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Part of the value of this journal to myself, is that I have some difficulty articulating what I want to communicate verbally, but if I take the time, I can clearly convey what I want to communicate in writing. In fact, I enjoy writing, and when I do write, it pleases me immensely.

I am Vanida Corazon Kemaktun Plamondon, born Vernon Richard Paul Plamondon. As a young adult, I was quite passionate about writing, whether or not I was writing fictional or non-fictional stories.

Unfortunately, as I grew older, and as I experienced more emotional difficulties as I became more disconnected emotionally from what makes me, me, my ability to write became more and more stunted, until I could no longer write with any decent ability at all, and no longer wanted to.

Many of the stupid things I have done in my life were the things I have done as a way of acting out when I have been experiencing emotional turmoil such as anger, frustration and depression and other emotions, I would start to move towards caring less and less about the consequences of my actions, until I was very self destructive.

Over the years, as I dealt with many of the underlying issues bothering me, I continued to keep my desire to be a woman hidden, so although I was beginning to reduce my tendency to become self destructive, I could not rid myself of the tendency, as I continued to hide and suppress a part of who I was.

Vanida's Journal came into existence, when I recognized I was on the verge of my snapping point, that I was becoming completely overwhelmed by the difficulties I experience in life, and I was beginning to care less and less about my well-being.

I saw that even though I was doing well financially, socially and most every other way, I was fighting a strong desire of wanting to be a woman. I knew that if I was doing well in life, but I was on the verge of my breaking point because of something that was bothering me, I knew I needed to face that issue head on or I was going to self-destruct and ruin my life.

I did not understand and I never before understood why I wanted to be a woman, and the adage “born in the wrong body” never rang true to me, because obviously you don't get to choose what you are born as, and no one ever will.

I had to understand why I wanted to be a woman, or I would never be able to figure out what I wanted to do, and the only thing I could think of was to sort out my feelings and write it down.

So for the first time in a very long time, I began to write, and I continued to write. I wrote the prelude and the first two parts of this story, and I understood what I wanted. I went to see the local mental health care worker and I asked for and got help.

It was a long time before I wrote anything else, as life carried on and I slowly sorted through what I learned, and began coping with the new issues I was experiencing in life. When I began to understand what I was doing, I sat down and wrote about it again. I discovered I could write again, that I wanted to, and that I was once again passionate about writing.

So let me tell you a story about Vanida Corazon Kemaktun Plamondon, who began to discover who she really was in January of 2010, let me tell you her story. Don't be afraid to laugh or cry with me, or experience any other appropriate feeling, as I open up my heart to you, the reader.

Chapter 1 - Familiarity With Pain

Pain. I'm not a stranger to pain, physical, or emotional, except that for the most part, only by empathy, dreams or memory have I experience the latter for a very long time.

I remember what it's like to experience an ear infection, root (tooth) infection, migraine, being nailed through the foot, having my hand sliced open, slamming into a brick wall by my head and landing on concrete stairs, wiping out on a motorcycle at about 40 kph on a gravel road, being in a Ford Bronco with no seat belt in a rollover, my buddy pinning my leg between a tree and the rear wheel of a three wheel ATV, flying over my bicycles front wheel (pothole) to land on cement, falling from the top rung of an unsecured ladder to land with my ankle twisted in the ladders rungs after landing with the ladder, having my legs swept out from me to be nearly knocked out landing on the floor or cement numerous times, play-fighting with friends where we actually hurt each other intentionally (I once choked a friend into unconsciousness, and a couple of other friends DDT'ed me so hard I was knocked out, threw up later, and hence they started calling me stew-pot, getting my tongue frozen to a metal tank, getting my thumb slammed in a car door, getting my bare foot slammed in car door (a couple times actually), seriously hurting my knuckles punching a door open, being smoked in the back by a baseball bat, being clipped on the head by a hockey stick, being smoked in the head by a baseball, getting bagged more times than I can remember, having my hand squeezed in a vice (on a bet), receiving minor burning by intentionally placing my hands in hot water (on a bet), playing knuckles with boards (and winning), pounding cinder-block wall until my knuckles were bloody, letting friends practice pain causing techniques learned in ninjutsu, and these are the injuries I really remember, and does not count all the lesser injuries I no longer remember, or the ones sustained while drunk (apparently, a security staff of six at my former college dorm could not subdue me during a drunk where I had alcohol poisoning).

Even through all that, I have never broken a bone, and though I appreciate the durability of my body, I don't appreciate the fact that it has led to arthritis having started plaguing me in my late twenties. Though it usually doesn't bother me other than being in varying degrees of pain on a regular basis, there were a couple of times this last year where I was in enough pain where I would just curl up in a ball and cry. The worst thing about having arthritis at a young age is knowing you will be dealing with it for a long time, more pain as I get older, and if I take good care of my health, the less bad episodes I will have, but also have a longer life span to have more life time to have arthritis.

Having experienced such a variety of pain, such pain still only holds a candlelight to emotional pain.

Chapter 2 - Who I Was

I remember with clarity, feeling like the ugly pudgy kid, I remember I ate more when things distressed me, contributing to a painful body image I fervently tried to ignore. I remember stealing and hoarding girls clothes, and the shame and dirtiness that dressing up caused me.

When I had my growth spurt, I felt like I had turned into some horrible masculine monster, I remember when I realized I looked nothing like a girl. I can still feel the pain when I burned the stash of tiny girl clothes I had that no longer fit me. I can still feel the pain when I decided there was nothing I could do about it, and decided I had to start being a man.

I could, and still can, act like a man, I stood up to the people who would push me or my friends around or would try to bully us, and despite our tight little clique being pretty nerdy, eventually everybody respected us and nobody would pick on us.

Despite my size, you really couldn't get nerdier than me. At one time or another I was in the science club, chess club, rocket club, badminton club, ping pong club, the reading club, and generally any short lived club that started up, I played casual sports during lunch hour and regularly after school during the times not allotted to the sports teams. Me and my friends also played Dungeons and Dragons on the weekends, had regular card games of various types, did a lot of hunting and camping (shooting and drinking, but we tried not to do so together as that bred unsafe stupidity).

I always knew standing up to bullying was the right thing to do, as it let the victim and bully mature positively, but it was always very emotionally painful for me. For one, it was always quite painful, and still is, whenever I needed to assert myself, even when I saw the necessity. I also found it quite painful to realize someone did not respect me unless I was tough enough to make them respect me, as I saw respect as something that would make life so much easier for everyone if it was not earned but freely given.

It was easy enough for me to see that the root of the problem for some guys who had trouble with women was simply that they did not respect women, or even worse they objectified them. Though not knowing why at the time, respecting women only seemed to make it hard for a girl to see me as anything but a friend. Having this attitude was painful for me, as I never had a girlfriend as a teen, and I new it was not manly to feel this way.

I worked hard trying to control my emotions, and it only made it worse when I lost control of them. I remember coming home to cry sometimes before I had many friends, thinking nobody liked me. I remember the homicidal bursts of anger I had against my brother when he would provoke me to beat him up, (not too long ago, I actually learned my sister thought I was protecting her from him). I remember sometimes hating life enough to want to end it.

I can still remember when girl who didn't seem to like me sat on my lap and she and the class laughed at my arousal, and I remember how much it hurt to be used that way, to be made to feel dirty, to realize I was so horny, brushing against a tree the wrong way, would arouse me. When one of my classmates grabbed my penis, I went completely ballistic on him, screaming at him for touching me that way, to say I was homophobic would be an understatement. I recognized the feelings of being violated as very emasculating, especially when I thought I should have been happy a pretty girl wanted to sit on my lap earlier.

I began to masturbate when I realized that it was the only way to sate the constant state of arousal I would have otherwise been in. I felt shame in being so weak as to not be able to control my own body, but I hated being horny even more, and I felt bad about hating something I thought I should revel in. I thought I was screwed up because I didn't want to screw every girl in sight, and I thought there was something wrong with me for wanting to find the right girl and waiting until marriage before having sex. I realized I was a closet romantic, and that bothered me just as much as anything else, because while manly men should be romantic to their women, they should not be harboring romantic fantasies such as waiting for marriage before sex, fantasizing about weddings, romantic movies about man meets woman, dream homes, what my future children would be like, what I could do to raise them to be great people, and the great things my family could do for society. To put it simply, I thought I was frakked up seriously.

To make my confusion worse, I knew I would be compelled by my own romanticism to honestly admit to a girl I might get involved with what was wrong with me, something I felt I was too cowardly to do.

I remember the first time I tried to kill myself. I had walked to our family's cabin, I had tied a rope to the ceiling rafter, climbed on to a stool, made a noose, put it around my neck, and stepped off the stool (I guess I forgot to put this on my list of physical pain I've experienced, but remembering this has nothing to do with physical pain), and when the rope started to choke me, I started to freak out and started to thrash about trying to get back on the stool. I got my foot back on the stool just before I was starting to black out. I frantically fought to loosen the noose and get it off my neck, and I don't even remember how I did it, and I fell to the floor to cry. I wanted to die, and felt even worse when I believed I was to cowardly to end my misery. I eventually cried myself to sleep. That next morning, I dug through our old clothes stashed in the shed there, until I found a particularly ugly yellow turtleneck I hated, put that on to hide the rope burn and scratches, and went home.

I've only told one person about that suicide attempt, when I was in my early twenties, when I was getting some counseling for clinical depression. The counselor actually dismissed the attempt as minor because obviously I wasn't really trying to kill myself because I didn't succeed. I knew then, that even though he seemed to be sincerely trying to help me, he was flat out full of bullshit. I know that if I had known then, how to properly hang someone, or if the stool had gotten knocked over, I would not be here today. It was painful to learn someone you were depending on to help you, wasn't going to be much help if they were going to dismiss the emotional pains you've experienced, and influenced your decisions that were leading you to the trouble you needed help with.

Eventually, in grade's 11 and 12, my final years in school, I actually had a blast. Me and my friends had formed an odd lunchroom clique, even with odd rituals like fighting over one of my buddies extra pepperonis he'd take out of his pepperoni sub, and like I said before, nobody messed with us any more, especially when the smallest of my friends, who was maybe 90 pounds soaking wet went completely postal on one of the high school bullies. I tell you, it was an amazing sight to see one of the largest guys in school actually afraid of the smallest guy in school (and that's saying a lot when our high school was 8th grade to 12th grade, having been a small community).

Just like any other cliques, we enjoyed high school parties like anybody else, and even though, unlike most nerds, we were well respected by the guys in school, it didn't seem like many of the girls respected us.

When the last semester of high school was coming to an end, it was coming to the time for the grad dance (like prom), and I didn't know who I was going to go with, but I had noticed the girl about my younger sister's age who had started hanging with us at lunch time, but how could I not notice, when no other girl gave us the time of day. I asked her, and she said yes.

We went, and even though I was aroused when we danced, I could not act on my feelings, and nothing other than having a nice time happened. We really didn't talk, I didn't know what to do, and I think she was shy, or I turned her off. Though I never told anyone, what should of been one of the best nights of my life felt like a great tragedy, and I felt like a failure because I apparently had no clue how to be a man. That severely emasculated my ego, and showed me that no matter how masculine I acted, I couldn't be manly where it counted.

Somewhat painfully, I realized I really wasn't attracted to women, and I wondered if maybe I was gay. I realized I really wasn't attracted to men either, and it was devastating to realize I was in some kind of sexual preference limbo, because I had no idea what I was attracted to. I realized if I had simply been gay, I could just start going after men and I would start sorting out those issues later. Unable to deal with this confusion, I buried all those feelings and confusion, and decided I was probably only going to be attracted to my soul mate, and I would know for sure when I met a woman I knew I would want to spend the rest of my life with.

Though this confusion plagued me off and on for the next decade after high school, it didn't play much of a part in those years as other more serious problems engulfed my in my young and stupid phase of life.

Immediately after high school, the future looked like it could be sky's the limit, and me and a couple of friends were heading off to SAIT for school. Though at the time, college was a blast, it didn't turn out so well. I was going out drinking too much, and my poor study habits were screwing me up (I coasted through high school on brains alone, I never did any homework).

One particular night I was at my friend's apartment, and they pulled out a bottle of tequila, half a bottle of rum, and I can no longer remember what else. I remember us starting to drink, but I can't remember anything after that. The next thing I remember, was coming awake tied to a bed, in a hospital robe, curtains drawn around the bed, and a man, who seem to remember wearing a suit, was sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed. I must of still been drunk, because I honestly remember believing I had been kidnapped by the government, or some other shady organization, in order to be experimented on. I loudly and violently let the man at the foot of the bed know that and what I thought of them (even if I could remember what I was yelling, it probably is not suitable for this story), unfortunately being tied to the bed didn't let me do anything except thrash about and scream until I passed out again.

The next thing I remember was coming to to violently dry heave until I passed out again.

When I woke up again, finally come to my senses, I realized I was in a hospital, and considering how disturbing my prior memories were, I was surprised to realize I felt decently well. I was looking for my clothes when a nurse stopped by and doubtfully asked if I was all right. I told her I felt fine, and asked how I got there. She told me she didn't know how I got there, but I had been treated for alcohol poisoning. I asked where my clothes were, and she told me she didn't know, but if someone was thoughtful enough, they might of stashed them under the bed.

I got dressed, and got the nurses desk to call me a cab, and they gave me a cab voucher, and told me to keep the hospital robe I was wearing to use as a jacket since I didn't have my jacket. I had that robe a long time, and I still miss it from when I lost it, as I wore it and treated as a safety blanket when things were tough, because of how I had acquired it, it made me feel protected.

When I walked through the main doors at the dorm one of the guys looked at me and yelled "Holy CRAP man! (not his exact phrasing) You're okay!"

Surprised by his reaction, I asked him what happened, since he obviously had some idea. He told me how they had found me wandering the halls in a deranged state, six of the security guys had tried to subdue me, and when they couldn't, they called the police, and the police had came and hauled me away, which explained why I got tied to the bed.

I headed to my buddies apartment to find out how I got into the state. When he opened the door after I knocked, he yelled "HOLY CRAP, [name censored]!!! (again, not his exact phrasing) YOU'RE OK!"

When I asked what happened he told me the large amount of alcohol I had consumed, and how I got paranoid about them being demons, they were afraid and locked me out of the apartment once they had tricked me out of the apartment. Now, I remember the aftermath of this episode pretty clearly, because it had clearly demonstrated to me I had a drinking problem, and though I didn't quit for years afterward (and fell off the wagon many times when I did) the memory never left me and haunted me until I did quit.

The rest of the semester did not go well, and I failed the semester.

I didn't deal with that so well, but I eventually re-enrolled in college and I went to the Devry Institute to attend Computer Engineering. I passed the first semester, but my poor study habits, clinical depression, insomnia, and my poor sleeping habits made it difficult for me to get up at reasonable time caught up to me and I failed the second semester.

Since my landlady only rented to students, I had to get a new place, so me and one of my buddies went and got an apartment, it was a bit of a dump but it was a roof over our head. As the economy was in a recession at the time, I did not find work other then sparse temp work, and after I realized that after selling most of what I owned, and that my roommate would never come up with the dough for his half of the bills, I desperately needed to get out of the situation I was in.

In the middle of the night, I grabbed a hammer, and I went to the local mall, planning to break into a store and grab some stuff to sell. At one of the stores glass doors, I wound up and hit the door with all my might. Imagine my shock when the door not only did not break, but the steel shafted hammer had BENT. Completely stunned, I just collapsed, sitting on the sidewalk curb, and all I could do was sit there dumbfounded.

Eventually I was roused from that state when I saw the flashing lights of a police cruiser approaching. All I could think to do was stash the hammer in my backpack and hide behind a pillar. Of course when one of the officers walked around the pillar I went the wrong way and walked right in front of him, shocking the hell out of him. I don't remember exactly how the officers reacted, but the end result was me being ordered to lay on the ground, hands behind my back and me being handcuffed. The pair asked what the hell I was doing, I told them, to their complete disbelief. When they retrieved the hammer from my backpack, all they could do was laugh. I don't remember what they said, but I remember feeling I had to have been the worst criminal in all of the universe for all of recorded history.

After a short conversation I wasn't privy to, they told me they were called to check on an alarm that had went off, probably when I had struck the door, and since there had been no actual break in and entry, they were going to charge me with possession of break and enter tools.

Having never been to jail, it seemed like a surreal experience to me. I believe they brought me to the station (the entrance was an underground garage type entrance), and I was brought to some sort of waiting area. There was a woman handcuffed to the chair, I don't remember what she was saying, but she was cussing out the cops something serious. I remember someone asking if I really broke a hammer trying to break into a mall, and I told them yes. After some time I was brought to another area.

I had been enjoying a card game called Magic: The Gathering which had just came out, so I came up with a half-baked scheme to get myself to their headquarters in Renton, Washington, present my ideas for their game and apply for work with their company.

I don't remember where the Greyhound trip brought me to in Montana, but I sold everything I couldn't carry, and that's where I went. I then hitch-hiked my way across the country to get to Renton, Washington. Let me tell you, if you're even a marginally imposing guy, it's pretty long wait between rides when hitch-hiking. I almost waited a week before I got picked up for the first leg of the trip.

I made my way to the Wizards Of The Coast Offices and I gave them my ideas and my application for work. I checked back several days later and they informed me they weren't looking for any new employees. I realized then, how screwed I really was. I was in a foreign country, not sure if I could even legally work there, and I had no more money. I was sleeping in fields outside while I was there, but it was that day it finally chose to rain.

I walked until I found a local 24hrs coffee shop and I went inside. When I was sure the staff wasn't paying me any particular attention, I grabbed a coffee cup from one of the tables, and went up to the counter and asked for a refill. Cold and shivering, I stayed in one of the booths of the coffee shop overnight, and I was glad they were compassionate enough not to through me out into the rain. In the early morning hours one of the girls brought me soup and asked me how I came to be there and I told her.

That day, I wandered the area until I found a field between two warehouses, found some old palettes and made a makeshift shelter.

For about a week, I collected cans and bottles to bring to a recycling center to be able to buy fast food to get by.

After a week of this, having barely eaten anything, I gave up. I made my way to my field, crawled into my makeshift shelter and started to cry, only wanting to lay there until I died from starvation. I don't know how long I lay there after I had cried myself out, but when it had been dark for a good while, I felt a presence enter my body, and I knew at that moment, without a doubt, that there was a god, a Creator, and I could not deny his existence anymore when his very spirit had touched my soul in order to comfort me and hold me (spiritually). I began to cry again, and at some point I asked for help to be sent to me. I cried myself to sleep.

I awoke to someone addressing me. I believe he was saying hello. I don't remember what was said exactly, but he was a police officer and he was telling me that the property owners had complained that there was someone sleeping in the fields, and he was here to ask me to leave because the property owners didn't want to be responsible.

Since that time I have grown spiritually and mentally, as I have come to recognize that there is a Creator, a greater power who has created all of existence and whom loves all of us deeply, and has a plan to deliver us from our own evil, and bring us into his loving embrace.

For a short period of time, I felt truly happy, as I had been granted some spiritual enlightenment, but it did not last. It was not long before I was shown how deeply corrupted all the worlds religions had become, and I saw that the Creator's children did not live in the world the Creator desired for us, and that we truly lived in a world of our own making, and in the same way that the children in the story “Lord Of The Flies” have created their own nightmare, we have collectively done the same.

Since that time I have done many more stupid things, as I seem to have a talent of learning life's little lessons the hard way. Despite the fact that my confusion and desire to be a woman bothered me more and more every year, I kept those feelings buried and suppressed more than ever.

Occasionally I would dress up as a woman, but that would usually end up with me spiraling into a strong depression as my perception of how ridiculous I seemed to look sunk in.

Chapter 3 - What Do I Want

It wasn't until recently when I figured out I truly wanted to be a woman. I could never figure out what I really wanted. Did I just like wearing woman’s' clothes? Did I have a case of gender envy, that is, if I became a woman, would I eventually get bored and decide I wanted to become a man again? Was being a woman just a persistent fantasy, a fantasy without meaning, something I wouldn't have the willpower to act on? Was the desire to be a woman just a way to embody the qualities of my idealized mate? Did I feel like a failure as a man, so I should just become a woman? Why did I want to be a woman? What was wrong with being a man? Why was I arbitrarily assigned a gender without my input? Why was gender fixed? Why couldn't we try both genders out until we knew what we were more comfortable as? Why didn't I feel like a woman trapped in a man's body, why didn't I have that particular feeling that would make things so clear?

Obviously, with this much confusion in my head, and having not sought out professional help, I was in a state of sexual identity limbo. Until not too long ago, I didn't have the mental or emotional tools to sort out this inner conflict, but that all changed when I had an epiphany, a revelation from the Creator. It was not possible for me to resolve this inner turmoil until I understood who I am.

At first, it was difficult for me to see who I was, as all I could surmise was that I was the sum and result of my experience and choices in life. I was missing something important that was stopping me from really seeing who I was. At some point in time not too long ago, I figured out that what I was missing, what I was failing to see, was that although we are the sum and result of our experience and life choices, the other part of who we are, is our hopes and dreams. All I had to do was understand where I have been, what I have done, what choices I have made and what I have learned from them, and then look at what I hope to do, the things I want, the life I want, then I would know who I am, and I wouldn't be confused anymore.

What are my hopes and dreams?

I want to build and create things with my knowledge, my skills, and my own two hands.

I want to build a home, to live in, to entertain friends and family, and to call my home.

I want to build my home with renewable energy power sources, to be free from reliance on the grid. I want my home to be small and inviting, so it is also easy to clean and maintain.

I want fair compensation for the work I provide for others.

I want to help my friends and family when they need help.

I want someone to love, someone to come home to at the end of the day, and share my day with. I want the one I love to hold me when I'm upset, when I need comfort, or when I just want to be close. I want to share the things I build and create with the one I love. I want to laugh, I want to play, I want to do daily chores, I want to plan for the future, I want to work to solve our problems, I want to debate, I want to share feelings, I want to flirt, all with the one I love. I want to touch, caress, feel against my body, kiss, love and please the one I love. I want to share my life and my soul with the one I love.

I want to wear comfortable shoes, tight jeans, cotton underwear and a cute comfy t-shirt.

Once in while, I would like to wear a pretty dress, hot high heels, sexy stockings, lacy underwear, tasteful jewelry and hairstyle, to go out and have fun, but mostly, to feel sexy.

I want to look forward to each and every new day, with wonder and awe at the new things each day will bring, to have new experiences to look forward to.

I want to regularly experience joy again, to love and enjoy life like I haven't in a long time.

I want to be healthy.

I want to go to exotic places, and ordinary places, with someone who loves me and whom I love.

I want to learn ballroom dancing, but I don't want to lead.

I want to learn figure skating.

When I learn to skate, I want to play hockey.

I want my own workshop, equipped for woodworking, and basic metalworking, so I can tinker and create to my hearts desire.

I want to write, to tell the stories that my heart and mind are yearning to tell.

I want to be able to express myself clearly, without wondering about and searching for what I want to communicate.

I want children, and at least one daughter, so I can share with her in her childhood the things I did not get to experience.

I want to see her wonder and joy as she learns and discovers every great happy moment a child can find.

I want to be there to protect her, teach her, appease her pains, and give her guidance.

I want to hug her, hold her, smother her with love and kisses, and embarrass her in front of her friends.

I want to get her a puppy, that we can train, play with, and raise together, a puppy that will grow up to love her and protect her.

I want her to tell me how her day went, and I want to cheer her up if it wasn't all she had hoped.

I want to be there to see all the important moments in her life, her first step, her first word, her first birthday, her first friend, her first boo-boo, her first laugh, her first tooth, and so on.

I want pretty things, like a beautiful canopy bed with smooth, comfortable sheets and blanket, and a gorgeous bedroom set of dressers, with a lovely vanity and a large armoire.

I want some stuffed animals, and flowers, and other pretty things to make my room more comforting and inviting.

I want to hunt, and camp, and fish, and I want to a little cabin to enjoy such activities in.

I want pink stuff, without feeling guilty for liking pink.

I want to get married, and I want my dream wedding. I want a white, satin, strapless gown with an a-line silhouette, with a lacy bodice, with pink accents and a pink bow, with a short train, and a beautiful tiara with a gorgeous lace veil. I want a huge wedding cake, and an elegant, tasteful wedding dinner. I want my bridesmaids to wear beautiful, pink or purple, bridesmaids dresses. I want a ceremony outside, on a beautiful day, under flowered arches. I want to give myself to the one I love, in front of all the friends and family I love, and commit myself to love only the one I love for all of time. I want to show the one I love to my parents and family. I want to meet the friends and family of the one I love. I want to dance with the one I love, for the last time before we make love for the first time.

I want to share my faith, with those who care to listen, and want to fellowship with me.

I want to be a woman, so I could enjoy the things I want.

I want to tell the people I care about, that I want to be a woman, and I want them to continue to be loving and accepting of my wishes, despite any reservations or bias they may have.

I want the people I care for to be free of hurt, or shame, or anger, or pain, or negative emotion of any kind, because of what I want.

I want to continue in and enjoy woodworking, carpentry, and my idle tinkering, despite the cultural masculinity of such activities.

I want to be free from feeling like a big, ugly, hairy ape.

I want to lose enough weight, so it is possible that I could become a woman.

I want to get laser hair removal, because I hate shaving.

I want facial feminization surgery, because I want a more feminine face.

I want hormone therapy, to become more feminine.

I want SRS, because I want to be a woman.

I want my own breasts, but I don't want big breasts.

I want to believe that before my time is up, the creator will bless me and allow me to attain all my dreams.

Finally, I want to be me, I want to be the me that I have been trying to hide for all my life.

When I looked at everything I wanted, what my hopes and dreams were, it became obvious to me, that if I wasn't working to fulfill all my hopes and dreams in my daily life, I was stopping myself from being me. I also became aware, from experience, that if I sought out a dream, and it didn't work out, it didn't mean I had wasted my time, or that I wasn't being myself by working for that dream. Whether or not the dream is attained, or whether or not the dream turns out to be something one is not comfortable with living with has little to do with being oneself. Working to attain one's dreams is what makes us be who we are, regardless of what the final outcome.

I understood then, the importance of the real life experience, to those experiencing gender confusion, such as myself. I now know that until I go through the real life experience, I will never resolve to a satisfactory degree, my gender confusion. To understand that I want to be a woman, and work towards that goal, will allow myself to be who I am, regardless of whether or not in the end I decide I truly am more comfortable as a woman, or I was experiencing some sort of fantasy.

Knowing this, then, all I need to do, is act on my needs, and start working towards what I want, to start truly being me. I need to seek counseling I need to start dealing with my body image issues. I need to start working on my body's health to start bringing it closer to my heart's desire. I need to come out to my loved ones and deal with the repercussions, if any. I need to start living as a woman, when I'm ready to take that step. I need to start hormone therapy when I'm ready for that. I need to start working to fulfill all my dreams.

I don't know when I'll be ready to take the first step, to come out to my loved ones. As I have been starting to understand who I am, I have just recently begun to reconnect with my emotions.

I am afraid. How will my parents react? How will my brother and sister react? How will the rest of my family react? How will my employer react? How will the community react? Can I take it if any of those whom I love won't accept what I want or ostracize me? Will the Creator bless me with the strength to endure what hardships coming out may entail? Am I making a mountain out of a mole hill? How do I come out? How do I spare myself and my loved ones unnecessary pain?

I had thought the ability to experience genuine emotion had escaped me, and as I reconnect to my emotions, it terrifies me and saddens me. A few times since I started to reconnect to my emotions, I have had moments when I just wanted to lie down and cry.

As this overwhelming emotional pain seized me, I begun to write this story, about how I came to this point. The first ending to this story was a fictional ending to a true story, because if the option were available to magically become a woman presented itself in real life, I would have taken it, regardless of consequences.

At first, writing this was a way to deal with that, unexpected, emotional pain. As I wrote, the things I was just beginning to understand about myself, sorted themselves out, and the emotion subsided, to be replaced with contentment, another emotion I have not experienced in a long time.

At this moment, I have actually lost about 15 pounds, since I consciously started trying to lose weight, and I feel healthier and actually feel happy (it feels like I opened some kind of emotional floodgates). More importantly, I look in the mirror, and I don't feel as much like a big hairy ape, and I see that there might really be a woman hiding in my reflection, struggling to come free.

As I begin this journey, to reconnect with who I am, I am sharing this story so that others could learn from my experience, to know that the only escape from one's confusion of their personal identity (this is not exclusive to the transgressed) is to become a sociopath, and trust me when I tell you, you don't want that. I realize now, discovering who we are involves trying the things we dream about, and acting on the things that engender confusion in our minds and emotions.

To deny that, is to deny who you are, or may become. I am not saying, however, that making ones life choices in order to be true to oneself does not result in hardship, pain, and conflict, because it does. It also results in personal growth, joy and maturity. Believe me, denying one's self does not spare you any hardship, pain, and conflicts, but it does guarantee unwarranted pain and misery, with lesser personal growth, joy and maturity.

I also intend to share this story to those I will be looking to for help on my path to (hopefully) womanhood. I have difficulty trusting a professional, who may or may not be able to be up to the job of providing the mental and emotional assistance I seek. They can read this story and know where I've been and where I want to go, and have a decent idea if they can provide me with the life tools and support to continue on my journey.

Finally, I want the ones I love to read this story, before I face them about what I want. I don't know how they'll react. I am starting to understand that I am afraid of how they'll react, that they won't love me anymore, that they won't understand how I am starting to feel, or won't try. I am afraid that when I need them, they won't be there. I am afraid they'll read this story and they will think I am a monster, a freak. I am afraid because I don't know how any one person will react.

I fervently hope and pray I have been making a mountain out of a mole-hill.

As I have begun writing this journal (for lack of a better description) I am reading a caregivers story by E.E. Nalley, Guardians of the Gates of Madness, and it moves me emotionally in a way that I haven't expected. The spacers of the caregivers company undergo a process that makes them female, completely, even able to have children. Mentally and emotionally I know that the current normal means to become a member of the opposite sex is a difficult and time consuming process, but if I do so, I still will not be able to birth children from my own body. I am beginning to feel quite a bit of emotional pain in knowing that is not a possibility for me, and will likely remain an impossibility in my lifetime.

If there was a way to become completely, truly female, I would jump at the chance, damn the consequences. I'm not sure why I want the ability to become pregnant, and I don't exactly understand why it's so painful to know that isn't likely to happen in my lifetime.

Chapter 4 - New Conundrums, Life Goes On

It has been a long time since I have started to write this journal, and many things have happened.

I have went to see the mental health care worker in my small community, and even though it was very difficult for me to do so, I told her I wanted to be a woman and I was coming to her to get help, before I completely fell apart emotionally and mentally and did something I regretted (again).

I have only felt the feeling of complete terror only a handful of times in my life, and as I sat there in her office, struggling to tell her why I was even there to see her, that is the feeling that unexpectedly overcame me. Fortunately she was quite understanding, and as she reassured me that I could tell her what I wanted to get help for, I began to tell her I was there to get help for a problem I had been keeping buried a long time, and I eventually told her I wanted to become a woman, all the time fighting my urge to escape and never expose my vulnerability.

When I told her, even though I was an emotional wreck, I felt as though a huge burden had been lifted. For the first time in my life, someone else knew my secret, and I could start on the path to allowing myself to be completely, truly, me.

Since then, I have been to see her to talk about my goals and plans, and recently I have been to see her and the local doctor, to tell the doctor what I wanted to do, and to ask him to look into hormone treatment for when I am ready to start hormones. Additionally, I am on the list to see the psychiatrist when he visits the community, so that I can begin to undergo evaluation on a regular basis, such that whenever I become ready for the next stage in my treatment, the evaluations and referrals I would require would be available as needed.

Surprising myself, as it turns out, the help and treatment I am seeking, has not been as important to me as actually going to get help and treatment, that getting medical help has not been as important to me as actually deciding to stop hiding parts of me, and embracing those parts of myself that I have denied and becoming wholly myself. I'm not saying I no longer want to be a woman, and in fact I want to be a woman more than ever, but I have come to understand that becoming a woman is not the goal, but rather, fully embracing who I am, who I have been, and who I want to be, is what I truly want.

A dream I recently had best illustrates the conundrum I am in. As is usual in most of my dreams, I was a woman, and I attacked a savage wolf, bent on destroying it. I fought the wolf with every ounce of my being, mortally wounding it and driving it off, but not before it tore me open, ripping apart my breasts, and destroying my genitalia, and I awoke from the dream just as I lay on the ground, dying.

At first, I thought that the dream was about me trying to destroy my volatile anger, and that it in turn destroyed me. I realized after truly trying to understand the dream, that the wolf represented my masculinity, and that if I truly tried to destroy it, I would in turn also destroy myself and my femininity.

I felt that the Creator was trying to tell me if I tried to destroy my masculinity, I would end up destroying myself and my femininity. This of course caused me to, again, question if I was making the right decision, by deciding to pursue the goal of becoming a woman.

Fortunately, I have come to learn, that like the Creator, whose image we are created in, that we are all male and female, and generally men are more male than female, and woman are more female than male, and though embracing the femininity and masculinity opposite ones birth gender may rise in insecurities, it would be trivial for most men who are mostly male and most women who are mostly female.

Personally, I feel that there are less female to male transgendered people, because it is more socially acceptable for women to embrace masculine traits, than it is for men to embrace feminine traits.

Of course, I now had to look within again, and decide if I was more female than male.

Unfortunately, I could not come up with a truly objective way of determining if I was more male or more female. As this issue caused me to question if I really wanted to be a woman or not, I was getting quite frustrated.

Eventually, I figured out that the answer was within the question itself. The answer could only be determined by embracing my Femininity and Masculinity, and seeing what I was comfortable with. Even though in my heart I am one hundred percent certain that I can only be myself by becoming a woman, I still have to embrace what masculinity I have.

As a quick example, both the mental health worker and doctor wanted to know if I wanted to still be a carpenter if I became a woman. I enjoy carpentry and woodworking, and I don't want to give up the trade, even though the trade is a somewhat masculine trade. Though I often fantasize about being a secretary or a nurse, I see that many aspects of those careers, are things I could not personally handle very well, and I do not wish to.

So in other words, to answer the question, I just have to be female, without giving up the masculine traits that are part of me, and the answer will present itself. There is no need for me to know the answer now, as the answer will become clear and apparent when I go through the real world experience.

Already I have some idea of what the answer is, though I have no way to be certain, because though I have had no luck in the past losing weight in order to become more feminine, I have been slowly and steadily been losing weight ever since I have decided to seek help, because I am now acting on what I want, what I want is part of who I am, I am embracing who I am, male and female, and I have begun to believe I can be female if I want to, and I want to with all my heart.

These questions of femininity and masculinity bring me to my second conundrum. I could move to a large community like Edmonton, and I could change my identity, and I could become a woman anonymously, or I could remain in my small community and go through my transition openly, without hiding it from the community.

If I go through the anonymous route, I cut myself off from friends and family, and I put myself alone in the world, always keeping a secret that is always at risk of being revealed anyway. If I go through the transition openly, then I will be subject to discrimination, ignorance and various other hardships, but I don't have to remove myself from my friends, family, and community.

I have decided I am going to go through my transition openly, mostly because I value my friends and family, and I'd rather be subject to discrimination, ignorance and various other hardships, than cut myself off from my friends and family, even though I may be at the receiving end of such things from some of my friends and family.

In small part, I want to go through my transition openly, because I believe if society was more open to men and women embracing their masculinity and femininity, I might not have had as many difficulties in my life, because I might have been less likely to act out in destructive ways, because I might have embraced my femininity.

Chapter 5 - A Good Friend

When one moves to a new community, even if one has much family there, one usually doesn't have any friends there and must make new friends, which is the situation I found myself in when I moved to my mother's home community.

I have made friends with much of the people I know here in my community, and I have become good friends with a couple of my cousins, one who is my coworker, and one who I become close friends because I helped her out and I ended up telling her that I wanted to become a woman, because I desperately wanted someone to talk to about womanly things, and she has ended up helping me out immensely, just by being someone I could talk to about what I'm going through, and whom I could be myself around.

Oddly enough, it started when someone vandalized her TV satellite dish, and threatened her family, because as the local postmaster, they thought she was stealing their mail. Of course they waited until her husband was out of town and she was more vulnerable.

Messing with any of my family is not something I like, so I started crashing on her couch and staying with her on the weekends when her husband wasn't home so she would feel safer. Of course, when there, we would talk about the situation, and she would vent to me about the things in her life that was bothering her.

Truth be told, when someone wants to vent, and share their problems, I want to listen and be a metaphorical shoulder to cry on, because that’s what women do, and of course I want to be woman. I also know a woman isn't looking for a solution, she just wants to vent. Of course, if there are obvious or workable solutions to the problems, I will present them when the time is right. I don't know if the last part is part of women do, because I have to date only two close woman friends.

I do know, generally, that when a man vents, he's usually really saying; “I got a problem, can you help me figure it out?”, and it seems to me when a women vents, she's really saying; “Somethings bothering me, will you listen?”

I don't usually like it when guys vent their problems to me, because it feels like a lot of pressure to come with solutions to their problems, when they still need to work out the solutions for themselves anyway.

I feel more myself when a woman shares her problems with me, because there is no demand to do anything other than listen, and reaffirm that what she is thinking is right, and she is not being ridiculous, or mean, or bitchy, or anything else, for thinking such. I know just by listening and allowing herself to sound out her problems, she is going to work them out for herself. Sometimes, I have to point out the obvious, so she can get on the right track.

Needless to say, very few men share their girlfriend/wife/other problems with me, since I'm going to side with the women most of the time anyways.

So yeah, when a woman wants to vent their feeling to me, I'm going to listen, because it makes me feel more like the real me, so when my cousin started to vent her feelings to me, I listened, even if she had to talk til three in the morning (which she did, sometimes).

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