Life Sucks Sometimes free porn video

Life sucks sometimes By Lina S. I got up from my desk, getting another beer. It was the fourth or fifth. But it felt kind of good. The alcohol dulled the pain. I didn't plan to stop drinking. It still hurts. But I'm not injured. Not physically at least. But my psyche is. I feel lost. I feel bad. It got worse in the last couple of weeks. And I think I reached an unbearable point of that pain. I'm at that point where I realized that I took a turn into a dead-end road and was nearing the end of it. I haven't considered yet how I would do it. But it seemed the best solution. I guess. Sure, it doesn't help. But it will stop the pain. You see, I'm transgender. I found out when I was 8 years old. We were shopping in a wholesale market in Munich. They had everything. I remember we, my parents, my brother and me, went to the nonfood department, jewelry to be precise. I can't remember why. My parents were looking at something while my brother and I waited bored next to the shopping cart. There were earrings. I looked at them. They were pretty. And there were so many. Stars, moons, dolphins. So many. And they sparkled. So nice. I wanted some. I started choosing. But I couldn't decide. And I started regretting that I wasn't born a girl. "What??" Did I really just think that? My mind was racing. I looked back at the earrings. They still were so pretty and sparkly. "Yes! Yes, I want to be a girl. I want to wear sparkly earrings myself." I couldn't let go of that thought. We continued shopping, went back home, had dinner. I don't remember much else of that day. My mind was still racing when I went to bed. I started to imagine how I would look as a girl. What earrings I would have chosen. And that I'm probably would wear them proudly the next day at school. I smiled at that thought. I closed my eyes and made a wish. I wished to wake up as a girl the next day. Unfortunately, nothing has changed the next day. I was still a boy. Or wasn't I? I was lost in an emotional rollercoaster. So many thoughts. But the more I thought about it, I thought that I am actually a girl. Just in the wrong body. But is that possible? Was I going crazy? I thought about what to do. Should I tell my parents? But what would they say? What if I went crazy, would they put me in an asylum to make me normal again? I don't feel crazy. How does crazy feel anyway? The weeks went by. Nothing changed in my head. I still felt like a girl. But what should I do? What if I am just crazy? I never heard of such things. People don't get born in the wrong bodies. Or do they? I thought about going to a library (Yes, 1990, there was no Internet to access and easily get the information I wanted) But what should I look for? I still was in a position where I wanted to keep my secret to myself as I wasn't sure what will happen when I say something. Maybe it's going away someday and then people will make fun of that boy who wanted to be a girl. But what's wrong with being a girl? Girls are fun. All my close friends are girls. Always have been. I just couldn't connect with guys as I could with girls. No, there certainly is nothing wrong with being a girl. Being a boy just doesn't feel right. Time went on. I tried to hide my secret. My feelings never changed. But I couldn't dare to tell anyone. I was still too afraid to tell. When I was nine or ten, my dad brought a magazine from one of his business trips. As usual, I took it too and read some articles in it. And there it was. Somewhere in the middle of the magazine was an article about gender reassignment surgery and a woman who was born male, having that surgery. My mind blew. Really? I am not alone? I am not alone! The article helped me open my eyes. But it also didn't convince that I wasn't crazy. But I had a word for it now. I knew I was transgender. Transgender. I was back in an emotional rollercoaster, similar to the one I experienced when I first found out. I knew I was not alone. I knew how it was called. And I still was pretty sure that I wasn't crazy. I kept thinking a lot in the next few days. And I thought it would be best to finally tell my parents. I mean I knew that there are things that can be done. But then it happened. Before I was able to say something to my parents, we were sitting at the breakfast table, my dad made a joke about that article I was fascinated about. Something along the lines how weird that guy must be to chop off his dick. I can't remember exactly. I didn't laugh. No. My life broke apart at that moment. It was hard for me to hide my tears. But I couldn't let someone know. I didn't feel safe to tell my parents. I cried myself to sleep that night, I started hating my life. Why wasn't I born a girl? Life would be so much easier than it is now. I felt lost. If I couldn't trust my parents, who can I trust? I went into repressing mode. I thought to myself that when I do boyish things it well help. Maybe I was crazy for thinking that I'm a girl. But I'd rather felt like a girl at heart and not telling anyone than telling someone and they try making me feel like a boy. We moved when I was 11. From Munich to Frankfurt. Everything was new. From the countryside near Munich to the city. Well, the suburbs. But still the city. And a new school. And with that new people. I made new friends. No girls. All guys. And we made fun of the girls. So, did I. And it hurt. It felt so wrong. I knew it was wrong. I should be making fun of the boys instead. It's still mean. But felt more right to me. But I hid that feeling and went on. By the time everyone was hit by puberty the feelings of being trapped in a wrong body got worse again. I envied the girls who developed a feminine body. While I hated my body. The wrong parts started to grow. It just felt plain wrong and icky. Should I go to my parents? Tell them now? Can I trust them? I wasn't sure. And decided I can't. My father's words from a couple of years ago still stung in my soul. I knew it was wrong not doing anything but I also knew I couldn't tell anyone. In hindsight, puberty felt like doing Heroine or Meth, just as self-destructive but instead of coming with a high, it came with a down. When I was with my friends, sometimes I felt obliged to ask them if they would like to be a girl? They always declined, telling me it would be super icky, being a guy is just the best. I don't know. It certainly did not feel that way for me. But, of course, I had a secret to keep. So I told them how right they were. And I tried to believe it. And I felt guilty. I lied to myself that it will get better once I get a girlfriend. And yes, making out with a girl felt good. Honestly. But was it making me feel better? No. Was I supposed to make out with girls? Shouldn't I get myself a boyfriend? Was I gay for thinking that way? Or was I gay for making out with girls? I was so confused. But puberty is supposed to be confusing right? That's what they say everywhere, that's what's written in all those youth magazines. And I kind of hoped they would go on the transgender topic someday. I hoped that it might help me to seek help. But they never did. Or I missed it. Time went on further, I was 15 when I got another girlfriend, it never worked out though. It felt wrong to me. Completely wrong. I don't know. I tried to repress those feelings. And some way it helped. I lived my life. But I still thought about it a lot. Everyday. My grades in school weren't good. It was my mental health that bothered me, which led to the fact I didn't pay much attention in school and wasn't feeling like doing much for school. My mom tried to find out what it was. She asked me. I told her that I don't know. But I knew. She thought that counseling would help. She reached out to a therapist. As I declined to see one, after all, I wasn't crazy, they send a questionnaire. I looked at it. There were also questions about gender identity. I was afraid. And so much into repressing that I failed to realize I had a real chance here. And I was so adamant in being not crazy as well as afraid to get cut out of the family that I never filled it out. My father's words still stung. And with all those repressing in my life the day came where I finished school. I was almost 18. Everyone was told that the fun part of life was done now. Really? Was it? I felt like that happened 10 years ago. I went to a commercial school after high school. It was a combination of school and internship for a year and then once year school again. 2 days of school a week and three days working. I became an intern at a hotel. And I have to say, I liked working. Much better than school. So much better that my grades dropped. I let them drop. So much that I dropped out of that school after 6 months because I didn't feel like going to school anymore. So I started an apprenticeship at that hotel to get a hospitality degree. In that school though, I met a girl and we kept in touch after I dropped out. Well, we started seeing each other would be the right term. Not classical dating though. But we hang out once a week and had a blast. And there were dates too.Yes, I enjoyed that time with her and before I knew it I had fallen in love head over heels with her. For the first time in my life, my thoughts weren't revolving about my secret. They were revolving around her. It wasn't easier but made me feel happy. Well, happier. We spent a lot of time together and once I told her how I felt she told me she is seeing someone else. Bummer. I felt devastated. Again. We still met from time to time, had fun, but it wasn't as it was before. We met less and less. And then we lost track of each other. It was 2 years later when I sent her a postcard from Thailand. I have been there in December 2004 and when she received the postcard in January 2005, she was worried I was there when the Tsunami hit. I wasn't. I left 5 days earlier. Since then we text each other from time to time. One night in 2001, a friend of mine, Thomas, asked me if I would like to meet him and some other friends of him. I said yes and was introduced to a girl, Alice, we clicked and became really good friends from there. I also found a good friend in a coworker from the hotel. Lucas. And that led together, that Alice, Lucas, Thomas and I became really good friends. We were together all the time. We became F.L.A.T (my first name started with an F). And till today I think that was one of the best times of my life. I kind of felt at ease with myself. Maybe because I repressed my feelings so much. Maybe because I was never that close with any of my friends before. We could tell us everything. Almost. In 2005 I found another girlfriend. It helped me get over my broken heart. And to gain some sexual experiences. The first time I had sex and It wasn't what I expected. Mostly because it felt wrong. Maybe it was the wrong person. I lied to myself. Well, it most certainly was the wrong person as well, but I knew why the sex felt wrong for me. I knew exactly why. I mean, being in a relationship felt great on the romantic aspect. But sexually, no, not for me. I couldn't get myself to like sex. We broke up in summer, after roughly 6 months. While feeling heartbroken again, I have to admit that I wasn't that sad. I might have thought that I love her back. But to be honest, I didn't. Life went on. And I wasn't missing the sex. I knew sex wasn't for me. In early 2006 I went traveling again. Again, to Thailand. While I went with Lucas the first time, I went on my own this time. Apart from Thailand I went to Malaysia and Singapore and had quite a good time. Until I started feeling sick after two weeks. I still had a couple of days left on that journey, so I went to a pharmacy to get some meds. I thought I caught a cold somewhere between the tropical heat outside and the chilly, air-conditioned air inside. While it helped at first, I felt like crap the last day. I slept quite badly that night and felt even worse the next morning when I made my way to Samui Airport. The first leg was to Phuket. I planned to spend the day thereafter spending 10 days there the last time. I was tired. I was shivering, coughing, and developed a rash on my hands. I knew it wasn't a cold but had no idea what it was. I spend the day at Phuket airport as I felt too sick to do something else. In the evening I had a flight to Bangkok and from there at 3 am to Dubai and connecting there to a flight to Frankfurt. I felt worse which each passing hour. When I finally arrived in Frankfurt, I was barely able to breathe, I couldn't properly communicate as I ran out of the air before I finished a single word. Alice's Father, a doctor, advised her to bring me to the university hospital which they did. The hospital saw the rash, send me to dermatology, they looked at the rash, asked if it is itching. I shook my head to it as I couldn't say something. They got me something for the itching and send me home. At home, my condition continued to get worse. I was coughing badly and prepared myself for suffocation as the coughing kept going when I already blew out all the air from my lungs. In the evening, my parents brought me into an emergency practice who immediately send me to hospital as the doctor there suspected a bad case of pneumonia. In the local hospital, they confirmed pneumonia and suspected measles as the cause for the rash I had on my hands and had spread to my face. Being highly contagious I was sent back to the university hospital. I wasn't sent to dermatology this time. And while they started treating me and telling me I was in a life-threatening condition; The thought of just dying here and now crossed my mind. I didn't mind. It would end my suffering from the pneumonia, but the even bigger advantage is also, it would have ended my emotional suffering from being transgender as well. And I would have died that night when I would have stayed at home. But as I was in the hospital and got stabilized, I survived. And yet, being so close to death, even with considering that death might have been a relief, I did nothing. I kept repressing my true self. In early summer that same year, after hanging out at Lucas place, Alice and I went to my car, We got in and continued drinking. We emptied a bottle of Tequila. And in the heat of the night, we kissed. And it felt right. We both had a crush on each other since the day we met. But we also felt guilty and we were hiding our burgeoning relationship. Later that year I felt unhappy in my job. I missed the challenge. So I went and looked for something else. I wanted to go abroad. I longed for adventure. My dream destination was the US. But given the hurdles with immigration and work permit that didn't work out. But I found something in England. Alice came with me. We found ourselves a cute little flat and life wasn't that bad. The relationship was nice. Although, I still felt weird about having sex and I tried to avoid as best as I could. But yet again, the romantic part of the relationship was awesome and felt great. We went back to Germany after 6 months, determined to move in together as soon as possible. Also coming back was my emotional pain. It became a lot harder again and at the end of 2007 Alice and I broke up. It wasn't working out. It just hurt so much to play the guy in our relationship. And moving in my flat now, I couldn't repress any longer. I started feeling like crap again. I spend nights crying. I looked up the internet, but the rules about a transition in Germany weren't very appealing back then. Even though I knew what to do and how and everything. I couldn't bring myself to accept the truth and start changing my life. When I got a promotion in 2009 I used it as an excuse to go back to repression again. But living alone allowed me to shop for myself. I got all kinds of woman's clothing and went out dressed and made up a couple of times. Always in the still of the night. Hoping no one would see me. But on the other hand, I kind of wanted to be seen and being recognized for who I am. It went on like this for quite a while. I dared to go out as myself more often. But at the same time, I was scared to death that I meet someone I know. And worse, being recognized and laughed at. I was torn. And even though I tried to tell me otherwise, I knew that I have to transition. That it was my only option to get out of that miserable emotional state. I traveled. Every year. Sometimes several times. It helped me to get my mind away from being trans. Looking forward to going somewhere else and especially being somewhere else was making me happy. While away I wasn't feeling sad all the time. I enjoyed life then. For real. It wasn't just a lie I tried to tell myself. In 2012 I made a decision. Knowing that I have to transition but not feeling able to do it at home. Why not somewhere else? Germany is big. The world is even bigger I talked to my superior and she promised to help me find something somewhere else. Without telling the real reason. In early 2013 the opportunity knocked on the door. I flew to Vienna for an interview. And accomplished that mission. I started on the first of June. I felt excited. There is the possibility to finally be who I am and yet, I tried to convince it'll be okay not to transition For the first time, I worked a lot. Doing a lot of overtime. Which led to the fact I wasn't thinking that much of myself and my mission I came to Vienna for. I started repressing again. With all that overtime it came that I was off work for three weeks around Christmas 2013. The time I spend home alone, away from friends and family brought me kind of back. I started dressing like myself again. For Christmas, I flew home. Completely trying to be a guy which hurt like it never hurt before. On the outside, everything seemed fine. But I was dying on the inside. And even when I was back in Vienna for new years, the miserable feeling stayed with me. It even got worse. And worse. And here I am. At my desk. Trying to drench the pain in alcohol. And even though I was more than tipsy already, it doesn't work. It hurts so much. I turned into the dead-end road long ago. Longer than I initially thought. Was it too late? Am I going to kill myself? It sure would be the easiest right now. It would be over. No need to lie to me anymore. No need to tell anyone. No pain anymore. It doesn't sound too bad. But is it helping? No. And it would rip me off the chance to experience life as who I really am and not just the person who I pretended to be. No, I won't kill myself. Not yet. Not tonight. I felt so lost. Why have I done this to myself? Why haven't I taken any of the chances I was given? How much can you hate yourself? I needed more alcohol. Maybe, when the pain lessens, if ever, I can see more clearly. I should have told my parents. Screw that stupid note my father made. For fuck's sake, I'm their child. They would have helped me. Now it's too late. I'm 31. I had such a small amount of facial hair until my mid-20s. Now I have to deal with so much testosterone damage. I need to do something. But what was I going to do? I need help. I can't do anything on my own. With more alcohol in my veins, I finally got the guts to look for a gender therapist. Well, not only to look for one but to contact one. In the middle of the night. Via email. Boom. Sent. Wow. I felt relieved. I think. I don't know. I was drunk. Not too drunk to stop drinking. There it goes, the pain numbs down. Or is the relief? Maybe I should check my emails again. Nothing. Okay, it is 4 am. Not exactly therapist working hours. And it's Saturday night on top of that. Let's be realistic here, there won't be an answer before probably Monday afternoon. Damned. So long to wait. Shit. Let's drink more. It's also celebrating now. I awoke, hungover. Gosh. So much alcohol. But somehow, I'm happy that I was alive. While making coffee I counted the empty bottles of beer. 11. Eleven. What. The. Fuck. That's a lot. And given the fact that there was quite a lot of alcohol the last weeks daily, I might have another problem as well. When I opened my emails, I couldn't believe what I saw. There was an email from the therapist I drunkenly contacted last night. And not only that, there was an appointment attached as well. For the upcoming Friday. Less than a week. Wow. All I needed to do was to reconfirm. And I did exactly that. Awesome. Now that I reached out for help, I was still caught in an emotional rollercoaster. Yes, I felt better. But also, I don't. It was weird. I couldn't sleep. For days. My mind was racing. I got about an hour of sleep per night. Only because I was exhausted. Once my brain recharged a bit and was back with all the thoughts. To be honest, I never felt that awful. Yet. I was afraid that I chickened out of that appointment. Or won't be able to say something. Work was awful as well. I couldn't concentrate. But I was too afraid to call in sick. I needed so much more time to sort my brain, that just calling in sick wouldn't have helped anyway. The week went by slow. By Thursday I was able to sleep almost 4 hours. And then it was Friday. Work felt super slow that day. My appointment was at 6 pm. So, I left work at 4:30. I had to go across the city. And I wanted to be sure to be there on time. I'd rather be there early and wait than missing the appointment. Because I counted on it, nothing went wrong. I got to the therapist way ahead of schedule. I was so nervous. I got a coffee to kill some time. It didn't help with the nervousness. Not at all. When I was finally in the waiting room, I was a wreck. More than the last couple of days and weeks. Still afraid to chicken out or not being able to tell what's wrong. Then it was my turn. I took a seat in the practice. And I started to tell what's going on. Without hesitation. It felt so good. So cathartic. I felt the weight slowly lifting. At least a little bit. It was just an introduction appointment. But was offered to start therapy and get me on my way. I accepted. I finally felt I was doing the right thing. We arranged the next appointment for two weeks. From there on, I will have an appointment every two weeks. When I left to head back home, I felt like hugging every single person crossing my path. I never felt so good. So relieved. I was never so sure doing the right thing like I was at that very moment. But once the euphoria subsided, I felt miserable again. Yes, I had talked about me. To someone in person. And yes, that felt good. But has something changed? No. I was stuck in a life of a person I created. Still pretending everything is fine even though I was badly failing in keeping the facade up. In the first therapy session, we talked about coming outs. And honestly, I wasn't feeling that I would be coming out to friends or family any time soon. I felt that there is so much more to sort in the mess my brain is first. But, it was Monday or Tuesday after the appointment, where I realized that a huge part of sorting the mess will be not pretending anymore. So I made a decision, I need someone to talk to. Not an internet stranger. It was Wednesday when I texted Alice. Even though things were weird at first after breaking up we went back to being friends. And she certainly is the person I trusted most. When I heat that stage and considered transition, there was a moment I wanted to tell her. But chickened out the last moment. I told her via text that there is something very important and serious I have to tell her and if she would be available to phone later that evening. I was sure she would think I'm seriously sick. And I felt sorry for tricking her into thinking that. But I also tricked me with that. Because I wanted to make sure I tell her. I needed to get it out. Once on the phone, there wasn't any time pleasantries or small talk. She wanted to know right away what's going on. I breathed in deeply. "I'm... I ...." Breath. "I'm transgender." I was shaking. It was out. I said it. And the second I said I also regretted it. Now there isn't any way back We talked for hours. She had many questions. My initial regret went away as quickly as it came. It felt good. Many things made sense to her now that she knew. I could feel that I turned around in that dead-end road. Sure, my life was far from being the life I wanted to live. And I had no idea if I ever reach that point. But I was determined to try. Therapy went on. And it helped so much. The mess in my head finally became clearer. I had goals. And I set myself two goals. First, by 35 I wanted to live the life I currently dreamed of. And the second, I will celebrate my 40th birthday big. Which was huge given that I seriously doubted that I will make to 32 a few weeks before. Jobwise it wasn't all good. I was let go due to my depression which had an impact on my work. But it wasn't long before I got another job in a different Hotel and I wasn't even unemployed. Time went on and in April I had an appointment with a psychologist to meet the requirements for HRT in Austria. That appointment went well and confirmed what I felt for 23 years of my life. I also met up with Thomas and Lucas to tell them what's going on with me in April. As well as with my parents. And my brother. Here we are. 3 months after I was at a dark place in my life the most important people in my life knew. No more pretending. I was beginning to believe that I was in the right way. Everything felt better. Therapy continued and I also began to think that I had cleared the mess in my head. Not entirely, but at least in a way that I felt it isn't impossible. By October I contacted the Vienna General Hospital. They are the go-to place for HRT in Austria. And that was what I wanted. Getting rid of testosterone in my body. Unfortunately, the waiting times were horrible. I got an appointment for January 26. Shit. 4 months. I tried to think positively. And tried to set little in between goals to make the time go by faster. Plus, there was traveling ahead. Before that appointment. I would return from Florida on the morning of the 25th. Another thing that bothered me was my old online life. I'm into photography and plane spotting and was quite active in several forums and most of the team members. Therefore, there were quite some people who knew me. And coming out to them wasn't something I looked forward to. So far, I haven't. I was dreading it. As I felt wrong pretending there, I reduced my activity to a minimum. And going to Florida wasn't on my own. I would go from Vienna with one of the team members and we would be together there the whole time. Again, and for the first time in quite a while I felt torn again. On one hand, I wanted him to know. So, I wouldn't have to pretend anything. But on the other hand, I had no idea how he would react. But thinking about that made me realize. I can't keep doing what I do. I have to come out in those forums as well. I made a few friends there and cutting everything out of my lift didn't felt right either. Before going to Florida I came out within the team in one Forum to ease myself a bit. I also asked for advice there what I should do with my buddy as most of them knew him as well. I decided to not tell him. It hurt. But pretending to be someone else is something I'm used to. But ruining a vacation for both of us is something completely different. And it was as hard as I thought. Sure, we had fun and everything. But inside me, I felt that pain again. What kept me smiling was the appointment in the hospital right after our return. And to be honest I never looked more forward to returning home than I did on this vacation. But when we returned fate stepped in and scared me to death. We were supposed to fly from Fort Lauderdale to Chicago and connect there to our flight to Vienna. And our flight to Chicago was delayed due to a technical problem on the plane. I was afraid we might miss our flight in Chicago. We haven't had lots of time to connect anyway, and with the delay, it's even less. And considering the size of O'Hare Airport and that we had to go from Terminal 1 to 5, which felt like crossing the whole city. I couldn't miss that flight. Because if I would, even with being rebooked, I probably wouldn't be back in time for my appointment on Monday morning. We made it just in time and arrived at the gate when boarding to our flight began. Screw you, fate. Not this time. The appointment was initial bloodwork. An explanation of what would happen, and I had to sign informed consent forms to relieve the hospital from liability in case I don't like having breasts grow on me. Is if. That's what I waited for since I was 12. I have given a lot of thought about it and that's exactly what I want. I hoped I can get a prescription right away. But no, sadly not. There will be another appointment for that. I was afraid it'll be another four months. But luckily, I got an appointment just three weeks later. I decided that it's time to come out in the other forums as well. There were three in total. One was down already, two more to go. Including the one with my buddy from Florida. At first, I did it just within the team. And honestly, I was overwhelmed. So many positive reactions. So much support, why was I dreading this for so long? I decided that I will make an official coming outpost within the members-only section in the not too distant future. Again waiting. Again, it took time forever to be over. But I finally made it. I picked up my prescription. I was the happiest girl in the world. I went home straight away. Well almost. First, I stopped at my pharmacy to get the prescription filled. But yes, there is a but again, it wasn't in stock and had to be ordered in. Ready to pick up the next day. Well, I think I'll survive. And I did. I went to pick it up the next day. Afternoon. Yay. I had my hormones here. At home. Mine. Yay. I couldn't believe it. Somehow, I wanted to start even and with on pill in the morning and one in the evening there was no even for the day. I decided I start the next morning. I went to bed excited. I had dreams of my new life. And before I knew it I woke up. It was the next day. Now hurry, I can't wait. I prepared a quick breakfast, Coffee and here we go. The first pill. I was one happy girl. I finally started HRT. And took testosterone blockers. Finally, I'm done with poisoning my body due to a birth defect, Now I'm fixing it. Puberty 2.0, here I come. Planning on graduating with an F this time. The next big thing on my agenda was another Photography trip. Organized in one of the forums. We planned a weekend in Istanbul. So I decided it's time to let the cat out of the bag. I had the other Team member at my back. When someone has a problem with me in Istanbul, it's their problem. Not mine. I made a post. In the members-only section. Everyone registered in that forum can read it. Before I hit send, I was nervous. But I knew it won't be so bad. The reactions so far have been good. So why should it be a problem now? Spoiler Alert: It wasn't. It went just as good as just within the team members. Lots of support. Great. Again, why was I so afraid? After a week or so I looked at clicks. Given the size of the forums, I came out to about 1000 people in total. Wow. I honestly was impressed by that number. Sure, I haven't ever met most of them. And probably never will. Before we went to Istanbul, I also went through my Facebook friend list. I made a new Facebook account before starting therapy. I sent a message to the people I wanted to know with an explanation and the link to the new Profile. Two days later I closed the old account. Old me was gone. Two things happened along the way to HRT that wasn't so nice. In late 2014 Thomas and his girlfriend decided it was time for an argument with Alice and me. That escalated so much that we parted ways with Thomas. On his initiation, or his girlfriends. The weird thing was, it was basically about tolerance. Not in my regard but towards vegan food. Thomas and his girlfriend ghosted Alice and me. And it wasn't long until Lucas followed Thomas' lead and joined the club of "Ghosting of Alice and Lina" We are still sad about the loss of such a friendship. But on the other hand, were we friends? Is it friendship when you ghost someone over a made-up argument about vegan food? I mean as an adult you should be able to talk about such crap and not run away. I'm still convinced it was because of me. I can't think of a better explanation of why they didn't want to talk anymore. It just doesn't make sense. But, their loss. Not mine. The other crappy part that happened while I turned my life around, I was let go again. I suspect my transition here as well. And while there are anti-discrimination laws in Austria, they don't help when they have made up reasons. And as I don't have any proof, it is as it is. Because that let me to another good thing. Working in a hotel I wasn't able to get my ears pierced, because of male grooming standards. But now, I don't see why I shouldn't It was my dream ever since to have my ears pierced. It was what made me realize who I am. So, I went and got them pierced. Even while I still presented males. But with HRT working it's magic I was sure that it won't be long until felt confident enough to express my true gender. Okay, I got them pierced in February. I started to dress and present androgynous in July. But to be honest I did not much. Summer 2015 was awful. Weather-wise. Temperatures climbed above 35?C in June and were never below. Above, yes. But never below. No Rain, no thunderstorm. And living right in downtown was the worst. Even during the nights, there was no cooldown. The whole continent of Europe struggled under the heatwave. And I went to a beauty parlor to get my face lasered to reduce facial hair. Oh goody. Having the face burned and then out in the heat was great. It was one of those moments I wanted to kick myself in the ass just for not doing anything before Early in September, my parents came to visit me. It was the first time we were seeing each other since I started HRT over 6 months ago. It was nice to see them. They stayed a few days and then took me with them so I could spend some time at home and with my friends. I went back home, and I also realized that I started to confuse people. Not in a bad way, but always when my male name came up on documents. I think my male mode started failing. That made realize something. I felt lonely. Lonely to be honest. I missed my friends. I missed my family. So, to find friends and being not so lonely in Vienna I went to a trans support group. I also needed someone to boost my confidence. I hated presenting rather male than female. But I couldn't get myself to go the whole hog and present completely female, even though I wanted. The fear of what others might think was still deep. And while I went to the first meeting presenting androgynous. Oh, I had to get my eyes checked. The whole summer I thought that my eyes started feeling more and more exhausted. But at home when I drove a car myself again, I was shocked. I could barely see. Well, now I wear glasses. I haven't had glasses in ages. Pre-Puberty 1.0. Probably grew out. But now, getting older I need to get used to that handy accessory again. And I say accessory for a reason. I didn't feel fazed by it. No, I looked forward to that, because I saw it as a chance to further change the way I look as I was aiming to not getting recognized anymore unless I want to. By the end of September, a week after the meeting, Alice came. For a weekend as she was there for a reading of one of her books. I showed her in Vienna. In fast forward. But covering all the famous sights. Of course, I went with her to the reading in the evening. And with the confidence boost of not being alone, I did what I have to do. And it felt really good. Especially that no one batted an eye. I felt great. After the reading, we ordered pizza and ate it in bed. Life was good. The next support group meeting, in mid-October, was different although I was back to presenting androgynous, I felt different that night. I properly dressed and makeup in my face I went to the subway in rush hour and was just one of many. No one took a closer look. I felt so great. I was acknowledged as the person I was. My confidence went through the roof that night. It was the moment I stopped presenting male or androgynous. From there on, there was the only female. Almost two years after the realization that I had to change my life I thought that I did exactly that. I changed my life and was almost where I wanted to be. Almost. There was still a lot to do. I needed to change my name. And gender. Officially. Because with Christmas coming up and me going home for the holidays, I had booked a flight. And as there wasn't male mode anymore but going by plane required traveling under my male name gave me the heebie-jeebies. My endocrinologist saved me though. She gave a letter, which stated what's going on and that my appearance might be not the one showing in my documents. Sure, it's still going to be awkward, but at least I have something to show and that would give me some privacy while being out in the open of an airport. And with all that I wanted to start the process of the name change rather yesterday than today. Being a German citizen meant that I have to go through court (It's not required anymore but was back then) But living abroad also meant that I can't just go there to hearings and such. But living abroad is also a bit of a loophole. All I needed to do was to prepare my paperwork which was legally required. That meant two independent statements from a Psychiatrist or Psychologist. I renewed one of the old ones. But for the other, I had to go to a different Psychiatrist than I did for HRT. And unfortunately, I couldn't get an appointment before Christmas there. Shit. I wanted to get everything on its way before Christmas. The day of my flight back home came. I was excited. And nervous. How would it go? I checked in online. All I had to go is to the bag drop. It's the only position where I need to show my documents for a double- check. I put my bag on the belt, showed my boarding pass on my phone. She looked at it, looked at me, and gave me a professional smile. "Have a nice flight." Wow. That's it? I prepared for an awkward moment. Okay, there's still security. I prepared again. And nothing. I was just waved through. No one batted an eye on me. I was still on the ground and yet I was on cloud 9. Was it that easy? It was. All I had to do now was waiting for my flight. It was delayed. I felt good being back at home. I stayed with my parents. Two weeks in total. So much time to enjoy, to meet with friends and to do one important thing. On the morning of Christmas Eve, I met with my brother and we went to a photo studio. Why? Because our parents needed new pictures of their children. Sure, they had many, but none with us grown-up. And none with their son and daughter. I put on my favorite dress, it's a sleeveless plaid black and white, because of winter I wore I white shirt below the dress along with black tights and black, knee-high boots. I liked the way I looked. Still do. And my parents liked the pictures. On New Year's Eve, I met with Alice, her boyfriend, and others to party into the new year. Later that evening a friend of Alice Boyfriend showed up. I met him a few times already. Always pre- transition. And I don't think he recognized me. It felt good. A week later it was time to go back to Vienna again. It was kind of painful as I really felt happy back at home and I wanted to move back. Being in Vienna for two and a half years now, I also felt that the mission I originally had was accomplished. I mean I wanted to move away to finally dare to do what I had to do. And I went and did it. I lived full time as a female. More so, I started to think less and less about it. Life started to become normal. Two more things, one almost accomplished, and the other needed to be sorted out as well. Number one was the name change. Which was currently out of my hands. I waited for the last statement which would be ready to pick up at the practice two days after returning from Germany. And with that, I had my paperwork in order. Apart from the two statements I needed like a diary. Just a letter from myself explaining myself and my journey into womanhood. That counted as my testimony as I don't have to show up in person for a court hearing. I also prepared all other letters, stating that I did the right thing. Just to make sure. Everything was already in a prepared enveloped and with the last statement, the letter was basically on its way to court. The second thing I wanted to sort was surgery. I've been always pretty sure that I wanted genital reassignment surgery. That wish never changed throughout the years. And when transition finally started and with me feeling finally at home in my body, I was certain now that I want that surgery. Vienna has two surgeons performing that surgery. I made an appointment with the one I felt more comfortable with. And it was quick. Already at the end of January. And after that appointment, I felt pretty confident that the right choice, however, just to make sure I also wanted to make an appointment with the other surgeon. Just to make sure. And a second opinion is never bad. Especially in such important regard. Being February 2016 now, I was on my way for over two years now and had my first HRT anniversary. I felt amazing, I mean two years ago I thought about ending it all, now here I am, celebrating a birthday. Kind of at least. And I'm so thankful for HRT. Until today. The first few weeks were amazing. I felt at ease with myself. It felt like my brain was finally able to align with my body. Running on the wrong hormone for so long and then finally having the right stuff in the system was mind-blowing. And working towards HRT took so long. And here I was, On HRT, for one year. But there was something else. Homesickness. It started to get painful. I couldn't stand the loneliness anymore. I hated not being able to just meet up with friends. And it was more than once that I broke down crying. Now that my life was finally in order and yet it wasn't. My parents invited me over to get out of my loneliness. It was early March. I booked a train for April. Again, two weeks at home. And I also started to look for jobs. While I waited for April to come, I also wanted to hear back from the court. But nothing so far. And as much as I hate to use a phone to actually call someone, I felt like calling their every day to hear the progress. Nearing the end of March, I called there again only to hear thy need probably a few more weeks. Shit. I was hoping to file for a new Id Card and passport when back home. But it didn't work. By the time I boarded the train for Frankfurt, I haven't heard anything new from the court. Once the train was on its way and the conductor came through, I handed the ticket. And there was the super awkward moment I waited for so long. "Why are you traveling with the ticket from this gentleman? You know, that's not allowed." I felt hot blood rushing into my face. But I also had a huge mischievous smile internally. I handed the conductor the letter I still had from my endocrinologist, hoping it would be accepted. It was. The conductor apologized and everything was fine from thereon. But it proofed that I need my documents in order. The time at home flew and it helped me to get better, knowing that it probably won't be much longer until I finally can go home, On the train ride back home I showed proactively the letter with my ticket. And also, it was awkward, it wasn't a kind of awkward that other people around noticed anything. I started to prepare the move. With that, I postponed my GRS plans. And I wanted to get my paperwork in order, so I decided to talk to my therapist to get a final letter. Which would be also needed for GRS. And I felt like my therapist had done everything she could for me. A few days after I was back in Vienna, I called the court again in order if they have some news for me. And this time I was lucky. There was news. Good news. Very good news. The court made its decision and I was now legally female. And had a female name. Yay. Life feels good sometimes. A couple of days later I had the court order in the mail. There it was, my new name, written, completely official. Awesome. At the end of May, I could score an interview back home. And another one just a few days later. I booked train tickets again. Under my new name this time. That felt incredibly good and relieving. But I still had my old ID. The new one was planned for this trip. And a provisional one which I don't have to wait for. Both Interviews went well and I now I only had to decide. That also meant I was all set to go back home for good. Going back to Vienna felt good this time. With a new job starting on August 15, which was 6 weeks from now and the time I have to give notice for my flat, I was bound to leave for the home end of July. One more month. That's certainly doable. I started to prepare the move not only paperwork wise but also, I started packing. Well, not packing yet, But I went through my stuff, clearing it from things I don't need anymore. And then started packing. Time flew and it wasn't long before my brother arrived to help me clear the last few items and then the moving company arrived. Picking my things up, put them into a transporter and my flat was empty in no time. One more night in Vienna. In a hotel. And then, the next morning I handed over the flat and left. Yes, I left. We left. We hit the road for the long journey home. Passing by the sign of Vienna City limits I felt sad and relieved at the same. It was an exciting chapter I had no idea how I would master it. But I'm happy with the outcome. Super Happy. I was glad when we arrived home. It felt good to have my place at home again. Life seemed to be in order. Almost. There is still the GRS part, part, for now, I just want to arrive, get unpacked, and relax a bit. Moving is exhausting. But I made it. A little over three years in Vienna and I'm tempted to say a new me returned. But that's not true. I'm not a new person. I'm still me. Improved but still me. Oh, and I finally picked up my new ID card. I couldn't be more official now. Shortly after the move, I went to our local mall with Alice. While having a coffee at Starbucks and enjoying the summer day a friend of ours showed up. We had never been super close but did some things together. We also spent a weekend in New York City together. But his distant hello now seemed weird. He only talked to Alice. When he took off again, I was stunned. "He did not recognize me, did he?" I shook my head. Once my life settled, I felt the need to appoint the GRS point on my agenda again. Oh, my GP and my Endocrinologist in Vienna were both super nice and provided me out with a huge prescription, so I had enough meds not worry about long waiting times or other hurdles in the hormone department. From my research, I already knew where I wanted to go. It was a small private Hospital in Munich and I had an appointment for mid-November. Alice joined me. We planned to go to that appointment and then having a nice afternoon in Munich before returning home in the evening. As Christmas approached there were also the Christmas Markets. In the town, I lived before I went to Vienna ( I moved to one of the neighboring suburban cities). And of course, there were many people I knew. And some even introduced themselves to me. It was weird. But great as well. I was excited. And haven't felt so nervous in any transition regard in ages. I think the last time was the initial appointment for HRT. But everything went fine. And compared to my appointment I had in Vienna I felt much more comfortable. I made my decision on my way out. A few days later I received a letter from the hospital which was needed to request coverage from my healthcare insurance. It took a couple of weeks but shortly before Christmas, I could send all the necessary paperwork to the hospital. Now I hoped I will get a surgery date soon. But it took time. Again. Transition is basically just waiting for someone to get ready. In the meantime, I had an appointment at the Frankfurt University Hospital. For taking over my HRT stuff. I called before new years. And got the bad news. They weren't accepting my letters. What? How? Why? No! That can't be possible. I saw everything falling to pieces. I was shocked. I asked why, tried to hide my anger and my disappointment. They told me that my letters don't have an indication. And my insurance approved the procedure if they don't have any doubt it should be okay. After all, they are paying for it. Besides if you go for the definition of indication, my letters have them. It's just not written like Indication: Yes. But that's how a letter should like according to German standards. My Austrian letters were different. I contacted the psychologist who was always helpful. And she agreed to rewrite the letter. I also got my insurance in the boat. And they were so nice to send me the statement their doctors made while evaluating my case. And I sent everything to the hospital. And they accepted. Thank god. I was so relieved. And I got a date. May 17, 2017. Yay. 4 more months waiting time. In February I received a call from the hospital. At first, I hoped that they had an earlier appointment for me. But unfortunately, the opposite was the case. Luckily the postponed from the 17th to 18th. I can live with that. And then time flew. All of a sudden it was May 17th. The Day I would leave for Munich. For the hospital intake. I was supposed to be there at 1 pm. Doing all the intake paperwork. Then, afterward, I met the anesthesiologist, she explained what will happen to me. Well, to be honest, I only care if I wake up again. I don't mind the other stuff. Just let me sleep and survive. After that was done, I could go to the ward which would be my home for the next two weeks. I've been in the OR for roughly 6 hours, when I woke up, I felt mostly fine. My throat was aching from being on the ventilator for so long. And I felt a pressure in my groin. A bit like I has to pee. I was kept in the recovery room for about an hour, still feeling a bit under, time was weird at that stage. When I was brought back to my ward I started to feel good. Euphoric to be honest. I did it. I'm post-op now. 3 and half years after I started my journey. Wow. Back then I thought it was going to be longer. Now I'm here, met all the goals I've set for myself in the first few weeks of my transition. I felt happy. For about an hour. Then tiredness crawled back in. I still felt weak and felt weaker and weaker. And I got the impression of ants crawling through the heavily bandaged groin area. Unfortunately, it wasn't my drugged mind playing tricks on me. Turned out the feeling of ants was caused by blood. At first, the doctors wanted to observe the bleeding, but it wasn't long before they realized the amount of blood running out of the wounds is big. They brought me into one of the examinations room and tried to fix the bleeding there. If not, I would have to go back to the OR. That happened in the early evening when the bleeding was stopped it was 10 pm. What? That procedure felt like half an hour. Seems my mind is still hazed from the anesthesia. And blood loss. I lost quite an amount and if I had lost any further, they would have given me blood transfusions. The following night was one of the worst I ever had. The nurses checked on me every hour. Sure, they wanted to make sure I'm okay. And I'm thankful for that. But it also meant that I couldn't get much of the needed sleep. Every time I dozed off, the nurse came back, woke me, and checked. The night went fine though. No bleedings or whatsoever. And In the morning, I was allowed to have proper and solid food again. Even it was only hospital food, it was good, as I was starving. And then I was able to catch up with the missing sleep. From there time in the Hospital was a breeze. Everything healed, I was able to get up soon, and the distances I walked in the hospital got bigger and bigger. After 8 days Alice came by to visit. And in the afternoon, we even were allowed to leave Hospital premises and went for an Ice cream parlor in the vicinity. Well, I was allowed. She could leave anyway. The most challenging part of recovery was relearning how to use a bathroom again. The plumbing worked differently now, the muscles needed to be trained after being on a ureteral catheter for a week. After thirteen days in the hospital, I was discharged. Happily, but still slow I made my way home. I felt fine most of the time. Even in Hospital I was mostly pain-free and went through the recovery with just a little number of painkillers. And that's just for the nights and not even the strong stuff. I have to admit, I was afraid of the pain. When I was eleven, I had appendicitis and I thought I'd die from the pain alone. The incision hurt so much more than the inflamed appendix that I wished to turn back time and just keep it. It was unbearable for me. But now, for such a major surgery, it was just like a breeze. Okay, granted my mindset was totally different. Once home recovery went well and after two weeks at home, I got rid of my "granny waddle", 5 weeks after the surgery I was back at work. It was a bit more exhausting at first, but everything was okay and went fine. And that brings me to my birthday. It was my 35th birthday. A birthday I wouldn't have thought I made it to 4 years ago. 3 and half years ago I set myself the goal to completely live as myself by then. And I met that goal. I actually met that goal already shortly after my 33rd birthday. And that made me proud. Proud of myself. And thankful for all the people who joined me on that journey. A journey full of surprises and challenges. I'm still friends with people who I thought I'd lose throughout the journey and I lost "friends" who I considered supportive and understanding at first. Being here now means I'm done transitioning. The whole trans part won't be a huge deal in my life anymore. Well, it already wasn't that big even before surgery. In summer 2018 I went to London. The last I've been there was pre- transition. I love London and missed it a lot. And there was one tiny thing to do. From my time living in the UK; I still had my old bank account. And of course, it was still under my old name. With changing my name there, my old self was finally gone. The last time I was a bit scared about any trouble caused by my pre- transition life was Fall 2019. I traveled to California. And as I haven't been in the US Ever since I'm me I was a bit worried that my fingerprints will come up with my old name. And the last thing I wanted to be CBP and DHS think I'm using a fake name. Just in case I carried my documentation to prove I'm not doing anything illegal. But that wasn't an issue. Everything went as supposed to be and I guess with this sorted I don't have to worry about anything else anymore. Would I change anything in hindsight? No! I won't. I'm happy now. Maybe I was late, but I did the right thing. Would I trade to be Cisgender? A Cisfemale? Yes. In a heartbeat. A Cis Male? No. I tried that once and failed badly. That's just not working for me. The last goal on my Agenda is easy now. Celebrating my 40th birthday in a little over two years. The end.