transretrogurl

So, I’d apologise for not posting lately (it’s been a month and a bit) but, and if you’re a constant reader you’ll know what’s coming next, I’ve been under the dark clouds again. But don’t worry, this post isn’t going to be another self-analysis and cynical discussion of modern day first-world problems (middle-aged cross dresser having issues, shock horror). Actually it might.

In fact I’m going to write two blogs today, this one which is going to talk about the mildly humorous way my inner-self looks at me when I’m bouncing around the chemical-imbalance bouncy-castle, and one that is *pure* fashion and titillation. So, if you’re here for lots of lovely frocks and suggestive situational comic writings, jump to the next one….

It’s been a tough one this time. After the last session, which was utterly superb, I had a week or so of ultra-highs and then I crashed, hard. You know, everything tastes of ash, feel like your drowning in a grey sea while everyone around you seems happy all the time. Then four or so weeks of treading water while the inner rusty cogs turned and kept firing up all the usual stereotypical inner questions and rants.

And I found myself spotting a slightly amusing side-effect of all the internal self-flagellation. I found an easy way to determine where I am on the binge/purge/love/guilt cycle us T-people (apologies for being PC, it seems to be the trend at the moment) seem to all ‘enjoy’.

All I do is ask myself what I think about Sarah.

When I’m good I talk about *me*. When I’m bad I talk about *her*. Now, as much of an armchair psychiatrist as I’d like to be, it has to be more complex than that. When I’m in the ‘love’ part of the t-rollercoaster it’s ‘me’. I am Sarah, I think of all the things she wants and she does as part of me directly, Which, putting aside the mild oddity of wanting to wear 1940s style tea-dresses and extremely restrictive undergarments, is pretty healthy on the mental scale. I talk about what I’ve worn, what fantasies I want to be involved in, what I’ve bought lately.

When I’m down or seriously into the ‘salt and burn’ phase, the point where I normally sell every shred of clothing (including some stuff that was so hard to find and impossible to replace), it’s all about ‘her’. I compartment everything she stands for, I distance myself. Because of course she is someone else, it can’t be me. I’m an ageing, miserable bloke with no sense of fashion and a 99.9% work 0.1% life balance. And this is unhealthy.

Why do I want to compartment her when I’m down? Or is it because I’m down?

There is a third phase that I used to go into, and I felt myself tending towards that in the last couple of weeks. That one is shame and guilt. This is absolutely not healthy, nor should it be. I have nothing to be ashamed about, and the fact that my head seems to have that as some kind of in-built default is sadly indicative of the era I grew up in.

I caught it this time. I felt that darkness seeping in, looking at the smiling pictures of Sarah and feeling a degree of guilt that is unacceptable.

As I said at the start, it’s the worst of a first-world problem. Oddly enough I think it’s some kind of emotional PTSD. But I’m taking positives from this. I can determine where my mood is by just thinking of Sarah.

The point of this blog-post was this – I see a lot of people just like me who go through these ups and downs, that don’t understand what is going on. We torture ourselves for absolutely no reason. We’re brought up with definitions of what is normal and what is not, but you are you – everything you do is normal.

There’s only one person living in your head. They are the only one you need to placate. Everything comes from within.

Anyway, enough of this introspection. I’m going to write another post about my adventures in retro-frocks and how much I *love* the feel of  1940s hostess dress. That’ll please her. Damn, I was doing so well.

Stay happy inside your heads, you beautiful people.