what it’s like

I was getting ready this morning and there was an eyelash hanging from my eye.  I picked it up and held it for a moment.  What do I wish for?  Nothing came to mind, so I dropped it.  I must be happy, or at least satisfied.

 

I woke up this morning and noticed my skinny legs and the hair receding from my hands.  I noticed my vaguely unfamiliar face, I instinctively checked my earrings as soon as I woke.  The left one was bleeding a little the other night.  They’re new and they’re stuck.  I tried to unscrew the left one with a set of pliers.  No luck.  No backsliding.

I woke up and noticed that I’m different and I wondered why.  A thought bubble with just a “?”  No words, but why are my legs so hairy – It makes no sense.  I feel blessed and forgotten at the same time, “here take this.”

 

I need to pick a surgery soon, to find a regenerative medicine option, to figure out my life.  I wish my life came without assembly.  It’s like getting an oldschool dollhouse-in-a-box for christmas, what I always wanted, but if I got it I would have been disappointed with my familiarity with glue.

 

Advertisements

wish

Before I became aware of the first thing about myself, I swam.  I swam a couple of miles a week, one mile at a time.  I swam like the devil was chasing me.

He was.  I didn’t know it at the time.  It was 2012, it was winter, and I imagined myself to be a woman.  I put this out of my mind and kept swimming.

Spending so long in water, your muscles adapt, and movement through and across the water becomes easier; then very easy.  The heat you would normally accumulate burning 700 calories per hour goes unnoticed.

Your body develops its own intelligence, its own purpose.  Presumably, not to drown.  But it goes deeper than that…

 

I don’t swim anymore.  I wish I did.

I can’t stand it, because soon I won’t be able to for a long time.

 

my charmed lonely secret life

It’s 1:30 in the morning and I’m dancing in the kitchen with the shades drawn – getting down to funk music only I can hear.

I have a new haircut.  It’s beautiful.  It’s just what I asked for.

‘It should move.’

My stylist is a genius.

 

It’s girl hair.  It’s bad.  I wear it back most of the time when I leave the house.

Because people have a way of making you aware of gender boundaries, their boundaries.  It’s bad when people you’ve worked with for five years make a conscious effort not to stare.

I remember when I used to get compliments on a new haircut.

 

I remember when people knew who I was.

An old friend called out of the blue.  We were catching up.  I told him that I’m transgender and that I don’t have any good options, but that’s okay.  I told him as if I moved into a new apartment or something.  Awkward silences.  No one had ever shared anything like that with him before.  Why did I tell him?  Do I need a reason?  Didn’t I know this before?  No.

 

I thought I knew who I was.

I don’t think I could’ve handled any of this like five years ago.  If I met myself back then, I don’t know what I’d say.

 

I always wanted to write.

Be careful what you wish for.

 

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.

 

cis-topia

I never used to think about the inhumanely petite women, flawlessly airbrushed across the media.  I wasn’t worried about gender bias in science, or the sexism of it all.

And once I joked to someone, “You know, if you find yourself in a support group, then you know you’re in trouble.”  It was really funny.

 

Now everyone’s put-off when I wear a necklace that shows under my collar.  I want to scream.

I’m not a freak and I seriously don’t care!

I wish it was true.