choosing to forget

Yesterday I wrote a lot.  I erased it.  I wrote again, erased again.  Erased, erased.  I deleted the whole file eventually…  made some checklists.  Walked to the store for some groceries; I think pop tarts look good on me.

I walked and chose to forget, almost everything, except some things I enjoy.  Convinced myself that seriousness is for losers.  I wish I could depend on this feeling.

Because I woke up this morning with tears in my eyes.  I hate that.

So I showered and cleaned myself and chose to forget, again.  Apparently it’s an iterative thing.

 

I wish I could have slept, but it seems worthwhile in my crisp shirt and comfy thrift store skirt.

 

Also, the hardware on my face draws my attention away from my facial hair, because I’m the only one who cares about my facial hair.

I told the piercer I’ve had worse.

 

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day 51

After about 51 days I realized I’m not like other people.

After a long walk, after I had time to get out of my immediate surroundings and think; I stood outside on a train platform even though it was freezing.  I leaned my back against the wall and rested my eyes, closed them, and realized I was crying.

I’m not like other people, I’m not.  I forced myself to open my eyes as I noted that my mascara isn’t waterproof and dabbed them carefully.

 

It is really, truly cold outside but I don’t care.  It actually takes the edge off a little bit.

People pass by, look at me and quickly look away.  I don’t care.  I’m crying because of the cold, obviously.  Or because I’m pregnant, or not pregnant, or was pregnant…  At least that’s what I used to think when I saw an extraordinarily sad girl.  I guess that has something to do with it, anyone thinking that would be somewhere in the ballpark of correct, I suppose.

But again, it doesn’t matter.  I’m not like them.  I tell myself it’s comforting.

 

Later, I’m walking through the crowds, taller than most.  Numb.

I can see it now; I’ll move soon.  I’ll take a new job in a new city and I’ll never breathe a word of what happened to me to anyone who doesn’t have their head between my legs.  Most likely, I won’t breathe a word of this to anyone.  And I’ll be just like them.

 

lucky

I sobbed silently over a scone wrapper on Leia’s kitchen table, the day after her dinner party.  Her sister found me that way.

“How are you doing?”

“…Okay…  I was just getting ready to leave.”

I excused myself.  She wished me luck.  I set out on a walk of shame so epic that I had to buy sunglasses and froyo.  I have got to stop traveling without makeup.

 

I guess a lot of girl scientists cry about their research.

I’m still not used to it.

 

I’m not used to a lot of things – women are so easygoing around one another, it’s absurd.  Form-fitting clothes break my stride.  Shaving reveals scars on my legs from 20 years ago, and a nasty varicose vein from that time I played The Sims 2 for 27 hours straight.

I want to get upset about that.  Transition is making me look younger, but I don’t feel younger.  I worry about every blemish, all of my virilized features.

 

I remind myself that I’m lucky to even be a woman.

 

losing track

There’s all of the stuff I’ve read about – I tear up when I miss the bus now.

‘Stop doing that.’

But something is very different about me.  It’s as if a glacier in my mind has finally found its resting place.  Things that would upset me, and seriously dog me for years – stupid stuff – I don’t really think about anymore.  And I’m not sure what I should be doing with my time.

 

I have a routine; work 45 hours a week, consume 2300 calories a day, sleep 9 hours a night.  Repeat.  It keeps everything moving, the result of obsessive worrying and planning, trial and error.  I kind of go along with it, but I’ve lost track of everything else.  I don’t know what’s changing and how or when anymore.  It’s a lot, and I care.  But I don’t really know.

I think it’s out of my hands now.

 

dissolved girl

I’ve been home for two weeks now, and I don’t know where to begin.

 

I’m talking with my Mom and she thinks that I’m a healthier person than I was a year ago, and that no one will relate to me as a woman.  This is uplifting and annoying – but I was expecting the worst, so I didn’t immediately absorb the impact of her words.

 

I’m walking down the street and for a second I could have sworn I was dreaming.  I spend the rest of the day wishing I was, and that I would wake up.

 

I’m hanging out with my Dad and I can’t tell him anything about myself, anything new.  He asks what’s on my mind and I tell him nothing, just some random memory.  It’s all I can do to keep from bursting into tears.

 

I see those Macy’s posters that just say ‘believe’ with their oddly beautiful cover girl and I wonder if she’s a real person.

 

When I get home and throw my pocket debris on the table, I notice this pack of gum.  It reads, “Neither just sweet nor just peppermint, sweet peppermint is suffering from a delicious identity crisis…  but he’s a little sensitive about it, so we’ll leave it at that.”  The inside is covered with graf-style Queen of Hearts and King of Hearts scenes of chaos.  And a strangely anthropomorphic pair of scissors cutting a playing card in half.  If you turn the pack upside down, there’s a manish queen with a Jay Leno chin, more chaos.  I was dumbstruck.

 

work, tears, music

I came home early from work today in tears, the kind of tears that don’t quite escape your eyelid and dry and make them all sticky…  And it hit me.  This is why so many trans people commit suicide.  It fucking hurts.  It hurts like hell, and no amount of love and understanding, no amount of self-awareness is going to get my body back.  Not that I ever had a female body, but no one ever said this shit made sense either.

I will never commit suicide.  I have shrinks and drugs and I wouldn’t put my people through that.  But I understand why people do it now, I mean I understood before, but I never just sat and faced the pain of this before.  I don’t want to describe it.

I have to go back.  I put on a pot of coffee and ate some cheerios.  I made this playlist.  It’s going to be ok.

 

The Bird and the Bee – The Races  (Please Clap Your Hands)

The Flaming Lips – Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, Pt. 1  (Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots)

The Beta Band – Human Being  (Hot Shots, Vol. 2)

The Bird and the Bee – Ray Gun  (Ray Guns are not Just the Future)

Metric – Raw Sugar  (Grow Up and Blow Away)

No Doubt – Just a Girl  (Tragic Kingdom)

Coldplay – Viva La Vida  (Viva La Vida)

The White Stripes – Girl, You Have No Faith in Medicine  (Elephant)