Yes believe it or not, I wish it was my only problem.
I sit here today, exhausted, both completely mentally and phsyically. I want to just collapse into a crying mess.
And it isn't because I have a pecker and not a vagina, and it isn't because I have no breasts to put into a nice dress or top.
Those are annoying of course and ever present hassles, but then so isn't being unemployed.
I am juuuuust about on my 20th year of suffering from crushing depression and none of it gender specific. I am disabled, and frankly, I'd rather ditch the fybromyalgia. Without it, I could open a business, and pay for the damned surgery tomorrow. I'd be able to afford the outfits and I could drive to Toronto and torment single men on the dance floor if I felt like it.
So many days, I sit on the edge of a nervous collapse all because of the unrelenting drain on everything, my psyche, my energy levels, my mental state. There is no 'cure' no magic fix. They mention this pill and that pill and foods to avoid and in the end, you get a laundry list of 'some side effects may be' and a miserable life not eating anything any damned fun at all. Fate worth than death in some cases.
Pride? heck I haven't had pride in 20 years. I am soooo long past worrying what someone thinks of me wearing a dress. Whatever buddy, have you looked in a mirror recently? I wouldn't do you at gun point. I have forgotten what it even feels like to earn a damned cent. I listen to my friends lament working conditions or seeking work. I wish I could say something, but what do I say? Just gotta look a bit harder mac. Yeah easy for me to say.
I so wanted the house and the lawn and the home full of kids. I think that will bother me till I die. I had my son partly as an act of defiance. Go to hell life, I am having at least 1 child. I don't think I could even manage a house if it was given to me. I have a friend claims he'd like to buy me one. It would be nice. I have a major hell trying to look after my apartment though, and I am juuuust about old enough to start pondering a retirement location. I think that boat has sailed, I missed the home owner years.
Every time I get out the power tools, all I am really doing is punishing myself. I suppose the whole dancing dream is best left in their too. Oh like I am going to get up on a dance floor and get away with dancing like I was 25. I can see it now, 2 hours dancing, and a week in pain in bed. I barely make it home some days just from slowly walking to the mall. My ordinarily 1 hour trip takes me 3. 1 and a bit there, half an hour resting, and an hour and a bit to get home.
It will be a challenge to sort out hormone therapy. It's a challenge though but really nothing more than a challenge.
The surgery will be a challenge. Heck it will take more effort though to get a new set of teeth

(had a stupid inattentive youth).
Clothing, it's just clothing. I am simply not the sort of person that will have troubles trying on dresses in a woman's department. Aside from lacking knowledge of HOW to shop, the actual shopping doesn't scare me. Heck when I think of some of the bold rash outright daring things I have done in my life, buying a dress doesn't even rate.
But being TG, discovering all that I have discovered, it comes to a person (me) that is already massively short changed on energy for anything.
I have trouble some days just wanting to get something to eat. I sit some days unable to just do something like work on a model, or watch some TV.
My heart goes out to those of you so troubled by being TG, but, I can tell you, life is not afraid to make your being TG seem like a minor thing.
Today you might get hit by a car in an accident, and poof you are stuck in a wheel chair for life. I am sure that will have more effect on your life, than what's between your legs.
Life would be a great deal less hassle, if all I was dealing with, was the hassle of how to achieve a realistic looking bust line.
I'd much rather be stuck trying to keep my hands looking nice, while also being a wood worker.