‘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.

 

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falling

I promised myself that I’d entered a new phase of my transition, where I don’t need to make any more major decisions, just cruise wherever.  I guess that’s true, but the process doesn’t stop.

An increased dose of finasteride obliterates traces of testosterone derivatives from my bloodstream.  The veins in my hands have faded and receded, and my fingers are noticeably fleshier.  Someone quipped that I might be able to sleep on my stomach again, someday.

 

My nightmares are not so vivid anymore and I can sleep.  It seems too good to be true.

But I’m blindsided by a sudden loss of some component of my identity, then immersed in paradoxical need for both quiet and emotional support.

 

I wish someone would’ve written about this shit in a little more detail, because I did not see this coming.