Unexpected HRT Side-effect #9

A year in review: 2021 edition

Tracking my transition progress!

There have been lots of big developments this year: I returned to the office as Lauren (the last and biggest social hurdle); began trauma therapy; attended CONvergence in Minneapolis; started my journey as singer, piano player, and guitarist; and gained new friends.

For what was in many respects Pandemic Year: Redux, it’s been a productive time. (Although the way 2022 is shaping up...)

“We constantly battle the sins of the fathers, thought Guilliman. That is no less true on an eternal scale than it is within the history of a single world. We suffer because of those that have gone before.

Heaving a sigh, the Primarch resumed the protracted process of correcting his unruly VLOOKUP.”

- Guy Haley, Dark Imperium

It is kind of funny that the entire fandom have agreed that Perturabo’s nickname is “Perty”, when he in canon has a perfectly fine nickname.

Scars

I should probably preface this with a content warning for discussion of self-harm.

I’m left-handed; when I’m receiving a vaccination or having blood drawn, I will normally offer up my right arm - as was recently the case when I received my first COVID vaccine dose.

While staring at my arm in the mirror, I realized that I had self-harm scars that are still very visible; and based on their appearance, very obviously self-inflicted. (This is not the case elsewhere - they have either faded, or are normally hidden.)

I’m mortified, as it means the provider that administered my dose absolutely saw them (and will again, as I tend to get pretty mean injection site pain and I really don’t want to experience that in my dominant arm).

More generally though, it got me thinking. The reason I struggle with others seeing what I did to myself is not because I’m ashamed, but because on some level I feel that my suffering was not legitimate - that I hurt myself not because I was truly in pain, but for attention. An imitation of the struggles of others.

There isn’t really a good answer here; just another piece of the puzzle to make sense of.

Third generation Daemonettes! Juan Diaz really captured their unearthly grace in a way unseen before or since; and the sculpts are highly sought after (as evidenced by their 2016 rerelease via the Made-To-Order program).

Diaz also produced a set of Seekers; with the riders sculpted in a similar style (and one, memorably, perched as if preparing to launch herself at an enemy, daggers first)!

I have a set of my own that I desperately need to paint up (if and when I can actually decide on an appropriate color scheme)…

My FLGS had gotten a troupe of some oldhammer daemonettes, and I just couldn't resist that temptation.

Holy crap these models look good for being made in 2001.

Bags

Last week I stepped into the bedroom and there was a Ziploc bag on the floor. This was more than a little confusing, as they nominally live in the kitchen, on top of our refrigerator.

My best guess was that either my wife or I picked one up, absentmindedly brought it into the room, and left it there.

Fast forward to last night: it is perhaps 3 or 4am; and there is a strange rustling coming from the foot of the bed. I get up to investigate, at which point our youngest cat rockets out of the room... Leaving behind ten Ziploc bags, full of tiny teethmarks.

I love her so much... But she is absolutely, quantifiably, an idiot.

And you: who never thought to question If this was how things were supposed to be... I convict your conviction. History is contingency, And things could always have been otherwise. (And still might.) And still might will end in time, All you held so perpetual. All you thought was supposed to exist, I only suppose to exist; And may not - One day soon.

Hybrid always excel when it comes to crafting a memorable opening to each album; but even by their standards, Flashpoint is something special. The initial spoken word segment - a poem by author James Scudamore - is particularly evocative; read in a chilling, almost accusatory fashion.

John Walker in The Falcon And The Winter Soldier.

Compliments

I’ve noticed an uptick in compliments from strangers on my appearance recently, so when I went out on Saturday I decided to keep count. The final tally was six.

Now, to be fair, I recently colored my hair and it’s something of an attention-grabber.

Even before that however, I would receive random compliments from other women over the course of the week: “I love your outfit”! “I love your nails”! And so on.

It’s interesting to me because the grand total number of compliments I would receive from strangers in any given year prior to transitioning was exactly zero.

Maybe it’s society’s purview that men do not deserve compliments. Perhaps it’s a misunderstanding on my part, and the compliments are symbolic showing of gender solidarity.

I don’t know.

I enjoy that people seem to approve of how I look now; I just wish that this had always been the case.

I recognize that PC on the left! It’s Peter Dickison’s Orac³; which was modeled after the chassis of the artificial intelligence of the same name from Blake’s Seven.

Incredibly, all five parts of the project journal are available to read (despite being published some two decades ago):

Part 1,

Part 2,

Part 3,

Part 4,

Part 5.

(By the by: you use the little dropdown menu to navigate between the subsections of each part. Some old-school site navigation!)

Definitely worth a look-through if you have fond memories of the early years of PC case modding (or just enjoy following along as a talented modder solves various engineering and fabrication challenges)!

done with sona i think

Identity crisis

I came across an interesting article recently, of the “Ten signs your self-esteem is in the gutter” variety. My self-esteem has indeed been in the gutter these past few days, so it was certainly a topical read.

A major reoccurring theme was: “Self-esteem should be a function of how you see yourself; not how others see you”.

This makes a lot of sense: self-esteem is, by definition, the measure of the value we place on ourselves. However, only we can truly know what is in our hearts, our minds; each and every facet of our person; who we truly are.

This unfortunately poses a challenge for me; as I do not, in fact, know who I am.

A person in my orbit once told me that he felt as if he had a mask for every occasion; a performative persona that he would adopt depending on the audience. However, he could not discern the person behind the mask; and this troubled him greatly.

It’s a sentiment I can sympathize with. I feel as if my personal identity is not a unified whole, woven from many individual threads; but rather, a fractured collection of parts that do not interrelate.

Matters have of course further been complicated by my gender upheaval; because one of the foundations of my character was that of a man, a husband, a father. I am none of these things now; and while I have technically replaced these epithets with woman, wife, mother; I don’t feel as if I actually have the requisite underpinning of experience to claim them.

As my friend Abigail wryly noted: we are women, born yesterday.

For now, I default to a measure of self-worth familiar to many raised male: that of one’s utility. As I am stretched rather thin at present, this does not seem to be working well; and alas, brings us full circle: it is a function of how others see me; and not how I see myself.