I stretch in a futile attempt to straighten my spine. I try to touch the ground.
just give up
I stretch in a doorway. Maybe my shoulders will get narrower.
you’ll never be more feminine than you already are
I stand on one leg like a dancer and stretch my leg behind me. I knew all those years of ballet would come in handy.
The dishes are always piled up. The mail is always piled up. Clothes, trash, scraps of to-do lists.
I’m always one laser treatment away from taking my drivers license photo. One paycheck away from starvation.
And I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t.
I can’t keep up, but I’m cutting it somehow. And I need to cut it tomorrow and every day beyond tomorrow, if I have any chance at anything.
I stand in the flattering light of a women’s washroom. In a science building, this is like an executive lounge – pristine and empty.
just give up already
I’ve never really lived for today. Every day was a dissociative fugue, a hope for something better, because how could it not be better? But now I’m present, which is obviously exhilarating and all, but it’s unexpected and unexpected things have been happening.
It’s as if I took a cloud of gender dysphoria and condensed it down and made it a physical thing, which can be avoided and assumedly dealt with.
In the meantime, I shower in near darkness and dress with my back to the mirror.
When I slam my fist into my bathroom vanity armoire cubby, it doesn’t budge.
I’m physically weaker.
I’m reminded that this is a big deal and it’s absurd to focus on physical, superficial details.
I’m reminded to give it time.
I used to sleep well.
Tonight there’s this bespectacled teenage girl asking me why she can’t be a scientist. Telling me what to do.
Is that what I’m like? I’m annoying.
One thing about being a woman, being subconsciously perceived as a woman, is that every woman on the planet feels totally okay with telling me what to do. From my mom to my trans mentor – if I’m not paying attention, it’s like I’m dead to them. A kind of universal disappointment, a unilateral no confidence vote.
Femininity is a heavy, heavy thing.