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.
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 Most are out of date.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.