6.5 months post op diary

My energy is totally back. It really did take over six months. I remember back to four months out, when I had just completed stage two, and all I could do was attend to basic functions and try to make it to work and back safely. Now, I’m doing home repairs and making plans, ready to get back in my doctorate program. I took leave from everything in the middle of my semester last year…

Between my complications and the major physical and emotional trauma of everything, it has really taken until now even to consider going back. I now have the energy to clean, to do lawn work, to do dishes for the family after a meal. To notice when something needs my care and give it immediately. None of that came for a long time.

I watch my scars anxiously, wondering if they are changing. I scrutinize every angle. I am hard on myself. Today I remembered my chest didn’t really settle until two years post op, and here I am not even a year out obsessing over the color and thickness of scars, when I know full well that’s now how they settle. I want to let go of that anxiety. I talk to my therapist about it.

I am so glad I’m back in therapy weekly. I truly need it. I agree I am at risk for body dysmorphia, letting these small things about my body grow in my mind until they’re way out of scale. I showed my partner a bit of asymmetry on my penis, and they said no one else would ever notice it. But it’s tremendous in my mind. I just… Gotta remember that I’m not seeing things how other people will.

I love how it feels in my hand, the weight of it. When I’m alone, I drop it against my thigh for the pleasure of feeling the flesh reality of it. The clap confirms my still-developing sense that this has really happened.

Tonight when we were having sex– my partner was missionary over me topping– I just reached down and felt my penis in my hand. They probably thought I was stimulating myself, but I was just feeling the way it was really myself. I focused on the way the gyrating bellies of us stroked it, how I could feel my scrotum roll up and down a bit on those thrusts to me. I experienced two kinds of ecstasy– first my intimate physical pleasure and second my soul’s harmonious euphoria. From time to time I show these things to my mate, who finds them sexy and curious for their novelty.

18 more days until my penis tattooing for accurate pigments– but who is counting?

I find myself wanting to take more showers now. I enjoy being naked alone with myself again. I had never realized just how much dysphoria influenced my phobia of showering. (I could bathe but hardly ever shower.) Things are different in a deep kind of way, as if my life’s history has been rewritten as it should have been. Well, it has.

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