before the fall

I’m not sure what to write, because all of this is so damn bizarre.  Life is completely different than I thought it was.

 

There are stealth people everywhere, which is profoundly annoying.  I don’t know where to begin to describe this purely body language and eye contact interaction between trans people.

Stealthy:  I feel so sorry for you.  There’s so much I want to say, but I’m stealth and can’t risk getting within three meters of you.

Me:  Why is that person staring at me like they know me?  Why aren’t they looking away now?  Oh, you’re stealth.  Fuck you man.

 

It’s weird.  The only thing that isn’t weird right now is the morning, before anyone wakes up and it’s just me and my routine: stretch, coffee, shower, coffee, cereal/oatmeal, makeup, walk.

My mom is acting like I’m the daughter she always wanted.  My dad is acting like I’m dead but we’re still talking and he’s supportive somehow.  Life with friends is like nothing happened, which is nice, and weird in and of itself.

Everyone’s relieved that I changed my gender presentation, ironically.  But they still call me ‘he’, which is bizarre.

 

And I want to forget my life before the fall.  All of the memories of someone I used to know – someone who used to be me, somehow.

I’d heard of transitioning being like death, like dying.  If only it were that simple.

 

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a strange place

A transgender transition is a strange place to be.  I kind of hate myself, I kind of love myself, and I kind of don’t care.

 

Hate, in that everyone’s first reaction, everyone that knows me, they think I’m crazy.  They’re like, “His small mind has finally cracked – spectacularly – under all that pressure.”  And proceed to treat me like a very fragile person.  This makes it hard to look in the mirror.

Meanwhile, looking in said mirror, I love myself.  I feel more beautiful every day.  This is the first time that my body feels like it’s mine, and not some separate entity.  I have an irrational fear of waking up to find that none of this is real.

 

But part of me doesn’t care.  The fragility of love is clear to me – that it can be shattered with all of the ceremony of an egg dropped from a 30th story window.

 

I thought an egg could be so strong if you hold it just so and squeeze.

Silly rabbit.