Who is Anne?
Been a while since I updated, didn't really feel a need to until now.
First visit to Psychologist.
Before anything I'd like to point out that I'm going to be sort of... covering the whole HRT/Psychotherapy-thingamajig on my blog. Thus, there will be quite a lot of personal stuff. If you're someone I haven't told about this, and feel offended, don't read this, confront me instead. Yes, I am going to change gender and yes I haven't told everyone(rather, I've told a very small percentage of people I know) about this...
So just bear with me.
Had a time at the very first, preliminary exam today at 11 AM. I needed to be at school by 2 PM, so I thought that I'd probably make it, and if not, then I would gladly take the extra assignment I'd get, no biggie.
So I got up around 9 AM, watched some Drawn Together(didn't even know the second season was out, woo) and had breakfast for the first time in, I think... three weeks or so. Breakfast as in "Breakfasty food consumed inside my appartment before the clock passes 12 AM". Although I chortled and guffawed at the crazy hijinks of the toons, the feeling of ominous dread was growing steadily. In the shower I spent 15 minutes tracing "why" on the shower-wall with my finger. Mostly to sort of... prepare me for the dreadful examination. I still hadn't gotten clear about exactly WHY I wanted to go through with it, and I felt I REALLY ought to put more braintime on it.
So as the clock reached 11, I found myself waiting in the corridor of the local psychiatric "ward", or clinic, or whatever. There was a few people there, no real crowd but enough to fill some seats, but most kinda looked normal. An elderly man told his wife(I assume) something that was, I must admit, quite amusing. "So many people walking back and forth, no damn way to know who's sick and who's a doctor. Heck, back in the old days they used to wear white coats, now they're all in their casuals."
True enough, the only way to tell a doctor from patient, or so I figured, was from the small notepads many of the people walking by were carrying.
I must admit I was scared shitless of this, just how much would they ask? Would I be lying down on a sofa/bed? Would they delve into my deepest sexual fantasies? It didn't help I was going to meet TWO professionals, both women(then again, two men would've probably been a LOT worse).
After a while I was found by a pair of middle-aged women who introduced themselves and I, rather meekly, did the same. The only thought that ran through my head is "They will defraud you, they will throw you out and call you freak, you sick pigfucker!" (Actually, that wasn't the exact thought, but I've been reading a lot of Hunter S Thompson lately, so sue me). My breathing was heavy, my steps were shaky and I knew that if I wasn't given a damn couch to lie on, I would collapse.
No couch. They led me into a very small room, sparcely decorated with four chairs, some paintings and a few other things I don't remember(there was a small table too).
I'm not going to cover the whole examination, partly because I don't remember it all and partly 'cause it's none of your beeswax, but the end-result was this:
I am not insane. My state of mind is not a part of a mental disease or disorder(woohoo!). She was concerned that my "sexual experience", and just general experience in life, could limit me because I hadn't seen enough of the world as it is, and also partly that my "surpassing of my father" could be the reason for my decision. My father, a carpenter and a working-class, is one of the people I hold most dear to me and she considered that a reason for my wish to "change", but I didn't really follow... Finally we also delved into this feminine side of me, one who we dubbed "Anne" and pondered about what "Anne" wanted, what "Anne" felt like and how "Anne" perceived her own body. Frankly, I had never thought that far, but more about Anne soon.
Anyway, I got a referral, so I'll be attending a "real" analysis some time in the future. By real I mean people specially trained for cases like mine. So 45 minutes after I entered the room, and 30 dollars later(roughly) I left, feeling... perplexed, not entirely sure what had just occurred. I blame my stoical calm on that.
Afterwards I went to school, was handed the role of a municipal by my classmates(we were supposed to perform a roleplay of sort today, something I had COMPLETELY forgotten, and thus I was given about 25 minutes to practice, eat lunch and get ready for the roleplay before we started. Yet I think I did a fairly good job there.
Afterwards we ate some dinner, Stéphane(I've misspelled his name up until now, he's french after all) had to go home to drop off some books and then we went to the "party"...
I don't really know why I go there, certainly not for the cheap drinks, but we hung there for about... 1½ hour before I decided to head home.
On the train-platform I began to think about Anne... Who was she really? No matter how I looked at it, twisted and turned it, I just couldn't find her. It drove me nuts, where was this feminine side of me that I'd been talking about? I began pacing back and forth, mumbling for myself much in the same way that the drag-king had been talking back at the show, swearing, rhyming and making close to no sense, repeating again and again the question "Who is Anne?"
Finally, in my appartment(on the floor to be exact, I'd found a nice spot to lie down on) it hit me. I'm Anne. Anne's not someone hidden inside me, Anne's not someone else that I need to play, to pretend to be. Anne's who I am. Anne's the side of me that loves to watch a movie with someone I care about, the side of me that thinks guys should be sensitive, cry at movies and yet still be brave, independant and strong. Anne's the side of me that thinks Bridget Jones truly symbolizes the 21st Century woman and that Paris Hilton ought to get a haircut and a proper job. Anne LOVES evening-dresses, high-heels and just enough make-up to accentuate the beauty of a person. Anne loves video games, but she also loves hiking, writing and discussing. She hates injustice, she hates unfair treatment and she hates the fear that makes people too afraid to do anything about their lives. Anne thinks that the sexiest thing on a guy is a knitted woolen shirt and a scarf, hair ruffled and wild and eyes glimting with youthful enthusiasm and warmth. Anne's an inbetween-girl and doesn't like the extremes of thin or fat, but thinks that chubby is better than being a toothpick. Anne listens to all kind of music, but gets a chill down her spine when Barry White sings to her, and her alone, and there's nothing she loves doing more than dreams. She also thinks Cloud ought to get that nasal tone out of his voice, it really doesn't suit him, and that Leon ought to dump that ingrateful Ada for someone who appreciates him more.
Anne is me and now it's just the matter of making me look like her.
First visit to Psychologist.
Before anything I'd like to point out that I'm going to be sort of... covering the whole HRT/Psychotherapy-thingamajig on my blog. Thus, there will be quite a lot of personal stuff. If you're someone I haven't told about this, and feel offended, don't read this, confront me instead. Yes, I am going to change gender and yes I haven't told everyone(rather, I've told a very small percentage of people I know) about this...
So just bear with me.
Had a time at the very first, preliminary exam today at 11 AM. I needed to be at school by 2 PM, so I thought that I'd probably make it, and if not, then I would gladly take the extra assignment I'd get, no biggie.
So I got up around 9 AM, watched some Drawn Together(didn't even know the second season was out, woo) and had breakfast for the first time in, I think... three weeks or so. Breakfast as in "Breakfasty food consumed inside my appartment before the clock passes 12 AM". Although I chortled and guffawed at the crazy hijinks of the toons, the feeling of ominous dread was growing steadily. In the shower I spent 15 minutes tracing "why" on the shower-wall with my finger. Mostly to sort of... prepare me for the dreadful examination. I still hadn't gotten clear about exactly WHY I wanted to go through with it, and I felt I REALLY ought to put more braintime on it.
So as the clock reached 11, I found myself waiting in the corridor of the local psychiatric "ward", or clinic, or whatever. There was a few people there, no real crowd but enough to fill some seats, but most kinda looked normal. An elderly man told his wife(I assume) something that was, I must admit, quite amusing. "So many people walking back and forth, no damn way to know who's sick and who's a doctor. Heck, back in the old days they used to wear white coats, now they're all in their casuals."
True enough, the only way to tell a doctor from patient, or so I figured, was from the small notepads many of the people walking by were carrying.
I must admit I was scared shitless of this, just how much would they ask? Would I be lying down on a sofa/bed? Would they delve into my deepest sexual fantasies? It didn't help I was going to meet TWO professionals, both women(then again, two men would've probably been a LOT worse).
After a while I was found by a pair of middle-aged women who introduced themselves and I, rather meekly, did the same. The only thought that ran through my head is "They will defraud you, they will throw you out and call you freak, you sick pigfucker!" (Actually, that wasn't the exact thought, but I've been reading a lot of Hunter S Thompson lately, so sue me). My breathing was heavy, my steps were shaky and I knew that if I wasn't given a damn couch to lie on, I would collapse.
No couch. They led me into a very small room, sparcely decorated with four chairs, some paintings and a few other things I don't remember(there was a small table too).
I'm not going to cover the whole examination, partly because I don't remember it all and partly 'cause it's none of your beeswax, but the end-result was this:
I am not insane. My state of mind is not a part of a mental disease or disorder(woohoo!). She was concerned that my "sexual experience", and just general experience in life, could limit me because I hadn't seen enough of the world as it is, and also partly that my "surpassing of my father" could be the reason for my decision. My father, a carpenter and a working-class, is one of the people I hold most dear to me and she considered that a reason for my wish to "change", but I didn't really follow... Finally we also delved into this feminine side of me, one who we dubbed "Anne" and pondered about what "Anne" wanted, what "Anne" felt like and how "Anne" perceived her own body. Frankly, I had never thought that far, but more about Anne soon.
Anyway, I got a referral, so I'll be attending a "real" analysis some time in the future. By real I mean people specially trained for cases like mine. So 45 minutes after I entered the room, and 30 dollars later(roughly) I left, feeling... perplexed, not entirely sure what had just occurred. I blame my stoical calm on that.
Afterwards I went to school, was handed the role of a municipal by my classmates(we were supposed to perform a roleplay of sort today, something I had COMPLETELY forgotten, and thus I was given about 25 minutes to practice, eat lunch and get ready for the roleplay before we started. Yet I think I did a fairly good job there.
Afterwards we ate some dinner, Stéphane(I've misspelled his name up until now, he's french after all) had to go home to drop off some books and then we went to the "party"...
I don't really know why I go there, certainly not for the cheap drinks, but we hung there for about... 1½ hour before I decided to head home.
On the train-platform I began to think about Anne... Who was she really? No matter how I looked at it, twisted and turned it, I just couldn't find her. It drove me nuts, where was this feminine side of me that I'd been talking about? I began pacing back and forth, mumbling for myself much in the same way that the drag-king had been talking back at the show, swearing, rhyming and making close to no sense, repeating again and again the question "Who is Anne?"
Finally, in my appartment(on the floor to be exact, I'd found a nice spot to lie down on) it hit me. I'm Anne. Anne's not someone hidden inside me, Anne's not someone else that I need to play, to pretend to be. Anne's who I am. Anne's the side of me that loves to watch a movie with someone I care about, the side of me that thinks guys should be sensitive, cry at movies and yet still be brave, independant and strong. Anne's the side of me that thinks Bridget Jones truly symbolizes the 21st Century woman and that Paris Hilton ought to get a haircut and a proper job. Anne LOVES evening-dresses, high-heels and just enough make-up to accentuate the beauty of a person. Anne loves video games, but she also loves hiking, writing and discussing. She hates injustice, she hates unfair treatment and she hates the fear that makes people too afraid to do anything about their lives. Anne thinks that the sexiest thing on a guy is a knitted woolen shirt and a scarf, hair ruffled and wild and eyes glimting with youthful enthusiasm and warmth. Anne's an inbetween-girl and doesn't like the extremes of thin or fat, but thinks that chubby is better than being a toothpick. Anne listens to all kind of music, but gets a chill down her spine when Barry White sings to her, and her alone, and there's nothing she loves doing more than dreams. She also thinks Cloud ought to get that nasal tone out of his voice, it really doesn't suit him, and that Leon ought to dump that ingrateful Ada for someone who appreciates him more.
Anne is me and now it's just the matter of making me look like her.