I suck at words and life right now. I feel like giving up, and I can’t tell you why. All I know is that I have felt this way for weeks. I know that I’m still got a long way to recover, but I just wish I could have a break from the doom cloud for a bit. If I can’t I’ll take a nice loud long thunderstorm. I love winter but I miss summer because of the storms. When they come thru they bring new energy and renewed life, and I would be mighty graceful for some right now.

I feel like I’ve been ensnared in quick sand but it’s not quick… it’s more like a really strong magnet but I can fight it a little. Things just don’t have emotion or color. I’m just walking around in a grayed out world. Oh but there’s blue that soft faint glow emitting from everything that is getting bigger and darker rapidly.

It’s been four years since that plane ride home that seemed to last for an eternity. I was so broken. I had spent the last three years living 24/7 as a full time slave to one of the only people I have ever called Master. I had no purpose anymore and I considered that point in my life a soulless period of time.  I had been used completely up I had no energy left. I was his possession to do with as he saw fit. If that including crawling across gravel to be forced to bring myself to orgasm on his shoes then that is what happened.

I don’t know where the consent ended and the rape began. The memories of pleasure and pain are eternally blurred. There were days that I wept in joy after being forced to orgasm in so many humiliating ways, but so many more sobbing and begging him to stop and wandering if this time would I finally go to sleep forever.



The point where you realize that no matter what you do you are just going to continue to spiral. I am completely burnt out beyond the point of a quick recovery, and I’m beginning to doubt that I will ever even be allowed to recover at all. My anxiety started to eat at my what is left of my core. The night terrors have consumed my dreams to the point I don’t even want to close my eyes at night, but when I try to wake up, I can’t keep them open because I’m so exhausted. I don’t get restful sleep, because my dreams are filled with running, fighting, sobbing, blood, death, and more. I wish that they were simply figments of my imagination, but no sadly my dreams are real. A reality that of the past still haunts me tainting my present.

I’m so exhausted and tired that I have begun to have suicidal ideations. What if I don’t press my break? Maybe I shouldn’t turn. If I take these, I could sleep forever. It will only hurt for a moment. Just one little step forward. This isn’t a phase or a call for help it’s merely just a glimpse into my life because this isn’t something new to me. It may be that this could potentially be one of the more powerful pulls to the darkness that I have experienced though it isn’t the first or the last.

Doubting everything around me is completely normal you see. Listening to the voices tell me that no one cares. That I’m simply a means to an end and that I’m just a tool to be used and discarded. Some would probably tell me just not to listen because it’s not true. That would be where you are misguided though because it has never been wrong.  It was right while my ex-husband played games with my head making me believe that I was a freak, and it was right while my ex-Master used me as a tool. Time and time again it has never proven to be wrong. That is why it’s not just something that I can shut off or ignore. What if this time it is not wrong yet again?



TW: Mention of BDSM, physical & mental abuse, rape, gaslighting, triggers, and miscarriage.

This tattoo has been in the works for a long time and will be setting the tone for this year. I spent almost eight years between two highly mentally & physically abusive relationships that I am going to touch on in this post.

It was during this time that I was heavily gaslighted during both to the point I began to think that I was losing my sanity. Things were never as they appeared to me they would swear over and over that I didn’t say that… or that event never happened. I began to question what was truly happening. So I stopped knowing what truly happened. My mind truly has holes in like Swiss cheese where I can no longer remember what happened. So when I am questioned about my abuse, and I can’t give an exact timeline… and people look at me like oh sure you just making that up… I just break down. I lose all control to rationalize what happened to me because I can’t just sit here and go ABCDEFG like a normal person.

When the fights began, they would always win. I didn’t realize that it was a giant game to them… or the fact that I was losing till it was far too late. Even before I was in a relationship with either of them screaming at me has already been a trigger for me. My father is old navy, and if he got mad, he would scream at me, and at that point when someone would yell at me, or even around me I would shut down. My reality would implode, and I would fall into pieces. I would try to run I wouldn’t know where I was going and have ended up passed out miles away at times. They knew this and would use it against me. They would scream at me causing me to run, and generally would trap me in a corner. I thought that this was something that I had overcame since it had not occurred in quite some time though recently memories have been boiling at the surface causing old and new triggers.  So they would scream at me every time I would try to simply talk and work things out causing me to shut down. Cornered until I would fight back finally, and of course, they would end up covered in bruises. It was always my fault so mixed with the gaslighting I would then begin to believe that I was the abuser.

Though, when I began to seek treatment,  I was stopped. A therapist couldn’t help me they were just there to listen to you cry and make money. They didn’t help people is what I was told over and over. Plus therapy is expensive, and that isn’t something we could afford. Money was never mine it didn’t matter if  I was working 2-3 jobs it was still never mine. I would constantly try to hide money, but if found out something would be done to make me pay for it. Like once again not buy groceries, or not allow me to get new panties even though all of the ones that I owned had holes and were falling apart. I ended up resorting to stealing a lot more often then I would like to admit. 

If I wanted something, it would never happen. If I needed something, I would have to beg for it. Even though at the time my size and weight never really changed drastically sex began to be withdrawn, and I would be told things like it just wasn’t the right time or mood. Then, I was told that I was simply too fat and too ugly. All of a sudden groceries that I liked and would eat we couldn’t afford. Though things that I disliked or refused to eat were in bought in plenty, this is when I started going days without eating and even began vomiting up food if I felt that I ate too much. So my weight became an immense deal to me. So even now I don’t eat that much. I rarely ask for food, and when I do if it is ignored I won’t eat for a few days. I  feel that if you ignored that I needed to eat, then you are saying I am fat. I don’t make myself vomit anymore I just don’t eat.

When sex would happen it was no longer making love it was mean sex.My ex-husband was very long, and he would repeatedly hit my cervix over and over. He would use my love of bondage as a way to lure me in. He would tie my hands to the bed, and he would take me for hours. He didn’t stop til I would either passed out or began to bleed. When I would curl up crying, he would yell at me, and tell me that this was my fault it was what I wanted. I wanted a man that would hurt me. I was after all a masochist, which was accurate enough. I did want a Dominant. I did want to be hurt… but not like that. All I ever wanted was a Dominant gentleman to guide me and love me. One that would make me beg and scream, but nowhere the lines where. He didn’t care, though  I was “HIS”

He loved to dress up in girls clothes, and I thought it was kind of sexy… my bad. Since I accepted him unconditionally when he would dress up, I would get punished for it. He began to hate that side of him as I would try to coax it out. It was during this time I made the mistake of telling him that I didn’t feel like a woman and that I felt that I was in fact, a man. I will explain further into this what I remember.

My lifestyle made me a freak to him even though he knew about it before marriage. I became a sex craved nympho that didn’t love him I just wanted sex even though at the point I began to abhor sex was when he started to adore it, and want more and more. He began to start to take me whether I wanted it or not. It took me a long time to call it rape.  I tried to reach out, but both my parents, members of the church, and the police told me that a man could not rape his wife. After, the third time of trying to reach out for help I stopped, and the mean sex and rape continued into my second abusive relationship.

What I just told you is something few even know about me. It is also only the tip of what truly transpired during this period in my life. Very few know that I suffer PTSD because of this if not CPTSD like I suspect that I do.  I don’t let many know that I have triggers let alone what they are because my 2nd abusive relationship used my triggers against me while adding his own. Though, he was not the only person that has used my triggers against me since then. Even less know that I suffer from night terrors or that over the last year they have increasingly gotten worse.

Early, I said I would explain what happened when I told him that I didn’t believe that I was a woman after he had started to dress feminine. The reason I said this is because I needed to explain about the night terrors first because the mass majority of them are memories of the past. They are not things that my brain has made up to frighten me. These are things that I experienced, and my mind suppressed to preserve itself. This particular terror is the most vivid that I have seen to date, and I will not be able to go into extreme detail so as not to trigger others. When I told him that I thought that I was trans I had just learned that I was pregnant for the second time. I had not yet been to a doctor though I had suspected that I was for weeks. During my first pregnancy with twins mind you I didn’t show as positive til I was close to around 7 or 8 weeks along. I was told this wasn’t entirely uncommon and was due to a lower amount of a particular hormone. So I can only speculate that I was at least that far this time around. As you can imagine due to his self-hatred of enjoying feminine clothing that me telling him I was trans was not taken well. In hindsight, I should not have said anything, though I thought maybe if I accepted myself that maybe he could accept himself.

It didn’t work out that way at. I remember him screaming that he was not gay while punching, kicking, screaming, and hitting me. I had fallen to the floor and was unable to protect myself at all. I was just trying desperately to protect my stomach as the blows continued for what seemed like forever. I don’t remember him stopping so I guess I passed out. The next thing that I remember was being covered in blood, and struggling to crawl to the bathtub. When I was able to get in it, I just sat in the bottom numb for a while til I finally began to sob. It was long after the water grew cold before I crawled out. I slept in the master closet that night. I can not tell you what I was thinking at the time all I can recall is the sheer terror that had completely taken over. It should go without saying that the next pregnancy test I took was negative. I also can not recall the next sequence of events.

I am sure by now you are wondering if I have sought help since then and the answer is yes I have, but also no because I have gained none. I had tried to tell my story to a couple of therapist in the past, but they proved to be unhelpful most finding my story to be dubious or far reached. I had several tell me that it was a figment of a mental breakdown that I must have had since I was unable to recall details in order or even at all in some cases.It was not until recently that I found a psychologist that I trust enough to begin to tell my story too or at least the parts that I can remember. One that I felt might be able to help me. Though, there is also a problem with this you see. I spend far more time helping others cope with their past abuse, current abuse, or even just their problems in general then I have ever spent on my problems. My psychologist has noticed this behavior, though that shouldn’t be much of a surprise considering the amount of time I have spent in his office talking about others far more than myself.

That is why I have decided that this year is going to be vastly different. I love my friends and my chosen family, and I have always been the person that is there no matter what is going on in my life or time of day. There have been many times that I have been spiraling completely out of control only to help someone else instead of seeking help for myself. It has been extremely rare for me to turn my back on someone when in truth I am probably in just as much if not more need of help than they are. I want to help people, but helping others at the risk of myself is beginning to have serious effects. Instead of taking the time to pull back recover and fix myself I have burnt myself out helping others to the point of physical fatigue and illness. The sheer truth of the matter I am not getting better I am in fact getting worse.

So I have decided to take the next year to treat myself and recover before I lose all hope of being able to do so. I am going to ask for others to seek help from others and to respect that I am unable to do so right now not. If this is hard for you to understand, you can look at it like I am a runner who has just lost their legs. No matter how much I want to run right now, it’s going to take time for my prosthetics to be sized and made. Then, it will be a slow uphill battle in physical therapy before I am even able to walk again let alone run. I am confidence though that no matter what anyone else says I will not only run again I will learn how to fly in time.

It’s been at least since the 21st of December since I was last in contact with my PCM or her nurse. I had scheduled the appointment probably a month before that.  I was told that I didn’t need to come in for the appointment that I had scheduled for that day to sort out starting HRT. They cited that due to the policy I needed my psychologist to write me a letter and send it to them. This is not part of the new policy that began in October, but alright if that’s all I can handle that.

Later, that same day I had an appointment with my psychologist, so he sent them the letter Thursday and talked to apparently the nurse fill in. Alright, cool I figured I would hear something soon. Well, Monday I started calling and could not get through til Wednesday once again, and was told that my PCM wouldn’t be back til Friday. Okay, its the holidays I can wait a little longer.

Well, there goes Friday… Then Monday again… Oops Wednesday….  WTF Friday…Now we are on the following Monday which is today. I called the appointment line all day so that I could get through to find out what was going on. I couldn’t get through again a shocking surprise. Well, I got a friend of mine that goes to a different PCM in the same clinic to give me his nurses direct contact number since I knew he had it.

His nurse reached mine and had her call me. I found out the nurse I thought was my PCM’s nurse was just filling in. There was no record at all of me even talking to anyone about HRT on my file whatsoever. So she had to track down the nurse I was talking with to find out what was going on. So when she called me back, she basically told me that the policy stated that I needed to be seen by my psychologist for a minimum of 3 months.

Beyond the fact of me knowing that is dead wrong. I have been to 10 appointments with my psychologist, so Wednesday makes 11 and next week makes 12 oh look 3 months… but she told me to call back in February and try again. I was so fucking vivid and still am. My best friend sees a PCM at the same clinic with the same policy so unless his PCM just decided to say fuck the system and do whatever they wanted which I doubt it. I’m going to assume that my PCM is transphobic and doesn’t want me to transition.

She helped me a lot when I needed to get a breast reduction. She knew that I was trans the entire time. She knew that I wanted to eventually get top surgery and to start HRT. I just don’t understand if she thought that maybe once I got my surgery that I would just be content? Maybe it was just a phase? Fuck if I know, but I am so done. I’m not going to wait until February.

I am currently filling out paperwork to just pay out of pocket for the Dr. of my choosing. It will cost me 100.00 to start and everything else will be covered by Tricare. I don’t really care to do that since Tricare should cover everything, but I’m tired of jumping through hoops only to get covered in red tape and told just wait a little longer.

I know that I should fight them because someone else might be going through the same thing but honestly, I don’t know that it would even help. I’m going to have my husband file some form of a complaint. I guess I will probably also be changing over my PCM because I will not have a doctor that is not supportive of me. Especially one that has done everything possible to halt my journey.


It’s 5:49 am and once again I haven’t been to sleep yet, and highly doubt that it will be claiming me anytime soon. I just realized that I haven’t taken my pills all week, so that is just wonderful. *sarcasm* I never try to forget to take my pills, but when things are rough time just kind of blurs together. I kind of feel like I have just been on auto-pilot for so long now. Not taking my pills means that I’m not as focused. I can’t concentrate on things properly. Sometimes I get edgy if I go too long. I guess I have definitely not been focused, concentrating, and have probably been on edge.

There is also the chance of me getting sick… since I have hypothyroidism my medicine keeps my body in check so to speak. When your thyroid is out of whack everything in your body is off kilter. So this probably explains at least part of the reason that I’m so tired as well as why I can not sleep.

My psychologist tells me that I spend so much time taking care of other people, protecting others, and I guess being their shield that I don’t take care of myself enough. I can’t say that he’s lying… I am very loyal to my friend, and I will always put myself on the back burner for them. As long as I am actually at the front of the line… when I’m on auto pilot someone else is the driver. I’m just curled up in the passenger seat watching everything go by.

It is not something that I usually conscientiously do. My mind just decides that I can no longer handle the load and just turns me off so to speak. Days like this, though… where the pain is just bubbling on the surface of my skin, I can’t just be on stand by. This is the point where the autopilot just fails to execute the flight course, and I come to in a tailspin.

I have made the decision though that if my PCM is going to continue to fight me being referred to endocrinology so that I can get a testosterone script in my name that I’m going to pay  to go to a civilian Dr. out of pocket. I’d love to fight the system, but simply put I’m running out of time. Obamacare was just voted to be basically terminated I’m sure that the military deciding to be trans-inclusive will be overturned soon as well.

Heaven sent



Time is trickling by at a much slower easy going pace, though the next two days will probably be wrought with misery for me. January 5th and 6th 2008 I lost twin angels. I was told then that time would make it better, but they lied. Time if it does anything it sharpens the pain. I remember every single detail from that time in my life, though the following 6 months to a year after I lost them is basically a blur to me. I spent a lot of that time sleep which seems to be what my body is forcing me to do now…

Well until puppies decide otherwise. It’s 5:27 am and the puppies are wide awake. I have tried everything to get them to go back to bed including trying to let them sleep with us. That failed miserably, though… all they wanted to do was play. They nailed Nick in the balls repeatedly, and just wanted to reenact lion king all over my bed. I guess I should be thankful for the detraction.

Page one





I survived 2016. It’s now day one of the of 2017 a 365-page story that is being written as we speak. 

It is time for reflection, though this year has been so terrible. I lost my Grand Mother & Mother within the span of six months. It was also during this time that I thought that I had found something special. It started as a small flame, but soon that flame burned too bright and lashed out at me uncontrollably. I became badly burned and though the healing salve was administered quickly. It healed the physical damage, but the scars it left are still an angry sort of color. It’s the kind of scar that others can clearly see from afar, and know that it runs deeply. Thus now extending my dark time of the year from October-February whereas before it started slowly after Samhain and continued through til around my birthday.  So basically it has been extended by a month and a half to be safe.

Thus now extending my dark time of the year from October-February. Whereas before it started slowly after Samhain and continued through til around my birthday.  I feel that next year this pain that I have managed to push to the side will not allow me to ignore it again. It will be then that I am forced to inner reflect and deal with it.

There are points where it became so dark that I wasn’t sure that I would be writing this today. I thought that perhaps I would become yet another young transgender life that had been snuffed out too soon. Just another statistic lost among the many. It seems though that I was able to pull through.

This year tested my strength and resolve to the point that I truly thought that it would break. It surpassed anything that I could even imagine enduring. It’s honestly hard for me to look back and see any good at all. In truth though there was a lot of good that came about even if it requires taking a step back from it all to see it. I was able to find an amazing psychologist that has helped me immensely. I made several new friends that have become my family. I also strengthen the bonds of several of my existing relationships.

The biggest thing that came out of this year though was me. I came out as myself. I now know that I am a transmasculine individual, and have began the process of transitioning into my authentic self. Eventually, my goal is to appear more androgen overall though basically, I will present as a mostly feminine male. Just picture a sassy gay guy just minus actually being gay *laughs* considering I’m pansexual.