What am I doing?
First and foremost, I want to wish my friend Mike the happiest of birthdays today! :) I would sing happy birthday to you, but I don't want to make your old ears bleed ;)
Now, on to the meat of my musings here today...
Tomorrow, I hop on a train heading for Chicago. Once there, I am willingly submitting myself into the care of a surgeon who will, I hope, manage to remove and reshape aspects of my face to something else. That from that day forward, I can then look in the mirror and stop seeing a male face staring back at me. I also desperately want to have the people who know me from before to stop looking at me and only seeing who I was; just seeing the old me, only now in girl clothes. I want to be able to walk down the street and any stares I get, not come from people looking at the guy in a dress. I want that security in my gender presentation that will allow me to get on and over this part, this aspect, of my life - to be able to get on with the process of living my life finally.
But it is also something more than that I think.
This morning, I dropped off the key to my house with a local friend so she can check on my cats while I am away. I knocked on her door, and as she had just climbed out of bed, she answered it in PJs rubbing sleep out of her eyes. In the split seconds after she answered the door, the following thought ran through my head - I will never be like her. I fumbled through the small conversation we had, using the excuse of not wanting to keep her from her day, I quickly made my departure. Before I left, we had the traditional hug and her admonishment to take care of myself over the next few days. I made my usual self-deprecating remarks and passed out the door of her house back to my car, feeling lower than ever.
What I couldn't tell her, nor would I ever dare to, is that her presence did what most cis women do to me - send my dysphoria levels through the roof. Only this time, it was exacerbated by the fact that she was looking, even sleep disheveled, how I want to be, yet I will never achieve. Yeah, I can reach the top shelf; I can change the light bulb in the ceiling without having to stand on something; I hit my head on the overhead compartment on airplanes (and sometimes on the roof of the airplane) - but this is all thanks to years of my fear, my indecisiveness, allowing the hormonal processes of the wrong gender wreak havoc on my body. I will never get to be that normal sized woman who when someone goes to hug, gets to have arms that wrap all around her. I will never get to have that normal development from a young age that would have produced curves in all the right places. I get the thought and sadness that I will never get the chance to be the me that should have been.
Oh, I know that women come in all shapes and sizes; that I am just buying into the cultural beauty and body myth and this all sounds just silly whining, but let me see if I can explain with an (albeit poor) analogy that may help you see better where I am coming from.
Imagine yourself at a car dealership, driving up in a car that just doesn't fit you - falling apart, rusty, but still getting you from point A to point B. You walk around the lot, seeing the car of your dreams, knowing that if you had that car from the beginning, going between points A and B would have been a joy every day. That the car you see would and should fit you perfectly. However, you will never get to have that car. Instead, you have to trade in for a different car; one that fits you - that you feel comfortable in finally and is still somewhat a pleasure to drive - makes you happier than the rust-bucket you pulled up in. But you still look at that other car wondering and wishing.
When I look at women who got to be comfortable in their gender identity all their lives - who got to grow up being themselves - it is like the analogy of looking at the perfect car. Of knowing that I should have had that... Yeah, someday I will be able to trade in what I have for something as close as possible to what should have been mine from the beginning, but I have a feeling I will always look with longing. Or maybe not - that is still so far off in the distance honestly that how I would feel at the end of it is lost in the mists.
All I do know for sure is that in a couple days I take yet another small step towards finding that answer. In the meantime I need to learn to function through the almost overwhelming throe that comes when interacting with other women.
Now, on to the meat of my musings here today...
Tomorrow, I hop on a train heading for Chicago. Once there, I am willingly submitting myself into the care of a surgeon who will, I hope, manage to remove and reshape aspects of my face to something else. That from that day forward, I can then look in the mirror and stop seeing a male face staring back at me. I also desperately want to have the people who know me from before to stop looking at me and only seeing who I was; just seeing the old me, only now in girl clothes. I want to be able to walk down the street and any stares I get, not come from people looking at the guy in a dress. I want that security in my gender presentation that will allow me to get on and over this part, this aspect, of my life - to be able to get on with the process of living my life finally.
But it is also something more than that I think.
This morning, I dropped off the key to my house with a local friend so she can check on my cats while I am away. I knocked on her door, and as she had just climbed out of bed, she answered it in PJs rubbing sleep out of her eyes. In the split seconds after she answered the door, the following thought ran through my head - I will never be like her. I fumbled through the small conversation we had, using the excuse of not wanting to keep her from her day, I quickly made my departure. Before I left, we had the traditional hug and her admonishment to take care of myself over the next few days. I made my usual self-deprecating remarks and passed out the door of her house back to my car, feeling lower than ever.
What I couldn't tell her, nor would I ever dare to, is that her presence did what most cis women do to me - send my dysphoria levels through the roof. Only this time, it was exacerbated by the fact that she was looking, even sleep disheveled, how I want to be, yet I will never achieve. Yeah, I can reach the top shelf; I can change the light bulb in the ceiling without having to stand on something; I hit my head on the overhead compartment on airplanes (and sometimes on the roof of the airplane) - but this is all thanks to years of my fear, my indecisiveness, allowing the hormonal processes of the wrong gender wreak havoc on my body. I will never get to be that normal sized woman who when someone goes to hug, gets to have arms that wrap all around her. I will never get to have that normal development from a young age that would have produced curves in all the right places. I get the thought and sadness that I will never get the chance to be the me that should have been.
Oh, I know that women come in all shapes and sizes; that I am just buying into the cultural beauty and body myth and this all sounds just silly whining, but let me see if I can explain with an (albeit poor) analogy that may help you see better where I am coming from.
Imagine yourself at a car dealership, driving up in a car that just doesn't fit you - falling apart, rusty, but still getting you from point A to point B. You walk around the lot, seeing the car of your dreams, knowing that if you had that car from the beginning, going between points A and B would have been a joy every day. That the car you see would and should fit you perfectly. However, you will never get to have that car. Instead, you have to trade in for a different car; one that fits you - that you feel comfortable in finally and is still somewhat a pleasure to drive - makes you happier than the rust-bucket you pulled up in. But you still look at that other car wondering and wishing.
When I look at women who got to be comfortable in their gender identity all their lives - who got to grow up being themselves - it is like the analogy of looking at the perfect car. Of knowing that I should have had that... Yeah, someday I will be able to trade in what I have for something as close as possible to what should have been mine from the beginning, but I have a feeling I will always look with longing. Or maybe not - that is still so far off in the distance honestly that how I would feel at the end of it is lost in the mists.
All I do know for sure is that in a couple days I take yet another small step towards finding that answer. In the meantime I need to learn to function through the almost overwhelming throe that comes when interacting with other women.