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In October, I started taking Spironolactone, a drug intended to curb my testosterone levels. It felt great to be taking a step forward toward my impending femaleness, and as each day passed, I felt myself become more and more at ease. I could enjoy myself more, with less testosterone to exacerbate all the loathed male features. Before long, I even began to notice the slightest bit of man-boob growth... not quite yet actual breast growth, but it felt good nonetheless, as if my body were preparing for the real thing soon. Skin became smoother, and I felt sexier than I've ever felt in my life. I also felt happier, and more confident, enough to even try some dating again. The start of my medical journey toward being female was off to a better-than-expected start!
In December, I found myself dealing with some health issues leaving me tired and dizzy, and, worried that it might have been the Spironolactone that was causing it (coupled with some fear-mongering on the part of my mother), I stopped taking it. And to top it off, I spent my Christmas holidays in forced boymode with my family immediately after stopping.
All at once, my world came crashing down on me. Over the last couple years, as I inched toward my rightful self-expression, the intensity of being male was slowly forgotten. The stress and anxiety was replaced with contentment, and even outright glee. I wasn't yet on top of the world, but I knew I was getting there. I could see the apex, the summit Everest, and kept marching on with force and passion. And after spending 5 months out of contact with my family, even the one place where I remained presenting as Chris couldn't drag me down. And so, over that time, I began to forget the feelings that drove me so hard, that made it neccesary to transition in the first place.
And then, in a matter of days, I got an intense reminder of exactly what I'd let myself forget. The stress. The tension. The anger, the frustration, the pain. Putting myself again in boymode for the family, while allowing my testosterone to shoot back up, I felt this new rush, in ever greater intensities. Desires I don't want to have again, the ones involving my genitals, a knife and a home surgery kit. And with no clear way out of this, my hope is beginning to fade too. Yet I can't accept that I will never be female. I can deal without periods, and I can deal without pregnancy. I can even deal with the childhood lost to my male experience. But I cannot go on living my life this way. I must push forward, before I shrivel up into the shell I used to keep.
So was stopping spiro worth it? My health hasn't got any better. I'm still tired, and I'm dealing with the emotional stuff now, too. Whereas before I missed my family and wanted to be with them, to spend time with them, I now find myself looking at them with anger, that they've fenced me, kept me chained to this male body that I desperately want to escape. I blame them, falsely, for the unspeakable act which - they just haven't committed. Yet stopping spiro has given me a powerfully intense reminder why I need to move forward again and transition. Whereas before I wanted to tread slowly, now I want to move forward with full steam ahead. Bring on the estrogen! I say, so that I can return to happiness, and live my life the way I need to live it. I may have taken one step backwards, but now I'm ready to take two steps forward.
In December, I found myself dealing with some health issues leaving me tired and dizzy, and, worried that it might have been the Spironolactone that was causing it (coupled with some fear-mongering on the part of my mother), I stopped taking it. And to top it off, I spent my Christmas holidays in forced boymode with my family immediately after stopping.
All at once, my world came crashing down on me. Over the last couple years, as I inched toward my rightful self-expression, the intensity of being male was slowly forgotten. The stress and anxiety was replaced with contentment, and even outright glee. I wasn't yet on top of the world, but I knew I was getting there. I could see the apex, the summit Everest, and kept marching on with force and passion. And after spending 5 months out of contact with my family, even the one place where I remained presenting as Chris couldn't drag me down. And so, over that time, I began to forget the feelings that drove me so hard, that made it neccesary to transition in the first place.
And then, in a matter of days, I got an intense reminder of exactly what I'd let myself forget. The stress. The tension. The anger, the frustration, the pain. Putting myself again in boymode for the family, while allowing my testosterone to shoot back up, I felt this new rush, in ever greater intensities. Desires I don't want to have again, the ones involving my genitals, a knife and a home surgery kit. And with no clear way out of this, my hope is beginning to fade too. Yet I can't accept that I will never be female. I can deal without periods, and I can deal without pregnancy. I can even deal with the childhood lost to my male experience. But I cannot go on living my life this way. I must push forward, before I shrivel up into the shell I used to keep.
So was stopping spiro worth it? My health hasn't got any better. I'm still tired, and I'm dealing with the emotional stuff now, too. Whereas before I missed my family and wanted to be with them, to spend time with them, I now find myself looking at them with anger, that they've fenced me, kept me chained to this male body that I desperately want to escape. I blame them, falsely, for the unspeakable act which - they just haven't committed. Yet stopping spiro has given me a powerfully intense reminder why I need to move forward again and transition. Whereas before I wanted to tread slowly, now I want to move forward with full steam ahead. Bring on the estrogen! I say, so that I can return to happiness, and live my life the way I need to live it. I may have taken one step backwards, but now I'm ready to take two steps forward.