MTF – Beeshive

Breasts and death

My hormone related changes are well under way.

And I still really want to die.

And I don’t think that there’s anything wrong with that.

Death won’t be an option until 2027, and there’s still no indication if M.A.i.D. will be legalized for mental illnesses or not, but I am still hoping to be “allowed” to die.

Isn’t that the funniest of things?

I’m not allowed to die, but I also didn’t choose to exist.

My mother and my father got drunk one night. An exchange of DNA occurred. And 9 months later I popped out into the world.

Through my early life all sorts of people with their own agendas were making decisions about my life based upon their own ideas and interests.

And here I am at 52, burnt out and tired, and unable to make a decision about my life.

But Bobbie, I thought that if you transitioned that you would be happy and that you’d want to live?

Fuck no.

With an official delay in M.A.i.D. until 2027 I thought that I would avail myself to fixing the one thing that I had always wanted to correct all of my life but was unable to due to circumstances beyond my control.

Transitioning in and of itself is not the cure for my desire to die.

My desire to die comes from my rancid childhood.

Growing up on Canadian Armed Forces military bases was hard enough under the best of circumstances.

Growing up on Canadian Armed Forces military bases as a sexually abused male was an absolute fucking nightmare.

Growing up on Canadian Armed Forces military bases as a sexually abused gender non-conforming male during the days of CFAO 19-20 was a fucking soul destroying experience.

Growing up on Canadian Armed Forces military bases in a dysfunctional family in the era when the military’s policy towards members with mental issues meant that the military just outright ignored these issues meant that there were none of the normal experiences that children require to grow up mentally healthy. In fact my father’s alcoholism and his out-of-control and unacknowledged PTSD meant that the experiences that I grew up with caused a shit ton of mental issues that have plagued me for my entire life.

How bad have these issues affected me?

Here’s some moulds made of my teeth by my dentist in a last ditch attempt to save what’s left of my teeth.

Yeah, I’ve worn my teeth down to absolutely nothing.

That’s ’cause I wake up in terror some nights grinding my teeth away.

I’ve had night guards before, but I usually grind through them in a few weeks.

So Bobbie, if you still want to die, why are you transitioning?

I’ve never identified with being a male at any point in my life.

And this has nothing to do with the babysitter, Captain McRae, Captain Totzke, or Master Corporal Gill.

I’ve never identified as a boy. I always thought that I was a girl.

Around age 10 or 11 I remember hoping and praying that I would wake up the next morning with breasts and all the rest.

And everyday that I didn’t wake up with the much hoped for changes, I was devastated.

And was I ever jealous.

The girls at school were starting to fill out, and I wasn’t.

So, I intend to spend the next three years-or-so getting some of the changes that I’ve always wanted.

I’m not going for bottom surgery. I’ll get some items removed, but I’m not going for vaginoplasty.

And for the topside, I’ll be happy with what the hormones give me. I’m not going the augmentation route.

Body wise? Yeah, I’m already enjoying the muscle loss. It’s hard to explain, but I’ve always felt that my body is smaller than what it actually is. By losing muscle mass I’m hoping to finally get my body muscle structure down to what feels more natural. I’m already getting some of the fat redistribution, but the full effect won’t be for another year or so.

The goal of this all will be that when I finally go to sleep and escape this fucked up existence, that I present as close to a female as I can.

Never wanted to be a male.

Never identified as a male.

I don’t want to die as a male.

But, in the meantime I’m going to keep on with the hormones and the changes.

The Canadian Armed Forces had an extensive amount of say over my childhood.

I will not allow Canadian Armed Forces to say single fucking thing about my remaining days or my death.

Hormones……

Well, I realized that the results of my latest blood test were posted on my health account for me to view.

At first I was a little concerned as when I logged in the system said that there was a test that was outside of normal limits.

Not sure what was wrong, I clicked on the link to see my lab results.

The Alanine Aminotransferase at 16 indicates that my liver seems to be doing fine.

The estradiol at 179 pmol/L indicates that I have elevated levels of estrogen in my blood stream, but not yet near the upper limits for men. For trans females the ideal range for estradiol in my blood stream will be 367–734 pmol/L so I can stand to go up some more.

But the reading that I am the happiest about, and it is the reading that got flagged by the system, is my testosterone levels. At 4.95 nmol/l I’m below the range acceptable for males which is 6.30 nmol/l at the lower limit. The target for this seems to be 3.4 nmol/L to 1.04 nmol/L.

So, I’ll have to see which way things go on my visit to my doctor next week.

Hopefully I can get my estradiol dosage upped a little.

And it would be nice to look at the possibility of androgen blockers.

Why now?

That’s a good question.

If I had to pinpoint one thing, that would be the teachings of Terry.

Terry of course was Captain Terry Totzke, my military social worker from when I was a kid.

Terry and of course my own father had such a toxic effect on my development.

You gotta admit that blaming a child for their own sexual abuse is fucked in the head, and blaming that child for the sexual abuse of their sibling was even more fucked in the head.

Sure, there were more than likely other kids growing up in the same period of time that I was who had a different gender identity than what their physical body presented.

But I’ll bet you dollars to donuts that they didn’t have a toxic philosophy being rammed down their throats and beat into their heads by a military social worker.

Prior to working at the hospital I don’t honestly believe that there was a single employer that I worked for in which transitioning would have been acceptable.

And with absolutely no support from home I couldn’t just go shopping around for a job in which I’d feel safe transitioning.

When I started at the hospital, it still took time to ascertain if this would be a safe place. And for the most part it was. Well, save for the outside management company that was running my department.

I had a series of phone calls with my father in August of 2006. These phone calls were the last time I’d ever speak to Richard. After the initial phone call that I made to him in the wee hours of August 7th, 2006 he’d place almost daily phone calls to me. This ended towards the middle of October when I told him of my plans to go after the babysitter.

I honestly can’t remember if I ever breeched the topic of gender reassignment. I don’t think I did. But if I had been talking about the babysitter and Terry, Terry calling me a homosexual for allowing myself to have been abused by the babysitter would have come up.

In 2007 I made the decision to start proceeding down the road towards transition. I started to pick out my new name.

I tried so many different combinations. And there were more exotic names, but they just didn’t work. So Bobbie Garnet Bees was born.

There was the paperwork, the finger printing, the records checks. I got notified in March of 2008 that the RCMP had cleared my background check and that I was cleared to change my name. The rest of the paperwork started flowing in. And in May of 2008 my birth name officially became dead.

I took a change in employment in 2009 due to a previous employer contacting me and connecting me with the new owners of a business that I had worked at.

This didn’t work out, but it did set me up for going to the Supreme Court of BC for an employment matter that we settled out of court.

This settlement convinced me that it was finally time to go after the babysitter for what he had done.

This one decision derailed my desire to transition by 13 years. I can’t decide if this was a wise move or if I had made a very stupid move.

I had absolutely no involvement with the Canadian Armed Forces from the time I was 16 and moved out of the PMQ on CFB Downsview. I had not paid attention to the news stories about the defective military justice system or the rampant sexual assault problem plaguing the military. I was completely blindsided to discover just how big a problem the Captain Father Angus McRae matter had been on CFB Namao from 1978 to 1980, and I was even more devastated to discover the extents to which the Canadian Armed Forces were willing to go to keep the connection between Captain McRae and his teenaged accomplice, the babysitter, hidden and buried in the past.

Who would have ever thought that the Government of Canada would have willingly given the military their own justice system with which the military could use to hide problems and make issues disappear.

Now is the time for my transition.

The government has delayed my ability to obtain medical assistance in dying.

The class action is proceeding. I honestly have no idea of what amount of compensation the Government of Canada is willing to put forth. It’s definitely not going to be anything spectacular, but it will at least be something of an acknowledgement.

I will be able to start to draw from my pension in a few years. Drawing from my pension and taking part time employment will allow me some flexibility to explore different paths.

But, I can’t help but feeling like an idiot for not doing what Richard suggested and just leaving the babysitter matter alone in the past and not gone and stuck my nose into this “shit” as he put it.

Instead of wasting 13 years of my life, I could have transitioned back around 2011 instead of setting myself up to be destroyed by the Canadian Armed Forces for the second time in my life.

I guess I’ll just have to play it day by day going forward.