Sarahjanus's Blog

December 31, 2010

The last day, the first day

December 31st, it is the last day of the year and the first day in two weeks that I have been alone anywhere other than the bathroom. My reprieve will be short-lived. The house has its own Machiavellian nature. The last child standing went away for a few days to spend time with his friends. He returns today at noon. The last of the company went out the door this morning so I get a teaser of peace and quiet, not enough to indulge myself with dressing, just enough to be able to go around and turn things off or down.  I shall exit the year with the same frustrations that I began it.

I’m doing a careless thing this morning. My own laptop is closed and off, a victim of the constant shifting of articles to create space temporarily for the need of the moment. I’m too lazy to set it up and turn it on, so I’m writing this blog on the common desktop. I’ll have to be certain to save it somewhere secure and move it to my own drive later. This is the kind of detail I overlook and later regret. How many people have done the same? How many cross-dressers have been outed by failing to clear e-mails or caches? The devil is in the details.

It’s just so nice to be able to sit quietly and let Sarah have a moment. I can let the tensions of the past weeks slip away. I’ve acknowledged before that esteem issues are part of my package of problems. Christmas is one of the high stress moments when I second-guess my choices of gifts for people, how much effort I put into the process and the amount of money I spent. Spending is a double-edged sword. How is it that I can spend so much money and still feel that I’ve been cheap?

I’m not a happy bubbly personality. I haven’t been “out-going” for decades. I continue to turn inward more and more. People comment on my blank gray flat visage. I absorb the criticism because it is accurate whether or not one believes that they are entitled to speak. I can’t change myself and if I can, I don’t know how.

As I travelled to social gatherings or received people for gatherings in our home, I watched the women. I took note of how they were dressed, of how they had accessorized, and how they had done their make-up, (a lot, a little, too much, not enough, the right amount in the right colours and the right places). I wondered if certain dresses came in my size? Would I like those boots at the end of the evening if I had to wear them all night? What would I have done with my hair, my jewelry? Which of my dresses would I have picked? If I dressed full-time, would I be taking the same short-cuts as some, wearing jeans and sweaters or would I bear the flag high and true and put in the full effort as some others still do, always do.

If I were a woman would I be a happier person? Would I feel that I fit in better? Would I be more natural in that role than the one I occupy? If I came “out”, and dressed full-time, would I still be welcomed at all the same gatherings and social moments? I long to be in that environment even as a caricature of a women.

For 2011, I wish that every-one may find their inner peace, a sense of success in their lives, a measure of contentment with who they are and the ambition to help others find the same things. I wish every-one a happy New Year, with a sincerity that I haven’t felt in decades.

Sarah Michelle Janus


December 7, 2010

Under-dressed and wore women’s jeans shopping

I wrote a quick post this morning out of frustration. I cannot convey to anyone other than those who also dress, the feeling of peace and comfort that I am imbued with, when I dress. This morning started as a near perfect day. The house emptied and I dressed. I wore pantyhose under the leggings because it is winter here and my feet seem to feel warmer in shoes with nylons, than without.

The sweater top was clinging to me. The wide belt at the waist was snug around me. I felt like I was securely wrapped in my own clothes. Not to mention, the snugness of the bra and the light weight of the forms. I put on a pair of heels. Even for walking about the house I wanted the pleasure of the heels rather than the comfort of the flats.

I was the complete picture, truly at home in clothes that match how I feel. I began the tedious task of sorting through e-mail and either saving it or disposing of it. That’s where I was when I was summonsed to be the taxi again.

I wrote the short post and went off to change. Now, I’m sure there are many cross-dressers out there who saw the option before I did, so I’ll let you have your “told you so”. I put away most of the outfit. It’s in a drawer rather than its storage box because I will be back into it tomorrow. As I was about to peel off the nylons, the penny finally dropped. Why am I not under-dressing? So I left the bright red panties with the bows, on. I left the nylons on, and I took out my women’s jeans to wear over them. I grabbed a pair of gender neutral runners and was out the door before I could take it a step too far.

I gathered up the last child standing and off we went to comparison shop for something he is intending to buy. We shopped through 4 big box stores including a Walmart before we returned home. I don’t think a single person took note of the jeans in any way, shape or form. I know this isn’t much to mention but it does show where my mind is going as my dressing progresses. I get more and more comfortable with female attire and accoutrements, so I very gently push the boundaries of where I am prepared to wear them.

I would have been in trouble today if my wife had decided that I needed to bring the last child standing to lunch. She would have picked off the jeans in a mille-second and I would have been on the hook for an explanation that doesn’t exist.

I will have to try the jeans again with a camisole and/or bra under the coat to complete the effort and, maybe the pants shoes that I have and have never worn.

My exam is over, my course is over, and my program is complete. I’m a bit lost. The continuing education has been a part of my life for some time and has always been present during my retirement. I have always had a pile of textbooks that need to be read, posts that need to be written for discussion boards and so on. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with the extra time in every day.

There are some sharp rocks ahead in the river that is my life. Next week, all of the children (and their wives, significant others, interest of the moment and children) arrive home for the Christmas holiday. Not only will the peace and tranquility of the house be shattered on a never-before-seen level, but the chance of every-one being out at the same time, providing me with an opportunity to dress, is infinitesimal. It is so small that it counts for nothing. And, there is not going to be an opportunity for me to gather up my clothes and flee for a few hours. People will be arriving and leaving from next week until after the New Year.

Once the New Year is over, I have only a few weeks of regular absences of the last child standing before he is home during the day full-time and working evenings and weekends. With him home during the day and his mother home in the evening, I don’t see any easy opportunities in the foreseeable future. I can see myself running away on the filmiest of pretexts to get time dressed.

The alternative, of course, is to out myself and establish some time to exist. It’s an option that once was beyond consideration. Now it is a possibility that lives in my thoughts every day. What would my life become? How would I live? Would I find the happiness I am seeking? How destructive would my wife be in her hurt and anger? Can I avoid this forever? Isn’t it inevitable?

I don’t think I can put the genie back in the bottle but I am worried that this is just another of my self-destructive fixations. The therapist that we went to during one of our efforts to understand me said I had a pattern of sabotaging anything that looked like it might produce happiness for me. Apparently I don’t believe that I am entitled to be happy and when happiness appears on the horizon, I do what I can to sink it long before it can arrive. Sucks, but there is a ring of truth to it, I know from long experience that I am afraid to allow myself to be happy because as soon as I do, something nasty happens.

The Frustration of the Canadian Public School system

Filed under: crossdresser — Sarah Michelle @ 10:13 am

After every-one left this morning, I took the opportunity to dress completely from head to toe, including light make-up. I gathered my coffee and settled in at my computer to do some file house-keeping and check my favorite websites. I believed I had hours to myself.
Then I get a call from the last child standing.His school is closed. There is no one there, in spite of the television updates to the contrary. I’m asked if I can come and get him. Of course I can. I can’t leave him standing outside an empty school in the falling snow.
Off I go to take everything off, and put it out of sight before I run to town and collect him.
My quiet morning is gone. More on this later. My future is looking bleak for a closet crossdresser. My sleep is disturbed by dreams and fantasies of what might be, what might never be.

December 3, 2010

A letter to my wife

A short letter to my wife; it is truly unfortunate that you are not Sarah’s friend, or even aware that Sarah exists. In my own strange way, I wish that we could be friends. I know what your feelings are about effeminate men, and I know what your feelings are about men who make dramatic life changes. So the chances of you and Sarah being friends are next to nil.

Today I felt an inner beauty that is new to me. I would have liked to share the feeling with you. I know, other considerations aside, that you would understand the emotion and the importance of it. You, who are so in tune with your emotions would have appreciated the moment.

After a morning in which all of my appointments and engagements fell apart and the morning seemed to be lost, I resorted to Walmart for mental refreshment. I wandered the aisles, gathering groceries as I saw thing we needed and I shopped the shoes. There was a pair of size 10 heels, a muted gold strap with three cut glass ornaments down the front. I could use your line here; they called out to me. Actually the shoes called out before I even knew that my size was there but I resisted. I have too many for the amount of dressing I do as it is. Besides, I’ve sort of told myself that my next shoe purchase needs to be a pair of boots that I can use between leggings and skirts in the colder weather.

I did find a simple sweater that I bought. It is that open front style that is popular right now, with a handkerchief hem. It’s very lightweight but I did need something for wearing in the house because most of my tops are short sleeve and lightweight material. I’m left feeling chilled often.

As you now know, the last child standing decided to hang out with friends for the day, so the house was mine for hours. This was an opportunity I didn’t expect but was certainly going to enjoy to its fullest.

Once home, and out of the male clothes, I took out the green houndstooth dress. It’s a really comfortable fit across the bosom and through the waist but it is just a touch too short to be completely comfortable. I matched it with the newer gray metallic tights and the black patent heels. The necklace from Ardene, cheap as it is, was a perfect match, green baubles on a series of silver chains. The sweater finished off the outfit so that when I looked in the mirror, I was truly pleased with what I saw. I sparkled from the inside out.

There was no make-up and no wig, but in spite of that, I really liked the look and would have happily gone out to the mall, short hair and all. It’s too close to Christmas to rock the boat so significantly by going out in semi-dress close to home.  I wish you knew of my dressing and were at least tolerant. I would have been out the door in a flash if you knew.

I moved around the house in comfort all day. I got a good deal of work done on the computer. It’s too cold and I’m dressed too formally to work outside but I wish I could.

You have asked me so many times what it would take for me to be happy, and why it is that I don’t seem to know. Well, now I know and unfortunately what it would take for me to be happy would make you very unhappy.

At the end of the day, I had to put the clothes away and resume my public persona. You know from the telephone chat how bright my soul was while we talked. I was singing the praises of the afternoon sun, with its cold near-winter brightness. I waxed eloquent about the big snow-flakes drifting down through the light. I wish I could tell you why I am happy and how I could be happy so much more often.

My wish for the moment is that I can take the lightness that comes with dressing and carry it into my drab side. There is more irony for me in describing male attire as drab than there may be for most. Truly, my male life is drab. My female life is so much brighter, peaceful, and comfortable. I know that you are happy now and that it is significant after all we have been through. I know you are wondering why I’m happier at the moment, fearing that it has nothing to do with you, and fearing that your own happiness will be short-lived. I’m walking a tight-rope here. I’m happier on the tight-rope than I was when I wasn’t.

I wish you could be Sarah’s friend.

December 1, 2010

Letter to a sister lost; for now

            One of the facets of being neurotic, (apparently) is that your emotions are unstable. A neurotic is easily knocked off whatever emotion they are experiencing by minimal stimuli. This is what happened to me yesterday. I was driving back from my painting class and I was in a wonderfully relaxed mood. I have been making progress in this particular class and I find that the pastime causes the hours to fly by.

So far I haven’t let anybody-else see my work because I recognize the very juvenile nature of my efforts and I prefer to develop some skill before I open myself up to criticism. I guess that’s another facet of being neurotic.

Anyway, I was enjoying the drive home yesterday and feeling particularly girly even though I wasn’t dressed, not even under-dressed. The mood was on me. I wanted to have a conversation in the car with another woman. I wanted a woman to woman talk. I wanted to have someone in the car who would accept the far-fetched premise of me being a woman and just run with the moment. That was the basis for yesterday’s blog; a letter from a make-believe woman to a non-existent sister. When I got home, the feeling was still present and strong so I opened up a page and began to write. It was going to be a gushy almost Valley-girl narrative. I used the opportunity to tell my little joke, the one I have been dying to tell but never remember when I am writing.

Then I told about my wife’s not being receptive to the idea that a man can declare himself gay after 20 years of marriage to a woman, and that spun me off-course, as it is beginning to now. I lost the girly mood and wasn’t able to recover it. It has taken until now, almost 24 hours for me to recover it.

So, my letter to a sister who loves me as I am; I missed you yesterday. I really wanted to have you in the car with me. I was coming home from painting class, I know you’re laughing already, me painting. My skills require a small roller and a big drop-cloth, but I’m trying to learn. And no, you’re not going to see the paintings until I’m comfortable with the result. But the effort put a song in my heart and you know how rare that is.

I wish you had been with me. We could have shared a latte from Starbucks; I know you’re a sucker for those. They’re more fun in the summer when we can sit outside and carve the passers-by for the fashion faux pas. You make me laugh with that dry wit of yours, so quiet, so cutting.

And then, I drove by Winners. I drove right by. I didn’t stop to even browse the racks. When I think of how much stuff I’ve bought in the past few months, I almost feel guilty. So much of it is summer stuff so it’s going to sit in the drawer til next year.

But we could have gone in, just for the walk-around. You have a pretty good eye for stuff that works for me. Have you seen all the shoes I’ve accumulated, I mean, what am I going to do with them?

I have to end the letter here because it isn’t flowing the way the mood did for me yesterday. Yesterday I was light-hearted. I did have that song in my heart but I didn’t have anyone to share the moment with. I’ve been diagnosed as being clinically depressed and I am on a prescription for that. I am a flat-line emotionally on a day-to-day basis, apparently due to PTSD. I have forgotten how to laugh and I don’t even know how to smile anymore.  When I was taking the photos that I posted in and Facebook I struggled (and failed) to find the muscles that would let me smile.

So, having a song in my heart was a “red letter” day. I wanted, really wanted that accepting sister to be with me and share the moment. I am a closet cross-dresser whose wife will not be accepting and understanding and facilitating. If she finds out I will be alone. This is the cruel irony that passes for my life. As a female, I can find the joy in moments that I cannot find as a male. As a female, when I dress in the morning and set about my chores and my work, I am at peace with myself and I am lighter in spirit. As a female, I can open up and let emotions bubble to the surface and across my face.

When the mood is upon me again, I will write my letter from a make-believe woman to my sister who understands, and I will post it here because sharing is something that Sarah does. Friends are important to her. Thank you for reading

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