I am more resilient than I gave myself credit for!
Deborah thought about it, but eventually refused to be deconstructed.
What happened? Did Mirror Brother push me down the stairs?
My love/hate relationship with self-expression reacted with a sense that in the past year I had overdosed on trans.
Separately, I was spending more time at Crossdream Life than was good for either me or it.
Separately, Mirror Sister had run its course. Since Mirror Sister had been included on T-Central (a portal I thoroughly respect and appreciate), I felt too exposed to a trans community, rather than specifically to a crossdreaming community.
No two ways about it for me, trans is all about SEX! If you don't approve, or if your trans is not about sex at all, then fair enough lets agree to differ and I bid you a respectful goodbye.
Also it felt odd writing about something utterly sexual with unsexy earnestness. I was deferring my sexual energy into philosophising, when Debs really wants to say 'Ohh fuck me, fuck me. Ohh purrrleasse!' But Does Debs really want to broadcast that request to the world? Hmmm, not sure.
But my love/hate relationship with self-expression has a love side.
And if I am going to express myself, and I can choose which gender I adopt for doing so, well, you know which one I instinctively flutter towards, don't you, girls?
To be continued, I hope. No promises about when, but the descent feels good and real right now...
(...or does it?)
Love and kisses,
Debbie xxx
Tuesday, 18 December 2012
Monday, 30 July 2012
Deep, dark depths of Deborah
It's self-deconstruction time.
'Spirit only attains its truth by finding itself in absolute dismemberment.' Friedrich Hegel
Friday, 27 July 2012
Existential grousiness
Today has been a day of dissatisfaction, of restlessness vying with listlessness, of wanting to revitalise myself by ripping myself apart, but not having the belief in anything to motivate such an action, even if it had been at all feasible as a practical activity.
I'm feeling that here I've set up a situation, just as in Mirror Sister previously , in which trans is expected to be the cause and the solution of everything for me, as well as the topic that interests me much more than anything else. I have tied trans up with fundamental existential concerns, have tied my blog writing up with how I am viewing myself, to the extent that this doesn't seem like a blog about just one of my interests, as if should you want to read me writing about a different interest you could go elsewhere.
So much has been written about trans by so many people, maybe there's nothing fresh to say?
My writing asserts an identity, justifies attitudes. But then I feel confined by that identity, those attitudes.
I never said that trans explains me, is the source of all my angsts and pleasures, or that it contains in itself even the potential for a solution to unhappiness.
That is what Miss Deborah Kate is thinking as she takes off her ballet shoes tonight.
I'm feeling that here I've set up a situation, just as in Mirror Sister previously , in which trans is expected to be the cause and the solution of everything for me, as well as the topic that interests me much more than anything else. I have tied trans up with fundamental existential concerns, have tied my blog writing up with how I am viewing myself, to the extent that this doesn't seem like a blog about just one of my interests, as if should you want to read me writing about a different interest you could go elsewhere.
So much has been written about trans by so many people, maybe there's nothing fresh to say?
My writing asserts an identity, justifies attitudes. But then I feel confined by that identity, those attitudes.
I never said that trans explains me, is the source of all my angsts and pleasures, or that it contains in itself even the potential for a solution to unhappiness.
That is what Miss Deborah Kate is thinking as she takes off her ballet shoes tonight.
Wednesday, 25 July 2012
Friend, mother, psychiatrist, home, weapon
My adoring public over at Mirror Sister might get a tad fed up if I quote from The New Diary by Tristine Rainer again, but I'm sure the inner coterie reading this won't mind, will you my darlings? Right then, listen to this good stuff:
"As a woman I feel that my power to describe my life is a gesture against powerlessness. I defy the 'official' version of reality with my own version. As a result of my power to describe my experiences in the diary, I feel there is nothing that can really overwhelm me - not hunger or cruelty, success or poverty, loss or love, illness or disappointment, or even other people's manipulations. As long as I have the power of words to describe my experience, I have a bastion of personal control. The diary is not just a friend, a mother, a psychiatrist, and a home - it is a weapon."
So there you have it, girls. x x
(N.B. I'm writing to an audience again, aren't I? This was supposed to be an introspective diary, Deborah. Slap wrists time! No, but what an audience, eh? I love you all, my sweets. Your discerning taste in blogs renders you stars.)
"As a woman I feel that my power to describe my life is a gesture against powerlessness. I defy the 'official' version of reality with my own version. As a result of my power to describe my experiences in the diary, I feel there is nothing that can really overwhelm me - not hunger or cruelty, success or poverty, loss or love, illness or disappointment, or even other people's manipulations. As long as I have the power of words to describe my experience, I have a bastion of personal control. The diary is not just a friend, a mother, a psychiatrist, and a home - it is a weapon."
So there you have it, girls. x x
(N.B. I'm writing to an audience again, aren't I? This was supposed to be an introspective diary, Deborah. Slap wrists time! No, but what an audience, eh? I love you all, my sweets. Your discerning taste in blogs renders you stars.)
Monday, 23 July 2012
Am I a girl or am I a woman?
The difference between 'girl' and 'woman' is evidently not just one of age. You know that, surely, my darlings, so no need for Deb to explain further.
Anyways, I invented a little therapy exercise to try for myself as I sunbathed today. I wrote on a peace of paper (with a pen, as in olden times) twenty times 'I am a girl'. Then I wrote twenty times 'I am a boy'. Then 'I am a woman', then 'I am a man'.
Results: 'I am a girl' gave me the biggest thrill. 'I am a boy' I hated. I have always been thoroughly unboyish. My eyes felt slightly moist as I wrote 'I am a boy'. I think is particularly to do with all the 'boyishness' I had to endure when I was a child. They didn't give me a choice, did they? Iwas so totally conditioned, so totally repressed, that I didn't even get the chance to kick and scream and yell 'no! no! no!'. Sob.
'I am a woman' felt less sexy than 'I am a girl', but positive in a calmer, deeper way. By being 'woman' rather than 'girl' I am not all sexy girlishness, I incorporate my adult experience of all aspects of life, into a more robust, sensitive yet strong, integrated personality.
'I am a man' didn't feel so bad. It felt closer to 'I am an adult, a person of the world' than to 'I am a big boy'. The difference between 'man' and 'woman' was less than that between 'boy' and 'girl'.
Of the four, 'I am a woman' felt the most complete, the identity that covered the largest part of myself. 'Boy' can get stuffed, but sometimes 'man' feels appropriate in this world. And 'girl' can be juicy fun, can't it?
Do try this exercise at home, sweethearts, on condition that you take responsibility for whatever feelings come up for you. Don't come chasing Debs with a big stick if it goes badly wrong, okay?
Anyways, I invented a little therapy exercise to try for myself as I sunbathed today. I wrote on a peace of paper (with a pen, as in olden times) twenty times 'I am a girl'. Then I wrote twenty times 'I am a boy'. Then 'I am a woman', then 'I am a man'.
Results: 'I am a girl' gave me the biggest thrill. 'I am a boy' I hated. I have always been thoroughly unboyish. My eyes felt slightly moist as I wrote 'I am a boy'. I think is particularly to do with all the 'boyishness' I had to endure when I was a child. They didn't give me a choice, did they? Iwas so totally conditioned, so totally repressed, that I didn't even get the chance to kick and scream and yell 'no! no! no!'. Sob.
'I am a woman' felt less sexy than 'I am a girl', but positive in a calmer, deeper way. By being 'woman' rather than 'girl' I am not all sexy girlishness, I incorporate my adult experience of all aspects of life, into a more robust, sensitive yet strong, integrated personality.
'I am a man' didn't feel so bad. It felt closer to 'I am an adult, a person of the world' than to 'I am a big boy'. The difference between 'man' and 'woman' was less than that between 'boy' and 'girl'.
Of the four, 'I am a woman' felt the most complete, the identity that covered the largest part of myself. 'Boy' can get stuffed, but sometimes 'man' feels appropriate in this world. And 'girl' can be juicy fun, can't it?
Do try this exercise at home, sweethearts, on condition that you take responsibility for whatever feelings come up for you. Don't come chasing Debs with a big stick if it goes badly wrong, okay?
Friday, 20 July 2012
Squealing in the wind
The lovely and magnificent Heather writes brilliantly that:
In the past I have frequently felt ashamed and tried to put these feelings far enough away that they would never come back, sometimes for weeks and months, maybe even a year or two, but they inevitably return with great pent-up furious pink silky passion. I wrote in another posting today that this is like an ocean; there are high tides and low tides, occasional thundering tsunamis, and frequent scary undertow that threatens to drag you under.
Absolutely.
Recently I have felt the wind of 'pent-up furious pink silky passion' blowing particularly strongly. I just have to let myself go, and I will fly deliriously into my true femme home, where I will land, kicking and squealing, basking in my newfound - or rediscovered - bed of femininity that makes a Claire's store look butch.
Yet also I feel delicate, naked and exposed, vulnerable in this wind.
And also I weary of it's blustering, pulling me too quickly, allowing no rest or pause for thought.
Yet something electric enters me; I am compelled. I submit to the pink wind.
Femme Debbie I am, absolutely. Absolutely and wonderfully. Wheeeeee!!
In the past I have frequently felt ashamed and tried to put these feelings far enough away that they would never come back, sometimes for weeks and months, maybe even a year or two, but they inevitably return with great pent-up furious pink silky passion. I wrote in another posting today that this is like an ocean; there are high tides and low tides, occasional thundering tsunamis, and frequent scary undertow that threatens to drag you under.
Absolutely.
Recently I have felt the wind of 'pent-up furious pink silky passion' blowing particularly strongly. I just have to let myself go, and I will fly deliriously into my true femme home, where I will land, kicking and squealing, basking in my newfound - or rediscovered - bed of femininity that makes a Claire's store look butch.
Yet also I feel delicate, naked and exposed, vulnerable in this wind.
And also I weary of it's blustering, pulling me too quickly, allowing no rest or pause for thought.
Yet something electric enters me; I am compelled. I submit to the pink wind.
Femme Debbie I am, absolutely. Absolutely and wonderfully. Wheeeeee!!
Wednesday, 18 July 2012
Debbie not being sexy
We have been born into a society that for centuries hasn't really known how to deal with sexuality - the deep, powerful, extremely exciting instinctive drive within us all. Inconsistency/contradiction/hypocrisy seem almost inherent in cultural attitudes to sex.
I am a child of this hypocritical society. I am not sure exactly what I feel about sex. A lot of me thinks 'keep it discreet'. Not all over the television, please. Not on the covers of the magazines on the racks in the supermarket.
Less than half an hour ago I was masturbating. Not a picture, not a video, I was actually doing the real live thing.
What proportion of the world's population have either masturbated or had sex in the past twenty-four hours?
wxhluyp has encouraged me to join imagefap. I've thought about it, but I don't think I will. It's a full-on porn site. I find the in-your-face hardcore sex a little repellent, or at least less appealing than a more sensual, subtle, drawing-you-in gradually erotica. (Also I worry that such sites have viruses, spyware etc.)
Sex and gender are bound up together.
Fear of sex has caused much persecution of trans people throughout history. Yet the contemporary trans community has inherited a lot of 'lets not acknowledge sex' attitudes from society at large. So there's a 'no sex please,we're transsexuals' attitude in certain quarters, while in other quarters many, many people are getting off on hardcore TG porn.
And I'm in the middle of all this!
In the middle of such chaos, it can be helpful to ground oneself in a strong sense of individual identity.
Me, I am an AGP girl.
That is, I am sexually stimulated by the idea of myself being female.
This doesn't mean that sexual stimulation is all there is to my instinctive trans identification.
It doesn't mean that I'm into hardcore TG porn.
It means that I have a sexuality that I have had to work fucking hard to feel good about and put out into the world appropriately.
It means that hostility to autogynephilia adds further confusion to the issue of how much I should include my sexual feelings when I express myself online. An issue, which, in the context of society's attitudes to sex, and of my own attitudes to how public/private it should be, was already quite complicated enough, thanks very much.
Hot sexy kisses to y'all,
Debs x x x
I am a child of this hypocritical society. I am not sure exactly what I feel about sex. A lot of me thinks 'keep it discreet'. Not all over the television, please. Not on the covers of the magazines on the racks in the supermarket.
Less than half an hour ago I was masturbating. Not a picture, not a video, I was actually doing the real live thing.
What proportion of the world's population have either masturbated or had sex in the past twenty-four hours?
wxhluyp has encouraged me to join imagefap. I've thought about it, but I don't think I will. It's a full-on porn site. I find the in-your-face hardcore sex a little repellent, or at least less appealing than a more sensual, subtle, drawing-you-in gradually erotica. (Also I worry that such sites have viruses, spyware etc.)
Sex and gender are bound up together.
Fear of sex has caused much persecution of trans people throughout history. Yet the contemporary trans community has inherited a lot of 'lets not acknowledge sex' attitudes from society at large. So there's a 'no sex please,we're transsexuals' attitude in certain quarters, while in other quarters many, many people are getting off on hardcore TG porn.
And I'm in the middle of all this!
In the middle of such chaos, it can be helpful to ground oneself in a strong sense of individual identity.
Me, I am an AGP girl.
That is, I am sexually stimulated by the idea of myself being female.
This doesn't mean that sexual stimulation is all there is to my instinctive trans identification.
It doesn't mean that I'm into hardcore TG porn.
It means that I have a sexuality that I have had to work fucking hard to feel good about and put out into the world appropriately.
It means that hostility to autogynephilia adds further confusion to the issue of how much I should include my sexual feelings when I express myself online. An issue, which, in the context of society's attitudes to sex, and of my own attitudes to how public/private it should be, was already quite complicated enough, thanks very much.
Hot sexy kisses to y'all,
Debs x x x
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