Words of warning and welcome:

This is very much my blog, so don't be surprised if this doesn't follow accepted patterns and norms. Obviously it started out as a blog about my cross-dressing but it has developed a great deal since then. It is a place where I can be anonymous and honest, and I appreciate that.

It will deal with many things and new readers would do well to check out the New Readers' Page above this and the tag down there on the right. Although there's nothing too bad in here there will be adult language, so be careful. If you think this needs a greater control, please let me know. Thank you!

Friday, 19 January 2018

Failure

A short entry methinks.

The lines were for chewing gum. To fill a line, and because
the sentence ended with 'chew it', I added: "I am not Godzilla"
and, because the child was likely unaware of the reference,
explained to them about the Chewit adverts - with a large
lizard eating and chewing.

Silly me.

As Tilly pointed out - a parent won't get it and is likely to
get mad. As the Head tried to argue: it mocks the student and/
or the punishment.

Of course I disagree. Of course I do, I have ASD.
I let my work know about my diagnosis as ASD. I kinda wish I hadn't. Complaints from parents have stepped up recently and I have received a few. The latest two alleging racism (no, seriously) and being sex-obsessed on my part. In both cases senior leaders did investigations, counselling me thus: "don't worry, it's nothing to worry about yet" - which wasn't at all ominous - and resulting in a nice chat with the Head this afternoon where he tried to tell me that getting a child to write lines (our school policy, I know) involving "I am not Godzilla" was potentially racist because I was comparing a "monstrous creature" to a student of Zimbabwean descent. Colour me confused. The other incident was not up for discussion, I was warned not to try and make friends with students and not to try and "be down with the kids". For information: I erect barriers between students and me, I tell them stuff that is not about me dressed up as me - because no, I have no desire to be "down" with the kids. Oh, and keep in mind that a member of staff who was recently 'let go' had had affairs with students. No, this wasn't the reason for them being 'let go'. The Head knows about these affairs and said, to the reporting staff, "it's nothing to worry about". So that's alright then.

Bear in mind the history of results.

Pun intended, but not funny.
They interviewed students about the incidents (not me) and concluded that I am in the wrong. Don't worry, said the Head, as long as there are no further complaints in the next six months everything will probably be fine. The time frame and the 'probably' have me concerned. Oh, that and an off-hand remark about what I write on student work (note: not the subject of any parental complaint of which I am aware). The Head linked this to my diagnosis and sought to suggest that my seeking a diagnosis was evidence that I was under strain and pressure and thus in need of a 'support programme' much like the one I left behind when I moved job. I refuted that.

He asked who had referred me to get diagnosed, only people with problems and issues get referred, he said. I said I'd put myself forward and waited thirty months. He was taken aback. What problems was I suffering that I would do that? I said, politely and in different words, that it was none of his business, thank you, and no, it wasn't because I was suffering problems.

Secondly, the weeks leading to this. I saw my therapist and said it was the last time. I was not in a good place. I believe that it is called suicidal ideation. Again, standard, I am not going to top myself, but I wouldn't mind being dead.

I already owned these.
Tilly dropped a bomb this week too: she feels that I manipulate and 'hide things in plain sight' and twist things to get what I want. I set things up for later exploitation. She gave examples: I said my fingers were too fat to wear my wedding ring, was this a set up for never wearing it again? I said I wanted the opportunity to wear women's underwear, this was carefully phrased because she thought 'once in a while' and 'only knickers' but I've been wearing only knickers and have added camisoles (she's not checking my washing basket, she's just checking it because it's pretty obvious). I raised a conversation at work about roll-on deodorant and she noted that I am using female deodorant, this is an encroachment upon her territory (cf. documents shared years ago about women living with cross-dressing males who feel that cross-dressing encroaches on their space and territory). I hadn't been honest. Frankly, all she wants is for it all to go away, for me not to cross-dress at all and not wear female deodorant and if I want to have an affair to admit it.

The reading she's been doing on ASD suggested that ASD people say they are truthful but "wouldn't know truth if it punched them in the face" and lied to manipulate. Many ASD partners watch porn, have affairs and cheat on their partners. They are too open with others, she reminded me of having to tell me what I wasn't allowed to share with my mother over the phone and an e-mail I sent a friend about a dream sometime in 2006 that she considered was too much detail and tantamount to propositioning (a dream where she claims I told a female I knew that we were about to have sex - if it's the one I think it is, I was sharing a dream in which we were getting married but I ran off with Tilly instead). Basically, this was manipulation and whether or not that was my intention was irrelevant, it was how she felt and I had to be aware of that. No, she wasn't going to walk back The Concession, but she did feel that she had been duped and misled about it and that I had done it deliberately. Oh, and she added that she would continue switching violently between "yes, that's reasonable" and "no, that's disgusting" vis a vis my choice of underwear - tis the lot of the partner of a cross-dresser.

Apparently both. Hurrah!

Not a child though.
There are many truths and the truths I hold may be lies. Often, she reminded me, ASD people do not follow social rules and that was wrong. Her reading suggested that many NT partners despaired over ASD friendships where ASD people shared too much and in ways that were not normal. I must understand that ASD people are a minority and, well, that means we have to conform to NT rules, sorry, that's just the way it is. My slightly irritated response merely proved her case.

I wish I had never sought a diagnosis. It has not brought any of the positives I thought it would and brought all the negatives I feared and more.

Behind in work again, moreso than I can recall ever being, and, frankly, getting less and less motivated. I can't do anything other than teach, job-wise, and the events of the last few weeks prove my time is limited, my days numbered.


Saturday, 6 January 2018

Decency

The watermarked site no longer exists, alas, but there
is a Facebook page that has collated all the problems.
They were surprisingly germane for the most part, not
exactly me, but many were close enough. This is one of
them.

At the moment it's Rawhide by Frankie Laine.
An eventful week back at work - mainly because I am ever-more snowed under with things to do and simply not doing them. Not like I'm being slow or anything, just not doing them. I got a fair amount done on the Tuesday and then went to my therapy session, so far so good, that overran.

I'll be honest, I have no idea how therapy is supposed to go, still less if it is actually helpful or positive. When my therapist said she was deliberately running over because we'd gone down a number of long tangents about home-education, feminism, word definitions and books, I thought that was just good manners. In the end, it was I who had to state the session was done because I needed to get home. An hour's session had lasted nearly two. Upon my return home Tilly was slightly perturbed and pointed out that such behaviour by my therapist was unprofessional. After all, she said, her therapist had always been very strict with time and it just wasn't right that a therapist was so easily side-tracked nor so keen to give extra time. I hadn't thought of it that way and, well, I don't know.


This blog stands as testament and monument to this little
number, does it not? Don't worry, I shan't have all the images
in this post be these little meme-lettes.
My therapist did say that most of the time I seemed to think issues through and come to conclusions, including strategies, before I raised anything with her. Furthermore, anything we did discuss I seemed to know what the issue was, have thought about it and the solutions, when suggested, were either already in motion or I reached them fractionally ahead of my therapist. I thought that was a compliment, it may not have been, but Tilly suggested it was more likely unprofessionalism because that shouldn't be the case, or I wasn't telling her all the salient points. She was... unhappy about my late arrival home. Which is fair enough, it had been a long day with the children and I was back late.

Well, I don't wear no bra. But, apart from that, there's an
element of truth to this.
The advice from my therapist regarding depression, by the way, was to 'yield' a bit. Like getting out of a seat, one has to sink back into the seat in order to stand up, so it was with depression, she said, one had to sink into it, control that sink, and then stand up out of it. On Wednesday morning I tried that with getting up, hitting snooze but knowing I was doing it. It... well, I got up late. Thankfully I had done the dishes and made lunch the night before, I dried the pots and went to work late. I then had a full day. A student had complained before the end of last year that I wasn't giving her credit when she knew more than me about the course so I had to meet with said student. She suggested that I was too defensive when she pointed out errors and that my notes on the textbook, my lessons, weren't entirely helpful as I followed the textbook differently to her. I did point out my notes came from wider reading than that but, as I am me, I didn't think to point out that she was being enormously arrogant (and the example of 'error' she pointed out was a case where she, in fact, was erroneous). So... that was fun. Bear in mind this meeting was held with my boss in attendance and he sort of let it continue so it wasn't like I could smack her down when she was being, well, so arrogant. That was fun. Anyway, after that it was a full day and then I did some training after school.


There's less a 'fantasy' vibe here than 'wish-fulfilment'.
And that is instructive, because it reaffirms the idea that these
are made not so much to be hopeful, but in recognition that
this sort of thing does not, cannot, happen in real life.
The training was bollocks, of course it was, and half-arsed. It took up time and that was... well, about it. Then my colleagues and I had a joint moan that was quite therapeutic actually. My Department and I get on quite well and are usually of one mind about things, so it was a bit comforting. It did mean another late night home and then I had to go and charge the car because there was no space outside the house to plug in. The Boy was also upset because he was missing me and wanting to play card games (he has been sucked into Pokemon as well as Magic now) but there wad nothing to be done. Tea, then baby wrangling, then car charging, then pots and lunches and bed.

Thursday was worse than Wednesday, I didn't even notice my alarms. I had intended to have a bath, but I was far too late to have one. I dried the pots and then went to work even later than the previous day. Most of the spare time in the day was spent running around trying to sort trip paperwork for later in the year. Then, after school, I did some tutoring. I can't complain, I get paid extra for that and use it to fund my therapy. It meant another late night home. This time I had to baby-wrangle again so that Tilly could get washed and do some work for her web stuff, but it meant another evening of the Boy getting upset that I couldn't play with him. I then had tea, at 9pm, and washed the pots and made lunches for the following day. I even dried the pots in the hope I could save enough time to have a bath in the morning.

I mean, as if.

Seriously, I cannot imagine any woman would do this out
of love. They may do it as revenge, maybe if they were
paid, maybe if they were forced. Maybe they may even do
it positively but reluctantly.

But no woman, I suspect, would behave like this in real life.

Which is why, of course, this is pure fantasy. And why it
is so compelling.
It was not to be. Friday began late again, somewhere between the times of Wednesday and Thursday, and the chinchilla got loose, which ate about ten minutes. I managed to wash my hair but not to have a bath. A colleague had an ill child and so I had to juggle their cover (as well as take some lessons) with my own teaching. Then Alice wanted to talk shit at the end of the day, enjoyable shit to be sure and needed for Alice because they were so whacked by the busy week - it's part of what I see as my duty as Head of Department - before Henry, of ill-childness, came in to grab some work and also to talk shit at the end of the day. A late finish again, not as late as other days, but still late. Home, baby-wrangling, anger that baby fell asleep on me (Tilly needed him to stay awake until bed so she could work, with him asleep he gets up in bed and removes all chance of Tilly doing anything), late tea, pots but some beer.



Proof, if twere needed, of what I said on the last image.
And so, to today: Tilly breaks after lunch and bemoans the fact that she feels lonely. She's felt lonely for ten years. She's not saying it's my fault, just the outcome of me being autistic. She can't talk about that or my cross-dressing with her friends because then we'd become the topic of conversation, the couple that makes others feel a bit smug that they're not us. And it's hard. She's so full of anger and resentment so she can't even support me when I'm depressed. She didn't mean to suggest that I should stop seeing my therapist, she is just angry and sad that we've ended up the way we are. I didn't change, she assured me, it just became clear after she moved in what I was really like and it was just very wearing living in a house where everyone was autistic. She was obviously the problem, she should just move out and we'd get along better. No, actually, we'd argue and hate one another but we'd be aspies together and she wouldn't have to deal with it. She just wanted to be able to fix everything.

I find it most intriguing that there are a few outlets for this
and that they resonate so very particularly with me, and that
it has taken me all this time to find them.

It suggests, once and for all, if I had any doubts, that I wish
for the impossible.
She wasn't taking back The Concession but she just found it hard and she knows it is her problem. But she can't deal with the fact that I am wearing knickers and it's not because of the watch (she'd noticed I was wearing the watch I have previously posted about) but it's just hard. Talking about this to other people would simply have them talking to their partners about it, adding to that smugness that they would feel, and she just wasn't able to deal with that. There were tears. No, she didn't want to talk about it any more. No, there was nothing I could do, nothing that she expected from me. She hates the fact that our children are a mess, that they will stay a mess, that they will never be normal, that I am such a mess, that I shall never be normal, that we shall never have a normal relationship. She doesn't have the emotional energy for solving it, no energy to have an affair or anything like that, she's just left with the bitter realisation that the cost of looking after our children has been, well, everything else.


Continuing the theme...
No, there was nothing I could say or do, she's happy that I'm getting the work done around the house - she assumed I was having baths and was upset when I said I wasn't, but only because it was an attempted compliment and I was essentially ruining it - and that is all that she wants from me. It's all that she can expect. I am an uncanny valley person - not close enough to normal to pass as NT but too close to normal to be as sympathetic as something like a pet or someone with more problematic ASD. I wasn't as much of a dick as some people you read about with AS, who literally don't give a shit about others, but I was unable to give a shit about others in a way that didn't make people uncomfortable. Like our children, there was always that air of "what's wrong with them?" And she can't fix that. She just wants everyone to be happy and no one was. Well, okay, maybe the children were (my suggestion) but at what cost?

Did you hear about the Duran Duran tribute band?

They're called Duran Duran Duran Duran. It's really sweet.

Their lead singer is called Simon le Bon Bon.

Indeed, so much fantasy here.

As if any man in this clothing would be able to carry off that
look. Of course it is impossible. And the text is not written by
a woman, it never would be.
It's now too late to work again. I mean, it probably isn't, but I really can't bring myself to try. Tilly has gone to bed. I tried to start the conversation again, to help with her loneliness, but I failed. She doesn't want to talk about it any more, she's going to continue to try and ignore it, as she has done for the last ten years or more (her words, not mine), so she's pretty adept at it (my words now).

Depression, said my therapist, is healthy inasmuch as it suggests that things need to change - it provides an impetus and will lift when the changes are made. Like a block of wood that is unyielding but is dead and rotting - it gives when the right pressure or shock is applied and everything is better for that change. Even dead wood, the dead weight, is changing. One may not move it but it may rot away under its own weight. So it was, she said, with depression.

And it is the unreality that makes these so compelling.

That allows them to encapsulate the yearning.
There is a site, this site, that is a fantasy caption site that I found over the holidays and have been regularly checking because of course I have. All the captions on this post are from there. I am struck by the fantasies, because they are fantasies. There is no attempt at realism in them, they are as much fantasies as magic captions. And they are fascinating to me. The very fact that this site, and others like it, exists suggests that the sort of relationship I would be happy with does not actually exist. Each caption is filled with illicit thrill and yearning, deep yearning, unrequited and raw. And it updates regularly.

I know what I would like to change, but I don't believe such change can, realistically, be made. I don't want to walk away from my family, I don't want to have to rent another place (financially that may be impossible, emotionally I think it would break our elder two and psychologically it would muck up our youngest somewhat!). I can't have an affair either - no one would have one with me. I cannot expect Tilly to change - she's made her stances totally clear, and my choice to accept The Concession puts paid to any opportunity to have sex (as well as conveniently making it my fault and my choice, of course). I know what I need to change, but I cannot see it changing.

Welcome to ASD!

Monday, 1 January 2018

New Year Listings

Tradition is important, you know?


So, Happy New Year 2018 to you all. After the events of the last two years I stand by what I said last year about letting lights shine and the importance of small lights in open expanses. I reiterate my own privilege in the fact that I can say that and not worry that my light might be snuffed out or that I might be attacked for it. I am relatively safe from that sort of threat and there are plenty that are not, we must (those of us with privilege) stand and shelter those lights so that they may shine their own brightness, boosting where we can but not getting in their way, only in the way of those that would seek to attack them. And even then, only when asked.

There's symbolism.
Last year I still had some hope regarding personal circumstances. I don't now. Tilly talked the other day, possibly two days ago, and gave me the answer I had asked for. She said that where our relationship was physically was where it was likely to stay. So... yeah. She added that she did not think we were just co-parents or flatmates because she complimented my job and my beers and flatmates wouldn't do that, they would tell me to fuck off with my beers. She's not sure what I want regarding compliments, because she tries and I still say that I'm not getting whatever it is that I am asking for and she doesn't know what that is. I did not point out that I had been pretty specific about personal compliments and given examples of what I meant, nor did I bother pointing out that complimenting beers or my job still wasn't complimenting me, which is what I had been driving at. Nor did I point out that most flat mates would be perfectly happy to encourage and join in with a hobby - especially as this was a hobby that Tilly herself had encouraged me to start back in 2010. I expected no different, I suppose, I had been hoping for something else, despite everything, because at the end of the day I am reluctant to let go of things.

Not my favourite caption from Dee this year, but it is a lovely
colour selection and fits nicely with my prose, so...
In other news, Leslie has continued to be a rock to me throughout the year, continuing her thankless but much appreciated task of keeping me sane. I can now bring in my good friend LMW who has managed to publish an actual short story that you can actually buy (see the links to the right of this post). If it is anything like the quality of the rest of their work then you would do well to read it. I read The Red Queen whilst driving down to my father's (I was charging) and it was amazing. I can also communicate that Rhi has had a pretty good year, in the end, and despite the cost has garnered much in the way of positives. Her story remains one that is full of hope and light despite the dark times and she remains someone who is uplifting and inspiring in equal measure. If you have not visited her blog then you are missing out! A shout out to Calvin, who no longer reads this blog, but who name-checked me the other day and that was nice to read.

Obviously the usual haunts apply here, you already know of Dee and Terri, of course you do. Check the links to the right to see their work and read their thoughts. Both brilliant people and Dee is probably some kind of famous person now, her captioning work is just unequalled and has few rivals despite the best efforts of Dawn, another staple.

This year has been mostly supported by watching gaming videos as it happens and not a lot pron wise. Get Dare played a large part in all of my dressing adventures in June and September, both of which were good times. I did not dress quite as much as I would have liked this year but at least I now have the ability and the freedom to dress in briefs full time, it is an amazing thing. I can highly recommend it to anyone who feels that they would like to. If that doesn't sound like something you would enjoy then, uh, don't do it.

Back to the blogging.

Today also brought confirmation of what The Concession would cost. I am now responsible for my own washing as well as everyone else's but mine won't be touched by any other member of the family. I am still expected to hang out the rest to dry and to collect and fold everyone else's washing but I should not expect anyone else to do anything with mine. Fine. I shall be doing mine once every fortnight, which will require me to buy a couple more packs of briefs, so that's a plus, I get to choose more of them. I guess I should inquire as to the possibility of washing my other things now too, they do need a wash and it's not like anyone else will be touching them. Fuck it, you know, I think I will.

Tilly did ask what she could do to support me and ensure I didn't get my usual grump on after the holidays. How best could she support my working and ensure that I still did what was required at home without her tearing her hair out? Heh, the language is pretty stark isn't it. I did the verbal equivalent of shrugging because, honestly, I don't know. Now that I have my answer regarding physical relations and, in that, the real answer about our actual relationship I'm no longer certain what to ask for.

We shall see. I rather suspect we shall be divorced by the end of 2020 in all but name if not actually. I am aiming, long term, to get the mortgage paid to a level where I can afford to rent a place, maybe a couple of rooms or a flat, and then moving there. That will probably be in place around 2030. By 2040 I fully intend to have moved out permanently. Stalin will have moved out by then too, so I'll visit on big family occasions and, for the rest of the time, bug out. I can do that.

Hmm, darker than intended.