Thank you all for your concern, hugs and prayers.
My mom liked to cheer me up whenever dad and I got into headbutting arguments by reminding me how I inherited both the Thick Headed Irish gene from her side and Thick Headed Hungarian gene from his. My wife can does and will often remind me how thickheaded I can be. It is both a strength and a weakness. The trick is knowing when your convictions are working towards your betterment, or harming you.
Almost 4 years to the day my car died, God answered both my wife's and mine prayers when I picked up the phone and there was my old boss calling if I wanted a job and promised no way no how would I have to deal with the PHB. How can say no to the most fun job I ever had, working on some of the coolest things imaginable, no longer having to rent my soul to the devil by working for a prime military contractor, and of course being some 350 miles closer and back living with my wife whose physical and emotional state slowly degrading the past 4 years apart. About a year or two earlier my lifelong dream of being seen as and accepted as a woman came true. Life couldn't be better, but certainly would be different if I said yes to the offer.
I was back in the NYC metro area, or Trans-Central (my wife's term). After a few months I began seeing a for real gender therapist. A short time later became a legit HRT consumer with the help of a TG friendly doc. The big down side was in the lovely "Village" I live in, 3 miles from Times-Square no way, no how, can I publicly present as female without jeopardizing our safety (Not fear, known fact thanks to the rumors about her that started 10 years ago and still persist) As I continued to grow and heal my wife came to accept Joanne more and more, regained her trust and even deeper love of me, as well as mourning more and more the loss of the man.
Today I have fond memories of my time in WV, out in the real world as the real me. Today I still see no way of ever being to again unless the GD gets so debilitating that I have no other option besides that concrete divider at 90 MPH I can hit square on. My confidence level for presenting publicly as female has gone from 100% to just about zero. The only times I do go out is back in WV once a month as I sneak off to my support group meeting, returning under the cover of darkness. And I haven't been to a meeting in about 5-6 months between my wife's health/emotional state (aka suicide watch), or hosed by the weather
Last summer I turned 60. I tried hiding from the Transbeast some 50 years. I tried to take it on for real for some 8 years now. Win, Loose, or Draw? I'm not sure. Am I really better off having once achieved a lifelong dream? I think so. Is it reasonable for me to keep that dream alive, or just tick it off my Bucket List and move on to celebrating Ground Hog's Day in Punxsutawney? ( I have a short Bucket List ). If/When my wife has some reasonable quality of life restored; if/when we get to go into de-acquisition mode ridding ourselves of book warehouses in NJ (don't ask); If/when we finally move to an area where she especially feels I'll be safe; If/when her will to live makes it that long; How old will I be then? How much less confidence will I have? How much less will that 20% or so need to feel totally genuine be? In 4 years nothing has changed for her, for us, except for the worse.
My 3D's of Diversions, Distractions, and some Denial fill that 20% void to overflowing. There is no "Me"beyond a struggle for "The Us". I feel I have near zero energy, almost no will, to "Keep the Dream Alive". While at the same time I haven't cried or have been so depressed since I struggled with the decision to take the TransBeast on For Real. That same devil is still sitting on one shoulder screaming into ear "Are you Crazy. Forget this silliness. There is still an angel sitting on my other shoulder whose voice seems lower and lower whispering "You know where true joy lies". I am tired of hearing them both. My head tells me to listen to just one, my heart says listen to the other. My tears cloud my vision.
I still have yet been able to answer "Which Pain is Worse?" while in crises mode. The artery squirting blood across the room demands all my attention. Time maybe will sort the rest out.
