This post involves a review of a sex toy and as such probably contains more than you want to know about me if we are acquaintances. Read at your own risk…
I’ve been up since 5:37 am. My partner is snoring beside me. I can’t get back to sleep. Why?
Today is the day.
Today I get my instructional session on injecting Testosterone. Today I get my first dose.
It marks a huge milestone quite early on in a long journey. I’m excited and nervous and completely unable to shut my brain off.
“Will my snoring get manlier? I’m not sure that my snoring isn’t already manly. Must consult friends and family.”
“Will it be worth it?”
“Ooh, my belly hair will be socially acceptable!”
“When will I pass?”
“What a great opportunity to bring my Iron Man band-aids into the world of adult endocrinology.”
“I wonder if I’m gonna get beat up.”
“I think my voice just cracked!”
“Should I go into sex work to afford my transition?”
“My toe twitched, I wonder if it’s getting stronger, oh god what if the muscles come in asymmetrical and I end up walking lopsided or upside down or something.”
“Maybe self defense classes are cheaper for women, I should jump on that.”
“I’m kinda horny. I wonder if that’s, like, regular horny or T horny. I bet my genitals are gonna start finishing before my brain gets the chance to, and then roll over and go to sleep. Typical…”
“How much will they have to slice apart my body to sculpt something tolerable?”
“I’m on my period. Can a uterus have a testosterone seizure? Would that be any different than regular cramps?”
“When will I feel like myself?”
“My beard is coming in so PATCHY. Wait, I think that one has been there for awhile.”
“This isn’t going to make the pain of growing up go away.”
“Nevermind on the horny thing, I think it might have just been gas.”
“I’m driving up costs in every insurance pool I’ll ever be in.”
“I’m kinda hungry. Well, I’m essentially a teenage boy now, so…”
“One of these days you’ll have to talk to your parents.”
“How fast does facial hair grow anyways? *SPROING*?”
“Living authentically is hard. Wouldn’t it have been so much easier if one of those suicide attempts had worked?”
There, right there at the intersection of mental illness and dysphoria, my frontal cortex quivers. I grow ever more hopeful as I pass these milestones, or when people who haven’t seen me since my haircut do a double take. That doesn’t stop a lifetime of self loathing from caressing the smooth edges as it slithers knowingly down into the grooves it has worn into my thinking.
I take another step in my journey, knowing there’s a hundred thousand more.
I might get blisters.
But I packed Iron Man band-aids.
I have been positively blown away by how lucky I’ve been and how good that the system has been to me. I called my PCP’s office to see if I could get in earlier than my next med check to discuss the potential of starting hormones at some point after my bariatric surgery. They had an appointment available the next day. He was absolutely awesome, and referred me to an endocrinologist, saying that it’ll probably take me two-three months to get in.
The endocrinologist’s office called me that day, and THEY had an appointment available the next day. Absolutely unreal… I feel so blessed.
So I went to that endocrinologist that morning, picked up the vial from the pharmacy at like 11, and on Thursday I have my instructional session.
They said I can start before the bariatric as long as I skip the injection a week or two directly before it.
This way might be a little harder. I don’t really know.
I’ve never been more excited for a shot in my life.
Also, today I got a haircut. Witness!
There are plans in place to move to Arizona next year. I was going to do it secretly. I was going to cut ties with everyone I knew back home, but for a select few. I was going to start over. I was going to give up on people that I’ve known for ages, on the chance that they will reject me. That’s borderline personality talking, if you’ve ever heard it whisper.
There are plans in place for me to get bariatric surgery. In a couple months, my body will begin to change rapidly. I was going to start hormones then. I was going to try to be sly.
The truth of the matter is that I will be rejected by some. I will be found out. And this is not the authentic way to live my life. I will regret it.
So I’m going to make the brave choice.
I’m going to choose the words that will baffle, will hurt, will likely come back around to show me pain in the face of a deeply conservative community.
I am not what I was made to be.
I am transgender.
I have had these feelings for a long, long time. Not feelings, really. Knowledge. A soul scab that never quite heals right ’cause it keeps getting torn.
I push it away. Again. And again. And again.
“It’s not natural. I’m just a tomboy. There’s not enough women in manufacturing, you might be an oddball but you’re an important one.”
“They’ll hate you forever.”
“They’ll think their kid is gonna go to hell.”
Probably a dozen psychiatric hospitalizations. Maybe half that many semi-serious suicide attempts(I say semi about the results, not the intent).
I’m on about $1600 dollars worth of medications each month and I still can’t work through the anxiety of going to a goddamn second-run theater.
I was already in hell. I’ve been there a long time. I was in second grade the first time I told someone I wanted to kill myself and I didn’t get any kind of therapy or medication until I was 19.
This is the chokehold, the silencing factor, that a belief system can have.
Maybe I won’t be accepted.
But the time has come.
And I’ll run it if I have to. To Arizona or anywhere else.
But today I declare my journey.
Today I take the first step.
Please consider donating to the costs of transition here:
Blog number 5? Damn you WordPress.
Like I really needed five distinct blogs to catalog all the nothing I do.
In any case, it’s time for a whole new identity. I’m reinventing myself!
I don’t think I invented my last self, but whatevs.
A part of me is lurking in the back of my head, telling me to make a sperm joke. That part of me is skeeving the rest of me out. Another part of me is calling for me to build a wall between that part of me and the rest of me.
Diplomacy is hard, y’all.
I’ve been struggling lately. There have been a few dreams about gender transition that have really shaken me. I’ve always had the thought. For as long as I can remember. I’m also hyper aware of how much easier my life would have been had I been born a boy. How much more natural it would have felt. How much better I would have fit in. Maybe I wouldn’t have all the mental health struggles that I do. I don’t know.
I don’t really wanna play those games. It only leads to pain.
The truth of the matter is that I have pushed away these thoughts for the 27 years I’ve been on this planet, because of my upbringing. My parents, who are great people, are not great parents. At least not for me. Hyper Conservative Christian Evangelicals.
I can’t pronounce that. It’s like coughing up phlegm at the back of your throat.
I think I’ll tell a little story in a bit.