.

But I guess I’ll just have to wait and see…


Moving out?

So, my temporary roommate (let’s call him R) went out and spent some time with a group of people yesterday evening/night. When he got back, he had a friend with him – he asked if it was okay before bringing her. Apparently she’d missed her bus and couldn’t get home. They spent the night whispering and, I think, did some mild sexual stuff. Can’t say for sure, wasn’t really like I checked or saw them, it just sounded like it on her breathing from time to time.

(And who does that shit with someone else in the room? It feels so disrespectful.)

Today they’re apparently a couple – they decided to try it out, since they clicked and seemed to fit together. Whatever makes them happy. R will be spending some weekends at her place during the following weeks, and if everything works out he will be moving in with her instead.

If they work out, that would mean I get my apartment to myself again. And earlier than expected, since that would remove the need for R to find his own place. But time will show if they work together or not, in the meantime I’ll just keep on as if R will stay here until he finds an apartment (or until it stops working for me to have him here).


There’s been a lot happening these last few months.

A couple of weeks before Christmas I had a conversation with a stranger at the bus stop near my apartment – a stranger that turned out knowing a friend of mine here, and somebody from my small hometown too. He is an older man, around 50 years  old, that’d become homeless that day. The person he’d been staying with wanted to be alone again – they’re still friends, just not able to live together anymore.

We ended up talking on the bus. In the end I offered him my sofa bed, so he didn’t have to live outside and hope to get a bed at the homeless shelter every night. He’s been staying here since then, while looking for his own place.

It’s going quite well – we’re pretty alike in some aspects, which helps I guess. Some times I miss my space (I have a pretty small apartment after all), but overall it works. I think it has a lot to do with him being very respectful of it actually being my place, and helping out with buying food and other things. He often tells me how grateful he is for being allowed to stay here.

During the first month, he told me he loves me. That threw me some. But he made it clear that he doesn’t expect anything back – no answer, no reciprocation, nothing. Which is good, ’cause I would not be comfortable saying it back. Because I can’t say it’s true, and I don’t believe in saying “I love you” without really meaning it – and knowing that I mean it. I actually have a hard time with love, I’m not sure I know how it feels to really love somebody (but I’ll probably write a proper post about that subject later – I started writing about it on paper a few weeks back).

Aside from getting a temporary roommate, I’ve been looking for work placement. Found a place that was willing to take me on, so I started earlier this week. Part time. But if it works out, it’ll expand to full time after a while. I’m placed at a school where I’m helping where needed in the hallways, class rooms and the school’s youth club. I’ve helped out in a few sewing classes, and from next week I’ll probably have a few sewing classes where I’ll be the “permanent” help.

Yesterday, I had my first meeting with the surgeon that will do my breast reduction. I’ll probably get a time for the first operation some time during the following three months – and I say first operation because there might be a second one, if there’s something that needs to be adjusted after the first one.

I’ve been on the hormone treatment six months, by the way. So there’s been some changes for me. I’ve gotten more body hair – pretty much everywhere – including more stubble (I’ve shaved a few times already). It’s not really going on a beard yet, but I can see that it’ll get there in the not so distant future. I’ve gained about 8 kilo, and my breasts have shrunk somewhat. One big downside is that I’ve gotten a lot of annoying acne, on the face and shoulders.

Oh yeah! My voice keeps changing, and breaking. My friends notice it more than I do, but it’s nice that it’s happening.

Well, that’s all I want to write about right now…

Boring life?

I live a pretty boring life. Most of my life I live through reading. I read almost all the time. It’s a great way to experience different things, without having to do anything. Without having to spend money I don’t have. Without becoming a victim for my social anxiety. Without having to really live.

But it’s a terrible way to live life. Because I don’t really experience anything. I don’t do anything. I don’t live. I hide away and ignore.

I don’t want to live a boring life. I have a lot of things I want to do. The thing I want to do soon, is travel to London and stay there 3-4 weeks. And I want to do this alone – or at least mostly alone, wouldn’t complain if someone I know is there only a few days too – because I want to enjoy it my way. By walking around and do nothing. By being able to make up my mind as I go. And at the same time, live, experience and make to most out of the trip. If possible I’d like to do this next year. But I don’t really think I’ll be able to do that, since I don’t have an income that allows for me to save money.

So, I live a boring life. But my life hasn’t really been boring, if you see to things I’ve been through (though I haven’t been through anything if you compare to others, but I try to not compare myself or my life with others). I’ve lived through being bullied, being sexually taken advantage of by my uncle, depression, moving far away by myself several times, being practically homeless, lost one of the most wonderful people I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, coming out as transgender, and in over the years I’ve found a great community, rekindled a dwindled friendship, made great new friends, become stronger and developed as a person. And I’m currently working on my transition.

I might not have lived through big events or changes, or had an eventful life if you compare to some or if you look at the lives people live in books and movies. But I’ve been through both good and bad stuff, and if I were to write it all down, I might see that I’ve had an eventful life – even if it’s been smaller events. And I’m young still. So I’ll probably live through a lot more good and bad stuff.

My life feels boring, it feels like nothing ever happens and like I don’t even live sometimes, but if I really think about it? My life’s not really boring, it might be in a slump at the moment, but that’ll change. I’ll just have to do my best and work through it in the meantime. And look forward to the time when I actually can do the things I really want to do.

Until then, I need to learn to enjoy the lazy days and to let go of the pressure to find a job and to do this and that. Even as unemployed, I have the right to not think about it all the time. I have the right to do things, no matter how small, without feeling guilty or stressed over it. And it’s also alright for me not to have the energy to do things, or to not have the money to do things. I have my reading. And I have friends who understand my situation. I can live a boring life at the moment.

I just need to understand that boring isn’t necessary bad. And a day spent reading, doesn’t equal boring either. It is what I make it. And if I want to make my boring life less boring through reading, then that is what I’ll do.

Hormone treatment

Soo… It’s been a few (about four) months since my last entry here. I’ve been meaning to write more, but life got in the way and time flew away.

Since I last wrote I’ve started hormone treatment and gotten two testosterone shots. I got the first shot seven weeks ago and the second one last week. I’ll be getting the third one in five weeks, and after that it’ll be every twelfth week.

I’m not a fan of shots, but for this I’ll happily get them for the rest of my life ^_^

It hasn’t happened much yet, but some things have happened. Firstly, I feel like I’m constantly eating. It’s not that I’m hungry a lot more than before, it’s more like I’m constantly craving something to chew on. I’ve gained some kilos these weeks (about 5 kg, I think). This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, since I can stand gaining weight and it’s only good for me if I start eating more.

Secondly, I haven’t had my period since the first shot. I had it when I got the shot and since that period ended, I haven’t gotten it again. This doesn’t mean I won’t be getting it again – it might just have become really irregular – but I can always hope. I was warned that it could become irregular, but I was also warned that it probably wouldn’t disappear until after a few shots and/or months. Guess I’m lucky (:

Knock on wood!!!

Aside from this, I haven’t really noticed any other changes. Well, the hair above my lip have darkened a bit at the edges, I guess…

That’s really all I have to write about right now, so I’ll just end it here.

Until the next entry, then! Have a nice day/week/month/etc (:

Plans to move?

I feel like moving again. And I’m only lived in this apartment for a little over a year (moved here last Mars), and I already want to move again. I’ve lived in and around this town for close to six years and I like it. But the people I treasure the most don’t live here. They don’t even live close to this town. Well, I guess that’s a matter of perspective, really. But when I don’t have money or opportunity to visit them often, or for them to visit me, then it’s the same as they not living close by. And really. The closest one lives about two hours away – maybe not that far, if I had a car and/or money to visit.

I’m thinking about moving about 3-4 hours away from here. I’ll get further away from some friends and from my family and closer to a few other friends. It would be nice to try at least. And it would mean moving to a big city, which definitely would be an experiemce since I’m from the countryside. Though I plan to find a place that isn’t in the centre of the city, but more on the outside where it gives more of an illusion of not being a big city.

I probably won’t move soon – you need money and planning when moving – but I’m hoping to maybe move in about a year or so. Well, the future will show what happens!

All body sizes can come with troubles!

It’s hard to stop your thoughts as they appear, and not all thoughts are good or kind in nature. And some thoughts are of course about other people.

It’s hard not to look at people as they pass, or you pass them. And while looking, you might find thoughts popping into your head – thoughts about these people. I get thoughts like “Look at how thin/skinny/fat s/he is”. “Look at those tattoos/piercings/clothes/that hair” etc. I don’t really think it’s anything wrong about these thoughts, whether they’re of the positive or negative kind. It’s just thoughts, and most people gets them. And I don’t follow up these thoughts with things like “S/he should build some muschles/eat something/gain weight/lose weight” or things like that – but even if I would think like that, it’s still just thoughts.

But I know how it feels when people complain about your body – I’m skinny and weak. I’ve grown up hearing about how I should eat more and gain weight, how I’m anorexic (which I’m not and never have been – and if you want me really pissed at you, this is the insult to use) and how I’m too weak for this and that. I have had (still somewhat have) trouble with food. But the kind of trouble that comes from me being picky and not really liking to eat – and I really don’t like to cook, escpecially for just me. But I do eat, and I can eat a lot if I feel like it. I also eat a lot of snacks, drink soda and eat junk food. Sure, I can go days without really eating mroe than a sandwich or something, but I also have days when I nibble at snacks or other stuff all day. I can have periods where I only eat junk food or fatty foods (I really don’t care about calories, fat and the likes in food, by the way), but this doesn’t necessary mean I get any closer to gaining weight. I have a hard time gaining weight, no matter what I eat or how much of it. I went a few weeks (a few years ago) eating nothing but candy and junk food, and I lost weight.

Today I fluctuate between 51-55 kilos (and I’m 175 cm tall), so I’m definitely underweight. But I don’t dislike my weight or my looks, and I think that’s what’s most important – no matter what you weight or how you look. Sure, your health’s important too, but it’s not up to other people to decide when your weight’s affecting your health, they don’t know your body as well as you do.

But as I said, I fluctuate between 51–55 kilos today. This is underweight and it’s not unusual for me to hear about how I should gain more weight. What people don’t seem to understand is that it’s easier said than done. People always complain about how hard it is to lose weight, while it’s so easy to gain it. They talk about how easy it is for thin people and how hard it is for fat people. Well, thin people have there problems too. It’s not a picnic to be underweight either, and it’s not fun to have to listen to people talk and “joke” about my body size or how I should eat butter to gain weight. Like it’s that easy.

It might not be easy for fat people to lose weight, and they might have a health issue that makes it harder and whatever. I don’t really care about the reasons. I don’t care if they’re fat, thin or something between, it’s up to every individual to decide for themselves how they want to look and if they’re happy or not with their looks. This includes me!

And it’s not easy to gain weight, I can’t gain weight by “eating butter” or something like that. For me, it is hard to gain weight. It’s far easier to lose weight, even if I eat all the time and if I just sit on my ass all day, just as it is when I eat and train, don’t eat and train, don’t eat and just sit around, you name it. It’s taken me about 15 years to gain 10 kilos – and the last 4-5 kilos I mostly gained because of my anti-depressive medication. When I was 14 years old, I weighed about 45 kilos, today I’m 28 years old.

It’s not necessarily easy to gain weight. It can be a damn hard struggle, and not only to gain it, but also to keep it!

That’s all from me today. Now I’m gonna go eat some cake and be lazy in front of my TV.

Not fair

I believe I’m in denial (partly, at least) about having to go to the gynecologist on Tuesday. I don’t think about it, and pretend it’s not going to happen. But whenever I consciously think about it, I get anxious and have the feeling of oncoming panic in my chest, throat and head. I really, really don’t want to go there. I don’t want anyone to touch my genitals – I got enough of that shit as a child! But I don’t have a choice. And that sucks! Big time!

I mean. why do I have to? Why do transguys have to visit the gynecologist, when other guys don’t have to? It should at least be optional – as it is for females! But no, we have to! At least where I live, I can’t speak for the rest of the world, but quite frankly, I don’t care about the rest of the world right now.

I’m panicking and just want it to be Wednesday now. That way, I’ll already be done with it, and hopefully will never have to do it again!

(originally posted at my old, and misbehaving, blog and was posted on May 16, 2015)

Dreaded appointment

May 19:th I’m having my first ever visit to a gynecologist. Yes, I’m still a man, but since I’m transgender and pre-op (I’m actually going through my gender investigation right now), I have to do this. It’s a part of the investigation before I’ll be permitted to rectify my gender. I’m nervous as hell. I get serious anxiety whenever I think about the upcoming visit there. And I’m hoping that writing it down, will settle the fear some.

The reason I’m terrified of this visit isn’t because I’m transgender. And it has nothing to do with me being asexual and having no interest with sex and never having been sexually active. It partly has to do with me not being comfortable being naked (or partly naked) around people, much less strangers.

It has pretty much everything to do with the fact that I was molested as a child. By my uncle. That I still have contact with and see a few times a year – though I’ve made it a habit to never be alone around him anymore.

I don’t remember the exact number of occasions, but it happened more than once, and at least three-four times over a span of a few years.

Sometimes he used to watch me and my siblings when my parents weren’t home, or be staying the night after a night of drinking, since we lived closer to the city centre than he did. It were mostly during these times that he came into my bedroom after I’d fallen asleep. The usual thing for him to do, was to pull out his own dick and put my hands on it – some time he put it against my lips. Some times he let his own hand travel into my underwear.

How do I know this?

I wasn’t always asleep. I sometimes woke up as he came into the room, or maybe I hadn’t even had time to fall asleep – I don’t remember exactly, I was after all only around 7-10 years old (making it around 20 years ago). I never made it clear that I was awake. I was too afraid, nervous, small…

I learned to “move around in my sleep” in a way that made it harder for him. I would curl into myself and turn around so my back was towards him. I didn’t know what else to do.

The only time (that I remember) he did something when I was awake, was when I visited him one day. I used to give him foot massages. This time he said he’d give me a body massage back. He started with my back, from top to bottom, or the other way around, I don’t remember. Then I was to turn around. And he did the same thing on my front. Including the breast area and the genitals. All outside the clothes. Afterwards, he gave me some money and told me that this was between us, that I’m not to tell anyone else. And I didn’t.

I didn’t tell anyone about any of it. Not until a few years back, when I couldn’t manage life without feeling bad all the time, or without reoccuring nightmares all the time.

It might not sound like much, might not seem like such a big deal – it’s not like I was raped or anything – but it affected my whole life. It still affects me, even though I’ve worked on it and actually can write/talk about it now.

Now I have to go to a gynecologist. For the first time. And hopefully the last. People have said that it’s not a big deal (they don’t know about my background). That it’s over quickly. This doesn’t help me. I’m still terrified. And I don’t even know the gender of my gynecologist – I believe I’ll have an easier time with a female one – because the name is foreign for me and I can’t tell from it. So I’ll have to wait until my appointment to find out. This does not help my anxiety over the matter.

I really would like to cancel the appointment, but I need to do it. And it’s better to get it over with, rather than prolonging the inevitable.

But I don’t know what to do, to make it as easy as possible for myself. If you have any advice, I’ll gladly listen. Most valued would be advice from people that’s been through similar situations, and really can understand my feelings.

So far it hasn’t really helped any to write this down. I think I need to talk (or chat) about it, for it to help. But the only persons I have that I could talk about this with, doesn’t know about the molestation – one of them probably have a general idea that I’ve been through something negative in the sexual sense, but I haven’t felt like telling them all of it. So I’m in a bind. I don’t want to tell any of them right now either. It’s enough to worry about the appointment, I don’t want to worry about how to tell someone the rest of it too.

I have nothing more to write right now. I might try to write more about this closer to the date, to see if it helps then.

(originally posted at my old, and misbehaving, blog and was posted on May 7, 2015)

Who’s the selfish one?

I’m writing this (on paper) as I’m sitting on the train to visit my family – they  live a few hours away from me (or technically I guess I’m living a few hours away from them). I barely have any Internet as I’m writing this, so I’ll just copv this onto the computer and to the blog when I have the opportunity… (This is being typed about a day and a half later.)

As I said, I’m sitting on the train. Just killing time by hand-sewing on something, and with plans to switch over to reading later on. It’s about two hours left of the train ride. Plenty of time to just relax and not care about other stuff (though I remembered that I forgot to buy a present for my newphew’s birthday tomorrow, so I’ll have to do that tomorrow). Two hours left, give or take a few minutes.  The train comes to a sudden stop. I don’t react at first. When I notice that we’re standing still, I’m thinking that we’re probably awaiting an oncoming train. Nope! I couldn’t be more wrong.

The train staff gives a sombre message through the speakers. It’s been an accident. A person has jumped in front of the train (or we’re in front of the train, can’t for sure say they jump, they might have been standing/sitting/lying on the track already for all I know). We can’t travel on for a while. We need to await the emergency services and the staff are awaiting more instructions on what to do. They warn that we’ll be standing here for quite some time. They warn that nobody can leave the train, since that’s very dangerous. On both sides of the train are steep hills. I don’t know if the train staff can even get out to look closer at the situation from the outside (if this is something they would do, if they could). I don’t know if the person that jumped in front of the train is even alive – though I doubt it, the odds probably isn’t in one’s favor here. But they could be alive, I guess.

Some of the emergency services has arrived (after about 30 minutes) and is taking a closer look, assessing the situation and state of the person. I don’t know if you should hope they are alive or not in this situation. If they are alive, they should be in great pain. I they’re dead, they’re free from pain. And should you take the person’s own feeling into account when hoping? If you should, then I probably should hope they died, right? For a person to jump in fron of a train, they probably really want to die. Maybe they have a hellish life and just can’t take it anymore. Maybe they just don’t want to live. Then they should get to make the decision to die, and for everyone to respect it – though I, personally, wouldn’t go out by train.

(Before the train could move on, a few hours later, I learned the last thing to do was that the firetruck needed to hose off the train – from this I can only speculate that the person got hit really badly and therefore didn’t survive. I’m guessing they weren’t even in one piece.)

People might complain that it’s weak and/or selfish of a person to take their own life – that they’re taking the easy way out, and by doing it they’re only hurting the people they leave behind. But isn’t it also selfish to demand of someone to continue to live, when they really don’t want to? To force them into an existence they want to get rid of?

Maybe they have tried everything else, maybe they don’t want to live for someone else. I don’t think it makes a person weak if they commit suicide. Quite the opposite. It’s not easy to do something like that, to leave everything behind. They’re strong for being able to do it for themselves. But the people that don’t succeed in taking their lives, they’re strong too – they often continue to live on and find other ways to make their life work. They might not have wanted to really end their life, they might just have wanted a way out of a situation. A failed suicide attempt can lead to that way – just as a successful suicide in the end leads to the way out the person might have wanted.

I’m not advocating suicide. Far from it. Try to live. Try every means necessary to make you life worth living. But live for yourself, not for someone else. As you should only die for yourself, not for someone else. And if you want to die, try to find I way where you don’t make someone else an “accomplish”, someone who then has to live with the guilt of having contributed to someone else’s death.

Some people that take their lives might have been better off alive, might have been able to turn the bad around. Just as some people alive, might be better off dead.

But nobody besides the persons themselves can decide this or know. It’s not up to me or anybody else to decide if a person should live or die.

Live for you.

Die for you.

(originally posted at my old, and misbehaving, blog and was posted on April 29, 2015)

Not everything is common knowledge