Sexual-psychologists have found that the more oestrogen a woman has, the larger her eyes and the fuller her lips. A woman’s lips are therefore sexually attractive to males because they serve as a biological indicator of a woman’s health and fertility. A woman’s lipstick takes advantage of this fact by “tricking” men into thinking that a woman has more oestrogen than she actually has, and thus that she is more fertile and attractive.
Source : wikipedia
Seriously, what the fuck? This isn’t a jealous statement of hatred towards an obviously very successful young man. This is a statement of astonishment of the fickle, childish behaviour of these self-titled ‘Beliebers’. For starters, that title is absolutely pants. What is that even supposed to imply? That you are so musically-ignorant that you rate a tone-deaf, half-arsed, talentless, little, canadian squirt who doesn’t even look like he’s hit puberty yet? Let me address why I attribute him with these accolades before anyone decides to lash out. Tone deaf - his singing is so badly out of tune that the auto-tune can’t help him. Half-arsed and talentless - he’s made out to be this super gifted musician - ‘the best drummer in the world’, don’t make me laugh. My two year old niece could play a better drum solo with just her feet and some cooking pans. As for not looking any older than a 6 year old girl, well that speaks for itself. The stupid hairstyle just tops it off, next it’ll be eyeliner and tutus. Is it true he takes oestrogen and progesterone pills to stop his voice breaking. I think this is just further proving my point about the whole not hitting puberty thing. These are the same pills women take to stop themselves getting pregnant or to control menstruation. Point proven methinks.
So ‘beliebers’, sort your sorry selves out. Take a look at yourself in the mirror. If you’re a silly little girl thinking he’s hot, I’m sorry to break the news to you - he’s more woman than man. If you’re older than 13 and still think he’s hot, maybe consider buying a gerbil or a cat or something if you want something to pet.
Has anyone ever had physiotherapy for endometriosis?
I’ve just been referred for it, but because my oestrogen is out of control I was too upset to listen to my doctor after having my 50 millionth pelvic examination. No idea what it would involve for endometriosis and I’m starting to worry it will involve Ann Summers style equipment. If anyone knows please write in my ask!
Also I’ve been told to go on the injection or Cerazette now the combined pill has stopped working for me. Which is most effective?
Whenever I look around the trans regions of Internetland’s various social network venues there’s always a fair amount of “Omg I’ve been doing hormones and testosterone blockers for just over five minutes now and nothing is happening, halp!” (seasoned with light exaggeration) and, you know what, it’s entirely understandable.
You wait for years to pluck up the courage to be what seems to be the one dissenting voice amongst a million happily-served Gender Binary customers that when you finally do stand up and shout “Hey, get me the manager, this is boolshiiiyit!” who wouldn’t want stuff to start happening straight away? We want it yesterday, dagnammit!
We all know that Rome wasn’t built in a day but there must have been someone high up in city planning saying “Look, all I’m suggesting is if we just get a few more contractors in here we might start getting a move on! Look, the signwriters have done their job! I’ve got a room back there stacked to the ceiling with ‘ROME’ engraved stone and you’re not even started on the viaducts yet!”.
I like to think I’m old and wise enough to play the patience card though; the long game; other metaphors. It’ll happen when it happens, you know? Not that I haven’t been tempted to overlap the use of the oestrogen patches, leave the outgoing one on an extra twelve hours after applying a new one to squeeze every drop of delicious chemical from them.
I’ve also worried, on account of getting my fix through transdermal patches, that they’ve not been doing anything for me. I’m either sticking them in the wrong place or getting superstitious about which side of the body has the best absorbtion. I’ve walked under ladders without a care in the world, crossed paths with black cats and broken more mirrors than I can care to remember then turned round and laughed in the face of fate that such things might actually matter, but I’ve taken irrational thought to religious degrees when it comes to the placement and positioning of small transparent patches. Crazy.
Because the changes are so slow, they don’t get spotted so easily with the naked eye, and I am far too lazy to get into a daily regimen of measuring and graph-drawing. But other things happen to make changes clear like working during winter wearing a skin-tight top under my work shirt and discovering, rather irritatingly, that unless tucked in the bottom hemline fabric was getting into the habit of slowly riding up and gathering around my waist. Well hello there, miniature hips!
The principle yardstick for gauging development, however, is still the breasts as if anyone would ever consider such news a surprise. At this point the progress is far too minor to be considered in need of a bra, although a little too perky to get called “m*n boobs”.
The aches aren’t quite what I expected, far from being the dull thud of foreground pain there’s extended moments of tingles and throbs which to me was just like tiny notifications that work was being carried out. “Hey it tingles!” “That means it’s working!”. That kind of thing.
It’s also worth noting that the left breast seems to be getting a little ahead of the right but that’s to be expected, breasts are rarely the same size and although light chest hair is slower to grow back and finer, it’s still occuring which is mildly annoying. The paranoia that I look like Captain Caveperson overrules the basic fact that it’s barely visible but I still know it’s there. And that’s what counts. It’s still early days.
All in all it’s going really well, in fact I give oestrogen four and a half out of five stars. Quotes for the poster: “Rip-roaring!”, “A barnstormer!” and “Cool ranch dressing”.
ps. I dragged the “hrt60” post in for an overhaul and, large chunks of rewrite because it had been bugging me for a while how dreadful it was.
(this account of day 90 on hrt was published on day 182. Please excuse my laziness)