Logging into the blog account today, the notifications menu told me that I had reached my second anniversary.  I have plenty of other things to do today, but before I get on with whatever that is, and as I’d begun drafting a new blog entry, I thought I’d finish off the draft and post the final version up.

Firstly, I’d like to say a big thank you to those of you who took the time to so kindly comment on my last blog – I very much appreciate your understanding – and in any case, thank you for reading all or any of my entries over the last two years as well as those in the future.

The creation of this blog was always meant to be a way of expressing inner thoughts and feelings with absolutely no-one available to confide in, in person.  Despite everything that has happened, that is one thing that remains an ever-present.

I am left, albeit not all of the time, reflecting on an immense journey that perhaps I am still on.  I am at a loss to really understand why I allowed myself to be the way I was, not only since the tail end of last year, but, right now, at all.

Whether what happened over the last 13 years or so was right, wrong or indifferent, harmless infact, what it seemed that I needed was a jolt of arguably monumental proportions to – what you might call – ‘snap me out of it’.   I’ve had that jolt as documented in a previous blog.

Sure, crossdressing was nice, crossdressing was enjoyable and crossdressing was an occupying force over anything else that might ordinarily be a diversion or even a ‘must’ – crossdressing was an escape from the everyday grind and life’s stresses and strains.

But whether I enjoyed it or not, there remains one immense element that I certainly do not miss one iota.  Paranoia.  Sure – I probably inflicted that on myself to a very large degree but there’s nothing worse that being pre-occupied by guilt and sneaking around, watching your back – even though there was in fact, little to really watch, such was the military style method applied whilst I took up residence in the closet and the duration that I remained there.

The fact that I have emerged out of it leaving a previous life behind even makes me feel somewhat apprehensive to even write a blog entry, the subject of which usually remain secreted on a memory stick until published, when the draft is usually deleted once copied and pasted under the on-line persona.  Even the very existence of a draft on a memory stick is something that could well be discovered.  I remain susceptible to my own paranoia.

Apart from those occasional drafts, there is very little else tangible, practically nothing in fact, to evidence where and who I’ve been for all of that time.   Evidence of what I have left behind and what I may have ultimately suffered myself one day, was shown to me in recent happenings at home, whereby I watched, largely as a witness, but only occasional contributor to a rather heated domestic – one of the occupants of the house had done something (else) that they really shouldn’t have done and were feeling the wrath of my significant other.

I really didn’t want to enter the battle ring myself and had a very good reason to find a distraction as the decibel level climbed and the voices clashed.  Largely as a spectator,  watching the nature of the torrents of anger and fury, I concluded that I certainly did not want to experience that kind of wrath, the type that I had experienced once myself some time back when I had been found semi-naked, as I recall, stocking hanging off one foot at a time and in a situation where I should not have been anywhere near naked, the significant other having returned home suddenly having only just gone out, me having immediately set about crossdressing in the interim.  Yet I survived to tell the tale.

That never-to-be-forgotten moment was though, at the time, enough to kick me back on to what might be called ‘the straight and narrow’, a massive (and previously blog documented) purge followed, items of immense value consigned to a clothes bank in a neighbouring village.

My conscience is now clear.  I am a recovered crossdresser and see no rhyme or reason as to why I might fall off the proverbial wagon.   Good for me – “Well done!”, you might say.

But reflecting on where I am now, I most certainly do not seek to decry or trivialise those in society who continue to battle to be the person they want to be.  As I have said before, I have someone close to me who is undergoing gender reassignment much later in life – so I empathise and where possible, sympathise.

Crossdressing affected my life – for a very long time – a number of years, then not for the best part of 12 months, then intensely so for the best part of five months.   I really can’t imagine going back now.  Recent life events have made me look at my own existence in more detail than I ever have done before.

I look at the triggers that might have led me to indulge before and they are no longer triggers, they are merely reflective but otherwise heterosexual attractions from the opposite sex.  Lingerie clad mannequins equally no longer do what they did to me before.

I can reflect on my appreciation for wearing lingerie. I have no and have never had any qualms about being in the lingerie department of a department store or supermarket with my other half – whereas many men wouldn’t know what to do with themselves and would in fact, stare at the ceiling or anywhere, or their mobile phone, wriggle and shuffle uncomfortably, or even arrange to meet their other half elsewhere, just to be anywhere else.  That’s not me.

These days, walking in and seeing a store plan sign that says ‘Lingerie – 2nd floor’ (or whatever), no longer makes me either recoil in fear or crave and hope to be there and take as short or long a look as possible, whether we were to stop or merely pass through.  I can merely move on irrespective.

I have no hesitation in adjusting the other half’s bra straps when they are twisted as she dresses, (although perhaps many men help their other half do that), but with all of the above, whilst I will admit to some very inner most, but extremely brief moments of disappointment that I would/should no longer get to feel how it feels to wear one, it is not a motivator towards putting one on again.  It remains a bucket list tick now in the fact that I have appreciated the feelings in person.

There are many reasons why I no longer crossdress, but the main one is that, now that I don’t – I can enjoy life more, relax, not be at war with my own thoughts, when on my own or with others.  I was not at peace within during a large amount of my time crossdressing.  I have previously remarked on a ‘Jekyll & Hyde’ or ‘Angel and Devil’ scenario going on within, one telling me to do it, the other telling me not to – one voice frequently louder that the other as the two continued their tussle.  The ramblings of a mad man?  Perhaps but that’s the best explanation of how and what I was thinking.  I am now applying myself to other priorities, people and material things and it feels good.

However, many things remain of Fiona – my now muted alter-ego.   There have been no purges since I stopped – whenever I stopped (I no longer keep a record).  My outfits and my breast forms are hidden very well away, arguably too far away for even me to bother with – but they have not been thrown and perhaps they never will be.  Read into that what you will.

And yes, Fiona is still there in internet-land.  Account log ons and memberships are plenty, and whilst, on a strong day, I was able to briefly log into one and switch off the galleries and log out, that was a good day.

There are others – from a Twitter account to a couple of chat and webcam sites and an e-mail account.  Right now, I can’t bring myself to log into any of them to do anything with them to any extent, reviewing, dumbing down or removing.  It is just too soon.  Maybe it will always be too soon – and maybe they should remain somehow as a monument, an anonymous record as to where I’ve been, but all I know is, right now, even though I could go and take a look and tinker, as it is that easy whilst I sit here, I can’t and won’t go in.

In all honesty, I don’t want to allow myself to be drawn to even the merest of triggers and I feel that I could be drawn quite easiy.  I’m still the same person as I ever was – it’s just that my feelings towards crossdressing have been suppressed to the extreme.  However,  I concern myself that that I may be susceptible to elements of temptation of thoughts, not actions, and that one thing can lead to another as I found when I started crossdressing again – intensely so – late last year.

It really is all too soon.

Whilst I have much love and  remain supportive and empathetic to those struggling to be who they want to be in life, I am also aware that there are people out there, like me, perhaps even you reading this blog entry now, who are struggling to deal with what might be an addiction to crossdressing and are looking for help in moving on.

I have no intention of removing this blog from cyber-space.  I have read a great deal on the ‘net which has helped me, so if this blog helps someone else, then all the better.

You may be seeking some advice as to how I did it, or am doing it, how I suppressed and continue to suppress the addiction and thoughts, how I stopped and how I deal with things retrospectively and on an ongoing basis in my mind.  I am always happy to talk in response to comments to blogs and through the blog entries themselves.   As it has always been with how and when I write, I just need a starting block.

Ask me how I’m doing it right now and the words would probably be enough to fill a few books, so I’ll document things as I rationalise them in future blog entries.

As always, thanks for reading.