My Journey



Catching Up

Hey All,

I wanted to update you on my absence from my page and blog. A lot has been going on with me and I’d like to explain.

Around the end of August I developed a bad ear infection that left me feeling weak and tired all the time. This continued until present day.

On September 4th, I went on a first date with a man I met on Plenty of Fish. We had been talking for a month and he seemed kind, and normal, no red flags were popping up. While on the date, he raped me.

I had to take extensive time off work to survive emotionally, physically, and mentally. Today I’m doing much better thanks to my best friends, and therapist. The Des Moines Police Department has not been cooperative with my case but I’m still hopeful they’ll find the asshole.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago; my weakness and fatigue has continued during this time, including symptoms of short term memory loss and periodic aphasia. I began to develop high fevers that have since gone away with the exception of a periodic one. My joints and back have been hurting this entire time which I chalked up to just being my regular minor joint and back pain.

I have become so weak that I have fallen twice, once hitting my head. I have to walk with a cane now and use a shower chair. I’m too weak to keep my apartment clean, much less do simple tasks like the dishes. My doctor has ordered an MRI and I’ve had every autoimmune test done. So far all my bloodwork is coming back normal. Which makes this frustrating because we don’t have a name for my symptoms, much less a treatment plan.

On top of all that, I lost my job as my contract expired at my temp job. I’ve yet to find a new job as everywhere I apply I get rejected. My depression has been pretty severe given all that has been going on and seems to exacerbate my symptoms, so I’m trying to keep in good spirits and do self care.

Today I have therapy and a home health nurse is supposed to be stopping by to assess my needs for home health care, I expect they’ll order physical therapy and a home health aid to help me with daily tasks like cooking, cleaning, and doing dishes. All of which I am unable to do in my current state.

There are days where I can’t get out of bed because I’m either too weak or in too much pain. So I ask to please pray, send positive vibes, keep me in your thoughts as I navigate what’s going on with me.

I think that’s all I have for now, I’m tired and it’s 2AM. I hope this finds you well and I hope you all enjoy your holidays.




I’m Sorry but I’m Just Too Damned Tired

I’m having a hard time feeling joy for friend’s happy occasions related to relationships or births of children.

Some would argue I’m too hung up on wanting a relationship and a child. I have been single a very, very long time. I’m just struggling to muster the joy to be happy for new relationships, new births, and so on. I’m envious of my cisgender friends who are meeting significant others; I’m even more envious of my transgender friends who have happy healthy romantic relationships.

Maybe I’m ungrateful. I never expected it to be so hard to date and be a Transgender woman. I knew being a woman carried certain losses of privilege and certain societal risks; but I didn’t expect to be raped on a first date because they wanted to experience sex with “a tranny” and then be shamed/blamed for it.

I’m just tired. Tired of feeling alone; tired of seeing others achieve and obtain some of the bigger dreams I’ve had for myself.

Is it so much to ask to have someone to cuddle up with at the end of a long day; or someone to share your life experiences with both the bad days and the good.

I have a lot to be thankful for in my life for sure. But it’s just hard to notice those things sometimes.

Please refrain from commenting platitudes of “you’ll find someone when you least expect it” or “there’s someone for everyone”, etc. I call bullshit. And I’m too tired of being alone to hear it. Cisgender people just don’t understand the struggles of transgender people.

Don’t worry; I’ll be talking about this at length with my therapist and I’m sorry if I can’t muster the happiness anymore to congratulate you on your new relationship or your new child. I know it’s selfish; but I just can’t anymore.

Maybe this is just a funk? I don’t know. But it’s been festering for awhile.

I do love you all and hope you are well.

PS: I’ve been listening to Grant Lee Phillips “Mona Lisa” on repeat. Good song; good album.



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Twitter: @rivkachrodt




Silver Linings

I’ve been struggling a lot recently with feeling relevant in my field of work; given the fact that, I’m not currently employed in my field of work. (For those of you at home who don’t know, that’s the Sexual Assault/Domestic Violence/Anti-Violence Movement).

I had a great job opportunity and a really great interview for a position that I didn’t get. My company isn’t taking off the way I had hoped it would; perhaps once my book gets published January 2018 but who’s to say…?)

Speaking engagements are scarce. Work in the field is scarce. I’ve been licking my wounds with an old friend and colleague who is in the same boat as me and she sent me the Rosie the Riveter poster in a text to perk me up and I told her how much I used wish I could be a girl so I could have Rosie the Riveter as a role model as a kid. And then it hit me: there’s so much that I’ve given up to be a woman (talking Privilege here), but there’s one thing I’ve gained. A world-wide network of strong, powerful role models that I can now relate to.

Not to mention, I’m getting to live out dreams I had as a child that I never thought I could. I have boobs! (always wanted those), I can wear skirts without too many weird looks! (always wanted to do that AND A BRA!), I can shave my legs and bemoan the effort it takes (my ankle currently looks a bit like a surgical site because I was in a rush the other day but still…). These are all little, minor, silly, maybe even annoying things that cisgender women get to take for granted that I’m now getting to live out.

Being able to have unruly, curly brown hair has always been a dream of mine. Eventually, having women’s parts is always been something I’ve dreamt about myself having, and someday will have.

I suppose what I’m getting at is there’s a silver lining even in the darkest clouds. I may be dirt broke and barely (nay unable) to pay all my bills right now, my health is shit given I’m about to have surgery to remove my gallbladder (G-d willing), but underneath all that, I have boobs.

So really… who’s winning? I am.

Love to you all!


PS: Music I listened to while writing this was the Fray’s “Heaven Forbid”, “Look After You”, “You Found Me”, and “How to Save a Life”.

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Twitter: @rivkachrodt




Things I’ve Discovered Recently

Tomorrow (in 7 minutes from when I started writing this post, so today, by the time I’m done); I’ll have reached an achievement I didn’t expect to reach. Four weeks of sobriety.

I never considered myself an alcoholic, as I didn’t drink every day, and that was the image I had in my mind. But, every time I drank, I drank to get drunk for reasons not to enjoy the beverage or company around me, but to suppress, or dull emotions or feelings.

I started attending AA meetings four weeks ago, today, and I discovered a sense of community that I’d been searching for, for so long. The people who attend my meetings are genuine, caring people. In them, I have discovered a common ailment that plagues all of us. But not just that. I’ve found a common group of people who have been through similar trauma’s I’ve faced, similar life events, etc. They accept me as I am, and I them.

I have found great solace in this group of people these past few weeks. This summer really kicked my ass. It was a very dark, scary summer for me. Battling my own demons and reliving past trauma’s in my mind.

I don’t expect people who don’t suffer from Alcoholism to understand. But it felt important to me to say something about this feeling of love and acceptance and community I’ve found.

For so long I’ve not felt like I could utilize or attend support groups because I work in social services and have referred clients to the few support groups that exist in my city and surrounding area. So, it felt, off limits, or uncomfortable thinking about opening myself in person to a group of people who might include former clients.

With this group, because of the anonymity, and even if that didn’t exist, I still feel comfortable, and safe. Finally, I can talk to people who have gone through things I’ve been through too.

In other news: I just submitted my first four chapters of my book and it’s introduction to my editor. So… it’s becoming a reality. I am working on the harder, heavier, deeper chapters and I’m having to work on them in spurts. It’s too emotionally draining to work on them and try to get them done in one sitting.

My new therapist has a sister who was born with hearing loss, so I’m excited to work with her and gain some perspective from her on certain things from my life that she might have observed from growing up with a Deaf person.

I have a HUGE job interview today at 5pm. Keep me in your thoughts and prayers. I really want this job and have a lot riding on it. I know I’ll be crestfallen if I don’t get it, but I’ll get back up and move forward if it happens that I don’t get it.

That’s all I have for you all my beautiful readers. I hope this finds you safe and healthy. I’m feeling healthy and happy again, and I hope, if you’re struggling, you find that happiness again soon, too.

All my love,



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Twitter: @rivkachrodt




Coming Out in a Heternormative-Binary Gender/Sex Society

I just got home from taking family pictures and a mini-family reunion of my dad’s side of the family. It’s left me with mixed emotions. I had to go as Patrick and not Rivka. It felt weird and uncomfortable getting ready this morning and going out of the house intentionally to pass as a boy as opposed to a woman. The reason I had to go as Patrick is because I haven’t come out to my grandparents yet. It’s been almost a year since I came out to my family. Getting ready today wasn’t just uncomfortable emotionally for me but physically too. It was physically painful as I had to bind my breasts so that they didn’t show and they are still growing and very tender. 
I’m going to have to tell my grandparents at some point because I’m going to continue to develop physically and at some point there will be no hiding it. Not to mention my grandmother enjoys writing and will definitely be picking up and reading my book once it’s published (which is horrifying in and of itself to think about considering some of the stories in there). 
So, I feel conflicted about it. My grandparents love me dearly, especially my grandmother: so part of me thinks she’ll love me regardless but another part of me thinks they won’t understand what I’m talking about or what I mean when I say I’m transgender and transitioning. 
I should give some background, they are in their 80s, in decent-ish health (as well as one can be in your 80s), and have lived in rural Iowa (most of that time on a farm) most of their lives. The rest of my dad’s side of the family knows and doesn’t seem to have any issue with it, at least outwardly anyway as no one has ever said anything to me. They seem to accept me at face value however I present myself. 
So I’m conflicted on how to go about doing this. They’re sweet people and love me dearly, just uninformed from a lifetime of living a simple, rural life. Coming out is such a delicate thing and for some, can be one of the more difficult things an LGBTQ+ person faces in their lifetime. It’s a never ending thing in our heteronormative, binary gender/sex infused society. 

Take care my loves,


Twitter: @rivkachrodt




The Scary Post

Before I start this post I need to make a few disclaimers:

First, this post is entirely about mental health. There will likely be triggers in it for those of you who battle with mental health diagnoses’. If you intend to read further, please do so safely and make sure you have someone you can talk to if you need to.

Second, to my friends and family who are reading this post: please do not freak out. I repeat, please do not freak out. I promise you I am safe, and I am taking the steps needed to get back to where I need to be with my mental health. I am safe. I reiterate, I am safe.

Third, this post is a source of anxiety for me. As I am disclosing a lot of very,  very personal information about my struggles with mental illness. So please be conscientious once you read this and reach out to me. I appreciate any kind words you have for me, and welcome them. But please be respectful of my need to speak about these things on my own terms and in my own time.

It’s been… many months since I last saw my therapist. I had to stop seeing her because I lost my insurance when I lost my job. I also had to stop seeing my psychiatrist and all doctors. I started a job that doesn’t pay a living wage and doesn’t offer health benefits, but I don’t qualify for Medicaid because I just barely make over the income threshold. The low wage has also contributed to great anxiety about making ends meet.

I have been spiraling out of control the past couple of months with regard to my mental health because I haven’t been able to see my therapist, my psychiatrist, my hormones have been affecting my mood much more recently, and I have been under a great amount of stress lately.

The job that I took has been a source of great anxiety for me as have felt like there is very little support for it’s employees, there’s very high turnover, and there’s very little by way of positive things to look forward to throughout the day. Conversation with your coworkers is discouraged, if not cause for discipline. You’re expected to sit at your desk, stare at your computer, converse with no one, and not leave your desk without permission.

Then there’s the overtime. We’re mandated to work 50 hours a week, indefinitely. There have been a few exceptions, they cancelled overtime for the day Friday and today. On top of my having to work a part-time job to make ends meet and not being able to cut my hours back there for fear of losing them.

This all leads to emotional, and physical exhaustion. Couple that with my anxiety and I have not been able to go out and socialize with friends or other human beings in weeks. I come home, prepare for moving to my temporary apartment as mine is being renovated beginning August 1st, go to bed, get up, go to work, rinse and repeat.

My depression has reached lows I haven’t experienced in years. My anxiety has been worse than I’ve ever known it to be. I have not considered suicide through out all this, which I am proud of, because at one point in my life, I would have considered it as a means of escape.

I feel stuck, I feel hopeless. I feel alone. I feel lost. I began drinking again. At first once a week, on the one evening a week before my one day off a week. Then it progressed to twice a week. Which may not seem like a big deal; however, I was sober for many years because I had a drinking problem in my early twenties. I’m cutting myself off from alcohol. I dumped the last half a bottle of wine I have in my apartment down the drain.

I began smoking cigarettes again as a means to break up the monotony of the day. I hadn’t smoked in a very long time. I am working on tapering myself off them, ultimately quitting again.

Last weekend, I cut myself. Intentionally. While drunk. That will never happen again. Any means to do so have been removed, by myself, from my apartment. I have never done that before. I don’t know why I did it. It did nothing for me. I expected a release from my emotional pain through the physical pain, but that was empty.

I am reaching out to free and or reduced cost mental health professionals in the area to start therapy somewhere again while I wait to find health insurance. I am reaching out to friends again to rejoin the land of the living.

I am going to start attending temple on a regular basis again, and I’m taking my Siddur to work with me to pray during the day.

I want to reiterate that I am safe from myself. I am not going to hurt myself again, nor am I having ANY thoughts of suicide. There’s no plan, no thought at all.

My reason for writing this is twofold. It’s therapeutic for me, first and foremost. Second, I know I am not alone. I know there are others out there who struggle every day; some worse than I.

I am safe. I am safe, and I am taking steps to make things better. I know you’re all going to worry. But know that I am safe. I am safe, and I am taking steps to make things better. Those are not hollow words. I know you all probably knew I was struggling, but were unaware of the severity. Now you do. But know that things will get better.

I am on the mend. I am finding the help I need and I am pursuing it. This is my tipping point, and I’m tipping to point of positivity and not farther down the dark hole of mental illness.

I will always have depression, anxiety, and PTSD; but it will be better managed starting now. I will get back to my “old self” soon.

Don’t despair, too much. I am safe. I reiterate and promise completely I am safe. I am not alone, and I am safe. I want to stress that.

I look forward to spending time with many of you soon.


All my love,



“Do not fret yourself of evildoers; do not be jealous of those who do wrong. For they shall soon wither like the grass, and like the green grass fade away.” Psalm 37 vs. 1-2.

“The wicked draw their sword and bend their bow to strike down the poor and needy, to slaughter those who are upright in their ways. Their sword shall go through their own heart, and their bow shall be broken.” Psalm 37 vs. 15-16

I don’t know where to begin. So much is going through my head. There is so much I want to say, so much I want to express, but I don’t know where to begin.

The verses from Proverbs above were recited at an interfaith vigil for the victims of Orlando that I attended this evening. Those specific verses resonated with me and hit home.

They named off each person who died and one person each held up a picture of a victim tonight. I held up one of the pictures. After each name was read, the rang the church bell once for each victim. It was incredibly moving.

I found out about the massacre Sunday morning when I got an alert on my phone from Facebook letting me know that my friend in Orlando was safe. When I opened the alert, it gave vague information; that there was a terrorist attack in Orlando, but that my friend had checked into Facebook’s alert system to notify his family and friends that he was safe. Then I got on the news and my heart sank. Then my newsfeed became saturated with posts about the attack.

I spent the rest of the day crying. The worst shooting massacre in our country’s history, targeted at a bar filled with people celebrating the anniversary of the beginning of their liberation. Enjoying being themselves in, what they had always thought was, a safe space. A sanctuary.

Monday, I continued to cry throughout the day. I eventually reached the point of numbness. Today my mind started to clear and I could actually start to think about what had happened. Think about the state of our country.

As I was sitting in the church this evening, I remembered the bombing of a Target bathroom because of their early stance on transgender individuals using the restroom that they identify with. Another act of terror.

As I’m writing this, I’m thinking about the current climate of our country. We could, in theory, elect a man this fall who promotes hate and violence by the things he says and by his actions, to the highest office in the country.

Thinking about the violence against people of color, against transgender people, against the rest of the LGB community this year alone I wonder: how are we so much different than the countries in the middle east who imprison and put to death those who are part of the LGBT+ community? The only difference between us and them is that our government isn’t locking us up. But we have politicians who are telling us that the individuals who were murdered this weekend reaped what they sewed for being perverts. These are people who were elected to office to govern our country.

2016 has been a year for the record books. State after state, even the federal government, passes or attempts to pass one anti-LGBT legislation after another. From “bathroom bills” to so called “religious freedom” bills.

I’m not angry. I don’t think I will get to the angry stage. I don’t have an angry side of myself. My heartaches. My head aches. My soul aches. I feel like the people who spread fear and hate are building a bonfire and dousing it with lighter fluid and we’re just one match away from a full on mass genocide of anyone who isn’t white, cisgender, heterosexual, and Christian.

My heart aches less, though, after attending the service tonight. I find great solace in G-d. I don’t know what the afterlife holds for us immediately after we die, but I know that if history is any indicator; we will, as an oppressed group, as any oppressed group, will rise up and be victorious.

I feel like the LGBT+ community became complacent after marriage was legalized nationally. We let our guard down. I feel like the transgender and non-gender conforming community was forgotten about, until the bathroom bills started rolling out. I’ve long been a proponent of separating the gender minorities from the sexual orientation (separating the “T” from “LGBT”). Because so often sexual orientation and gender identity are confused and mixed up.

As I was sitting in the church this evening I realized, we can’t do this alone. We are all being targeted. We need each other. We need to stand together in solidarity for one another. Forget that we’re constantly confused for one another. We need to embrace each other as a community and back each other up.

One other thing, before I go. I was speaking to my coworkers at the pharmacy last night after we closed and they both said “this could never happen in Iowa.” That has been stuck in my brain all day. The thing is, it COULD happen in Iowa. It could happen anywhere. The world is changing, and we don’t know whether it’s going to be for the good or the bad; there’s still a lot of influence that needs to be made. I was too tired to say anything to them, so I let it be. However, now it’s out there in the world. So we need to get over all the arguments and issues we have in our own community: the racism, the misogyny, and so forth and stand together. Stand strong. We need not a massacre to unite us. We should be united because want and need to be.

I’m going to end this post by listing the names of those murdered.

Stanley Almodovar III, 23 years old

Oscar A. Aracena-Montero, 26 years old

Antonio Davon Brown, 29 years old

Jonathan Antonio Camuy Vega, 24 years old

Luis Omar-Capo, 20 years old

Cory James Connell, 21 years old

Anthony Luis Laureanodisla, 25 years old

Leroy Valentin Fernandez, 25 years old

Peter O. Gonzalez-Cruz, 22 years old

Paul Terrell Henry, 41 years old

Jason Benjamin Josaphat, 19 years old

Christopher Andrew Leinonen, 32 years old

Brenda Lee Marques McCool, 49 years old

Gilberto Ramon Silva Menendez, 25 years old

Akyra Murray, 18 years old

Jean Carlos Mendez Perez, 25 years old

Amanda Alvear, 25 years old

Rodolfo Ayala-Ayala, 33 years old

Darryl Roman Burt II, 29 years old

Angel L. Candelario-Padro, 28 years old

Simon Adrian Carrillo Fernandez, 31 years old

Tevin Eugene Crosby, 25 years old

Deonka Deidra Drayton, 32 years old

Mercedes Marisol Flores, 26 years old

Juan Ramon Guerrero, 22 years old

Javier Jorge-Reyes, 40 years old

Eddie Jamoldroy Justice, 30 years old

Juan Chevez Martinez, 25 years old

Kimberly Morris, 37 years old

Joel Rayon Paniagua, 32 years old

Enrique I. Rios, Jr., 25 years old

Eric Ivan Ortiz-Rivera, 36 years old

Xavier Emmanuel Serrano Rosado, 35 years old

Edward Sotomayor, Jr., 34 years old

Martin Benitez Torres, 33 years old

Luis Daniel Wilson-Leon, 37 years old

Franky Jimmy Dejesus Velazquez, 50 years old

Miguel Angel Honorato, 30 years old

Juan P. Rivera Velazquez, 37 years old

Frank Hernandez, 27 years old

Jean Carlos Nives Rodriguez, 27 years old

Christopher Sanfeliz, 24 years old

Shane Evan Tomlinson, 33 years old

Luis S. Vielma, 22 years old

Jerald Arthur Wright, 31 years old

Alejandro Barrios Martinez, 21 years old

Luis Daniel Conde, 39 years old

Yimary Rodriguez Sullivan, 24 years old


May their memories be a blessing.








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Coming Out to Your Boss… not the way you think

This post is about mental illness. It may trigger some of you, so please read at your own risk.

Today I had to come out to my bosses at my two jobs. It started just before my afternoon 15 minute break. Well it actually started at the beginning of the week, when exactly, I’m not sure.

But it piqued (hopefully) today.

I have PTSD, Depression, and Generalized Anxiety. All of which are well managed. Very well managed I would say. Save a dark moment a little over a year ago in April, I have not had any major issues and have kept my mental illnesses in check through medication and therapy. Despite therapy and medication; I’m still anxious 24/7. It’s not a full on panic attack; it’s a dull, hardly noticeable anxiety that just… sits there, like a virus that is running in the background on your computer. Eating up memory and information and energy. I’ve become so accustomed to my baseline anxiety level that I don’t even notice it anymore.

Sometime earlier today I noticed that my baseline anxiety level has been heightened all week. I took an inventory in my head of what could be causing this anxiety: I’m worried about money (but that’s hardly new), I’m exhausted from working two jobs, I’m doing anything that gives me passion lately.

Normally, the worry about money and the exhaustion from working two jobs would be things I could push to the back of my mind by telling myself “I’m not going to worry about money right now, I’m going to focus on this (insert distraction/task/etc).”

This has always been an effective tool for me. I didn’t do that today. Not long before my afternoon break, I began to have trouble breathing. I took my break around 2:30. According to my Apple Watch, my heart rate steadily increased all day piqueing at 102 b/min at 2:52. It maintained in the 90’s the rest of the day.

When I returned to my desk, my hands were shaking, my breathing became shallow, and I couldn’t see. When I say I couldn’t see, I could actually see, I didn’t lose my sight; I just couldn’t focus on any objects or recognize them. My eyes were taking in sensory information but my brain was too focused on being a fucked up whack job and stopped processing the incoming sensory information.

I left my desk and called my psychiatrist’s nurses, I left them a rambling message. I couldn’t remember what I said in the message so 20-30 minutes later I left another, apologizing and saying something else. I have no recollection of what I said. I hate talking to them, I don’t know why I chose to talk to them versus my psychiatrist’s nurse practitioner directly like I normally do. I always feel judgement and as if they think I’m a drug seeker; which I always make a point to say that I’m not every time I have to talk to them and that just makes things worse and makes me more anxious.

So, at some point, I pulled one of our team leads aside and explained to him that I have PTSD and what was going on as my team lead was in a meeting. I asked if I could keep my cell phone on my desk as I was awaiting a call from my doctor. It also brings me comfort. I’ll explain that in a bit.

At some point, I sent a rambling email to my team lead and my managers explaining why I was away from my desk so much that afternoon and it probably made no sense and made them think oddly of me, and it’s still causing me some anxiety, but I’m practicing self-care to keep myself calm.

Luckily, I was able to pull myself together to get through the last hour of my work day. My psychiatrist had left for the day, so there was no solution from him, just his judgemental nurses. After talking to the nurses I called my part time job and explained to them that I wouldn’t be making it in and why. They mentioned that the other person had also called in, which A) made me feel guilty, thus making me more anxious and B) the thought of working in a busy pharmacy with just myself and one pharmacist for 5 hours made me more anxious. How I was able to pull myself together to get through the end of the day, I don’t know.

I’m no longer in panic attack mode. I am, however, still extra anxious beyond my baseline. We’ll wait and see what my psychiatrist says tomorrow.

So to tie my post back with my title; I had to come out today to both my bosses that I have a mental illness, well three of them. And that sometimes, they interfere with life. Not the impression I wanted to give them, but what can you do?

To get back to a point I made earlier: my phone bringing me comfort. When I was in nursing school, I was in my Intro to Psych class and we took a break midway through the class. I used to keep my phone in my bag and only check it between classes. Sometimes on breaks. That day, I just happened to check in on break in class. I had several missed calls and three voicemails from my dad telling me to get to the hospital ASAP as something had happened to my niece but there was no news. I called my dad and he didn’t still know anything but was on the way to the hospital. I stumbled back into the class room (late) and fumbled to get my things so I could leave for the hospital, of course I sat in the front row.

Ever since then, having my phone brings me comfort. Knowing that it is there in my hand, or close enough that I can touch it. In case something bad happens again.

I leave you with this image, taken from from the post linked below:





Credit for the picture:

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Twitter: @rivkashrodt



Everyday Struggles

I’ve been trying to come up with a blog topic for a couple weeks and I’ve had writers block, so I apologize for the hiatus. I still don’t really have a topic so I thought I’d just update everyone on what’s going on in my life, while my laundry is in the dryer.

I had my next appointment with my transition doctor on Friday. I’m now on the full dose of hormones. 2mg of estradial and (I think) 100mg of Spironolactone. The past few weeks I’ve been noticing various changes that leads me to think all the excess testosterone in my body has finally disappeared thanks to the Spironolactone. During my physical he said my breasts were developing nicely (albeit unevenly, I know breasts are asymmetrical but I hope it’s not like a huge difference.) He said I have some good tissue building up under my skin, he also said that’s why my breasts have been so tender the past few days. He said that’ll be around for a while probably. 

Now that I’m on the full dose of hormones I can officially start counting down until I can have surgery in two years time. (729 days for those counting).

I had made the decision to look for a full time job here in Iowa that will help pay for school to finish my bachelors degree and to have insurance that covers my transition. I’m not having much luck so far, I’m either over qualified or don’t qualify because I don’t have my degree. It’s a frustrating place to be in. 

I’m beginning to think if I don’t find a job here in Des Moines soon I’m going to set my sights for Massachusetts and start looking for a job out there. It’s where I’m going to end up, but if I’m having little luck here maybe a move sooner than planned is worth the thought.

My graduate school is waiting patiently for me to finish my undergrad so I can start my graduate program.

It would appear my laundry is ready to be folded. I’ll post again soon. Ta ta for now!



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Twitter: @rivkashrodt



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