Utter craziness.  This week:  insane.

My back went haywire on Sunday, necessitating long spells on the couch.  Wife returned to work on Monday.  It's Wednesday.

Yes.  Yes, dammit.  Yes, I have been crossdressed, stoned and more or less continuously hypnotized since late-Sunday.  Wife is a believer in the analgesic value of weed, so I have been using it rather-beyond-liberally to treat both severe back spasms and some lingering symptoms of heterosexuality.  She actually brought the vape over to the couch, where I was installed in a pink nightie with a forlorn look on my face.  "Do you need the grinder, dear?"  I'm in heaven!  

Wake up.  Get stoned.  Cross dress.  Go into trance.  Repeat.  Several days of it.  

The only, um, challenge in this perfect scenario is the already excessive use of weed as a sexual catalyst, which has reached a sort of physiological saturation.  I don't seem able to get properly high anymore.  Obviously I need a break, a protracted break, but the situation is too perfect and enticing, so I vape.  A nearly continuous flow of vape keeps me dull, happy and aroused, but - as evidenced by the fact that I'm typing this - hardly stoned.

So, in a testament to the resourcefulness of the addicted, i made cookies!  They're gluten-free, one-bowl, quicky cockolate chip (the former spelling was indeed an entirely unselfconscious Freudian slip, but I'll leave it!) cookies.  I'd give them a 6/10 on the cookie scale, a bit dry and not sweet enough, but they do contain all of my remaining green butter.  I gobbled seven of the little buggers when they were fresh from the oven - about 30 minutes ago - but I have no idea of potency.  Oh, I have hope, but no actualy information.  

Truth to tell, I love the feeling of being a THC time bomb.  (Attention Federal Authorities:  the use of the word "b-o-m-b" was in this context metaphorical.  The author wishes to express a peaceful nature and espouses no ideological message.  Gosh, I wish I lived in a world where the necessity for subtext like this was actually a joke.) 

Anyway, having spent much of the last two weeks stoned, crossdressed and tranced, I still marvel at what-the-fuck has happened to me.  I completely unraveled.  Sissy faggot freefall.  It happened on the day - there were probably several - when the sign on the resistance vector changed.  Formerly, I was dressing and playing and gooning over faggot porn, but somewhere inside was an instinct to resist.  I may have occasionally let things get close to out of control, but I always had my foot on the brake.  That changed.  

There have been a few singular instances of stoned-dressed-tranced that have been literally transformative.  I recall walking around afterwards, muttering things like, "Holy fuck!" to myself.  It was the stunned feeling of realization akin to having tossed a match out the window of a moving car, you suddenly see a forest fire in the mirror.  I did that!  Uh oh!  The intensity of the experience was simply overwhelming.  The male persona broke.

I used to write that 'I broke'.  I don't even relate to the former "I" anymore.  He was male.  He resisted.  He broke.  "I" am a sissy faggot.  That's my gender; my identity.  Sissy faggot transvestite brainwashed mind-fucked feminized submissive hypno-slave.  

Well, that's how it feels.  There is a female identity here now.  No.  There is a more feminine identity now.  Sitting here, behind "my" eyes.  This person isn't the result of social conditioning, bullying, humiliation and programming.  This femiinine identity arose for the same reason that a salmon swims up stream.  Okay, the blossoming of feminine identity took conditioning, humiliation and programming, as well as some good drugs, but it's different.  This, here, now, is how I feel like I am.  This is what was waiting to get free.  

/heidi