Grief

I have no real idea how it started, but this morning I have been an emotional wreck. I know that my husband and I were talking about this coming Thursday’s interment of my mum’s ashes and what we were going to do afterwards. I wanted to go to Clevedon (a quant seaside town about 18 miles from Bristol, where I have so many happy memories with my mum and nan), but my husband immediately said that if I was going there he wasn’t coming. I started trying to find alternatives that would suit him, at the same time wanting to spend time with my nephews. I’m feeling pulled around. It feels wrong to just walk away from the grave and act as though nothing of significance has just happened.

My throat constricted and I couldn’t speak. The grief overwhelmed me. I began to cry but I couldn’t bear to be near my husband at that time. I went and sat on the stairs, then went to the bedroom. I wanted to be held. He did come up and he did eventually hold me, but there feels like there is such a gulf between us. It did feel good to be held, however it didn’t really make me feel comforted.

I felt alone. Lonely for the mother and friend that I loved. Lonely because each person’s grief is their own and unique. And lonely for the void that seems to be between my husband and me.

I feel so sad, that without my mum, the family barely exists. I only see my brother and my dad because I put the effort in. At least my dad has taken to calling me now if he doesn’t hear from me, which I appreciate.

Mum’s internment is only happening because I forced the issue. Dad said that it was his job to do, but couldn’t or wouldn’t arrange anything. To be sure, it hasn’t been simple: the churchyard was technically closed in 1996, although a large number of internment of ashes happened after that time (including my own nan’s). Mum was promised a shot next to nan by the vicar at the time. The promise did not transfer to the new vicar, who said no. Then followed a lengthy investigation of canon law and appeals to various ecclesiastical courts.

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More emotion

After lunch (my husband had made a delicious quiche for tea last night; we finished it for lunch – he doesn’t use recipes, it all comes out of his head), I resumed a conversation with my husband about friendship that we’d started on Wednesday but I’d been too ill and tried to really engage in. We returned to some old themes, amongst them was betrayal.

I wish I could recall where the conversation went. He remains very hurt by the way I treated him over the years. Sometimes I want to say “what about the things you did and said to me?”, but that’s deflecting and not listening. If I want to talk about the ways he’s hurt me in the past, that should be it’s own conversation.

I was so emotional from the morning and I was getting teary, and had to get away at one time. One of the benefits of being  castrated and with low testosterone is a greater connection with one’s feelings: it was something I wanted. I shared that with my husband; it wasn’t something that he was aware that I wanted. I explained that I wanted that more feminine side – the emotional side – to which he then asked “so you want to be a sissyboy?” Not quite, but that is one aspect of dialling down my masculinity that I want. I want to tweak my testosterone so that I can both function sexually and emotionally.

The conversation then went towards to eat I had undertaken castration without consulting him, risking our sex life – which was unfair if me because that effects him also and he loves sex. I love sex too, although right now I have to think about it. We both said that we missed sexual intimacy with each other. He said that he is considering looking elsewhere for his sexual fulfillment didn’t want to wait until I have T and sex drive restored before getting some. I can’t say anything about that really; is hoped that he’d have done something along those lines already when he went to Brighton.

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My bits

I had a go at shaving around the scar this morning; it was too sensitive/sore for me to do a really good job, but it feels cleaner down there now and it’s slowly starting to look the way I hoped. There is a kink in the stitches that I’m curious about: they start at the of centre of the pereneum, then switches to the right of my penis. The stitches themselves are neat and even.

After my shower, I did the usual anti-bac spray and dry; there is still some spotting. Followed by the nice lavender spray.

Later in the day, I noticed some tiny spots of blood on the cockward side of my underwear; I’m go tomorrow without a silicon strip and put one on Sunday night.