‘today’s weirdness is tomorrow’s reason why’

I can see why no one writes about this.  Why no one blogs about their transgender transition after the ‘I’m OK’ stage, when they drop off the face of the earth.

It’s because you basically drop off the face of the earth.

 

The moment you give away your old wardrobe, when you run out of mascara for the first time, when you find yourself standing in the social security office and declare yourself to the federal government to be a woman – and it’s not even a big deal – everything changes.  It’s as if I had never done anything in my life.  That I’m here, now, born yesterday or whenever, I don’t even know.  Everything is new and my body feels 1,000 years old, as if I’d been this way forever, like I had never known myself until now.

Now it is all I can do to make my credit card payments.  It’s the mundanity that slaps you in the face – that I need to adhere to this schedule handed to me from someone who apparently planned all of this out.  I try not to think about it too much.

 

Because to think about where I am is to break.  Under the weight of lost friendships and family and dreams and time.  To not know who I am or ever hope to know – to know I will never be part of most everything I see, to be alone.  To know that I cannot stand being touched.  To dwell on this is loss.

 

I found myself explaining that I’m stuck this way, and that I can relax now.  It’s true.

 

to understand

I write in this blog and read from it.  Occasionally other people read it too.  It’s where I seem to be sometimes.  Not a lot of information.

Why do I do it?  I wanted to express myself as a woman, to exist and write something non-technical.  It’s a notebook, and I’m trying to understand.

 

What would I say today?  That you’ll never understand trans people?  Because I really want to say that.  Because I think it’s true.

But I want you to understand, because I don’t want to be alone;

 

It’s like any other kind of life, only without clearly defined relationships.

It’s like meeting other trans people and misgendering yourself “because you don’t want to be an asshole.”

It’s knowing that anything is possible.

 

But all I can really say is this:  If someone tells you they’re a gender – a different gender – believe them.  Believe them with all of your heart and know it is true.  Then you’ll understand.

 

too tall

Being trans, but not very outwardly trans, is strange to me.  I don’t feel like I can share the first thing about me, my gender, because people don’t understand and it becomes irrelevant.  This is my experience sharing with others who are not very close or BFF.  They say, “that’s interesting” or, “that’s great” or something awkward, and nothing changes.  They still relate to me as a man.  I could walk into my workplace every single day and say, “hello everyone, please remember that I’m a woman.”  And I won’t be heard, only seen for what I apparently am, a man.

 

I paint my nails once or twice a week.  I paint them with a semi-matte polish.  I started using two coats.  It’s not too glossy, not too clear.  And I am sad.

Is this my female identity?  My nails and a cute haircut?  A silver ankle bracelet that Leia (my girlfriend) gave me while we were on vacation?  My trans girl blog?

I search for answers to these questions every day and sometimes I write about it.  Fluorescent lights glint off of my nails as I type, reflected in the glare of an iPad.  It feels risky, reckless.  It scares me to write in my blog.  But I don’t want to live in a world where I’m afraid to speak my mind.  So I do.

 

It feels like the only way for the world to see me, to understand me, is to transition; to do the paperwork, take out loans, jump through hoops.  To deal with the lawyers, the doctors, the litany of painful and risky medical procedures, voice therapy, walking lessons.  To accept sterility, liver damage, sharply restricted access to medical resources.  To risk failure and the prospect of detransition.

And I hear that hormone therapy is a beautiful homecoming.  I believe it.  I dream to be reunited with something, chemicals to match my neurology and what-all.  I have no idea.  Maybe no one does.

This is all very painful to think about.  And my loved ones are rightfully distressed.  I fear that I would be dead to them if I transitioned.

 

And I’m too tall.  Maybe if I were an inch shorter, maybe twenty pounds lighter.  I don’t want to stand out, because few women are taller than me.  And many women that are taller seem to have transitioned.  They freak out or stare daggers at me when they notice me notice them.  Sorry.

 

it got real

The world makes less sense than it did three weeks ago.

I read some other trans girl blogs.  Most are out of date.  I read Trans Girl Diaries.  I don’t laugh, but am fascinated, terrified.  I search for queer blogs and am overwhelmed by a universe of noise.  All-in-all, I am struck with the sense that my life will not become better.  Things may not get worse, but they will not get better.  This is not entirely a result of reading about SRS and HRT and contemplating a life of isolation – the fact that my life will be nothing like the movies.

My GF is having reservations about my girl-ness, serious ones.  I check my phone, is it Wednesday already?  I can’t believe it.

 

I sit awkwardly at work and write this.  I don’t know why.  My mind is restless.  My schedule is full.  I need to perform experiments and make phone calls and fix machinery.  My coworker acquaintance from another building keeps asking questions about how stuff works on this floor.  I try my best to act naturally (yes I know, I shaved this morning and I have girl lips…  and girl hair.  Please stop looking at me I’m trying to write about it) but I’m sure I give myself away somehow.

 

And I’m pretty sure my GF wants a real man.  She said so.  I know I’m a girl but I still take offense.  I’m not a ‘real’ girl and if I’m not a ‘real’ man then I’m not a ‘real’ anything.  Technically, someone in my position can use the pronoun ‘they’ as in epicene they.  Instead of, “she went to the store” you can say, “they went to the store” if the person’s gender is unknown.

I feel nauseous.  I am not they – I looked this up some time ago and cried myself to sleep.  Yes, I’m pathetic and TMI all around, but I don’t give a fuck.

This is today’s lesson in grammar that no one uses.  You also shouldn’t use semicolons.

 

june 3rd, 2013 (on a monday)

From my journal:

“I think often of what to write about in the blog, of when it will be indexed, of what people will think, what it will do, whether to pull the plug.  I feel healed by it though.  I feel like it just doesn’t matter when I look in the mirror.  I looked myself in the eye this morning, pointed to my eyes, and pointed at the eyes in the mirror, whatever this means.  Literally, it means, “I see you” in an aggressive sort of way, but this was playful.  In place of nail polish (I had an allergic reaction to the feed me basecoat last night I think) and feminine hair (there’s really no getting around my hairline or the fact that my hair just wants to be left alone for the most part), I feel like just knowing who I am and putting myself out there is enough.  As I wrote yesterday, it has to be…  at least now, in the moment.  Things may or may not get better, but I need to realize myself right now.  I see you.”