I had a few ideas for posts that connected my politics to my personal experience, but I decided instead to just get drunk and write a diary-esque update of my current status. The blog states it’s a “retransitioner’s diary” so maybe a more human moment is appropriate right now. Those blog posts can be written at a later date.
There’s this emotion that’s been showing up lately, something that hasn’t made its appearance since prior to medical transition. It’s like this sudden sinking feeling, where the nerves in my body drop like a dubstep DJ and the focus on the camera zooms out while the camera itself is rolled in. Completely unwelcome.
But I’ve found a little solace in the company of friends, like taking a brisk walk in the icy cold with an intimate one to get refreshments because the roads are fucking desperate with winter cover. That’s how the last attack got settled. There’s a means and a way to overcoming those bouts of sudden fright and resignation, I just have to make an effort…the dividends of compassionate living and the positive relationships it brings shell out the necessary emotional material to make this life livable.
Been thinking about another friend, a long-time transitioned trans woman who upon hearing my plans stated she had an acquaintance who was a part-time crossdresser in safer environments, but presented as a gender-conforming dude in official (work, publicly social, etc) environments where to do otherwise might pose a significant imposition to their desired lifestyle of mainstream male privilege.
The thing is, I don’t negotiate with terrorists. And by terrorists, I mean violent homophobic men.
Still hearing “hey is there a girl in here” type comments every time I go to the gym. Typically it’s after I shower and I’m attending to my hair in the mirror, making the part and deciding whether the ends require additional leave-in conditioner (my hair is curly and long, needing attention/moisture to maintain a comfortable texture). Although, two years of HRT adds to the confusion I suppose.
Still not getting “ma’am” or “sir.” I like it. Gender is some heinous bullshit, and I’d rather people just treat me like a human instead of sticking me in one box or another – although I understand politically and through personal experience the necessity of recognizing other people’s gendered socialization for safety reasons. Thing is, I lived here in Tennessee for about four years prior to transition, and know that receiving gendered titles like “ma’am” or “sir” are normal parts of social interaction. Also the fact that my male and female coworkers get called that shit after most customer interactions, while I’m the special snowflake exception. Though I get called “sweety” and “honey” a lot by women, which is an odd mix of comforting and unsettling.
It’s not even like I’m opting out of this gender-title tradition; other people are opting me out. This transition is way weirder than my real one.
Emotionally, shit’s gettin weird, like my landscape of feels is slowly being shifted to its chromatic opposite. Bouts of joy are born in my navel and travel upwards, instigating intense moments of active revelry. Usually in the form of dancing, if there’s music, or becoming extremely talkative/social. Not that this is something I didn’t feel on hormones, but I forgot how fucking potent my emotions were before HRT.
That’s really the issue here; I’m starting to experience my “normal” biological range of emotion, which happens to be really fucking overwhelming, whether good or bad. The majority is internalized as hallucinatory daydreams, the rest is expressed as talkative weirdness. What really brings up some questions for me is the realization that on HRT my character was calm and composed (but partially fabricated) whereas now I am experiencing life so goddamn intensely that I don’t know if I can handle it. Joy and sorrow, beauty and horror. Crying more now than I ever was on estrogen, because expectations of human sexual dimorphism and its connection to emotional expression is probably bullshit.
Perception of self is intentionally becoming more male – trying to be comfortable with being in the body I am forced to inhabit. Except now, this is largely uncoupled from my so-called gendered expression. I refuse to negotiate with the terrorists of masculine compliance.
I refuse to comply.
It would have been easier to keep being christian, but I dissolved that. It would be easier to let my self-expression be impassed by the threat of male violence and general boundary violation.
Why the fuck am I doing what I’m doing? I didn’t choose this, did I?
Is there a boundary between myself and the intentions of other people?
I feel paradoxical. Even sexual desire is such. Tidal wave of passion meets equal opposite in physical dysphoria. Re-assertion of male physiology increases potency of passionate desire, but also activates the physical source of dysphoria. Both increase, and the turmoil is heightened…but there are ways to tip the scale if the circumstances are right. It’s just the presence of both are vibrating to a higher tune.
On the physical front, things seem to have gone dormant for now…like my body is gearing up for the restarting of my male reproductive anatomy. Probably explains the mood swings, psychic sinking feelings, and drastically increased motivation/libido. The biochemical chain reaction is starting from within, and will take many months to manifest fully.
Until then, I won’t really know how successful this venture is.
So that’s my update. Hope you enjoyed it, and by the way, I write way more drearily than my life actually is. There are people in my life who enrich it beyond belief – which is good, because I don’t believe in anything. That’s the richness of it. Beautiful, wonderful people who have honored me with their time and energy and intimacy.
So thanks friends, and now I’m gonna stop because this is totally a drunk-ass post 🙂