Sunday, September 18, 2016
Filling the Gaps
I made the mistake of looking at surgery pictures last night. I need to stop doing so. Inevitably the next day I lose all hope that someday that could be me.
My apologies to Henry Drummond for that title, by the way.
Almost nine years ago I had my "gender crash" (an old term for that day someone's defenses and mental blocks they slowly built to protect themselves from pain and harm come crashing down). Since then I've watched countless trans people start their transition, work through it, structure their real life and then just disappear. They aren't in hiding. Rather, their live stops being focused on being trans. They reach a day when they realize they used to post a diary of sorts, be it on facebook, a forum, a blog, a photo or video journal. And they haven't done so in a while because they are simply living their life. It typically seems to take about five years to get to that point, more or less. The very practical aspects of transition take around two years, and it seems around five for hormones, social learning and therapy to do the rest. The find themselves living a life where people simply accept them as the same gender they identify as - a new sensation for us trans people. And then they simply "move on". I thought I was going to take that path, at one point.
One thing I've noticed after watching so many others is that for every one of them that was successful, two things were needed. One was either lucky genetics (plus dieting and the ability to learn and shed old behaviors) or the ability to compensate with surgery or makeup or whatever. The other though, was that every one of them had someone, one person, they could trust. Someone who was an unflinching, dedicated ally willing to believe in them during those times when they couldn't believe in themselves.
I don't have such a person. Every time I start to have doubts because my folks have stopped acknowledging me as anyone other than their son (male name), every time my spouse not-overtly won't use the name I've requested, every time I have to dress for work and be called (male name) all day...I stop believing that I can someday move on. I get depressed and realize that my transition only fits in the thin, tenuous spaces that I call my life, but even that only exists in the spaces left between the influence of everyone else's lives. They won't grant me any more space because it would mean they would have to change, too, and I don't believe in myself enough (or maybe it's just who I am) to push for it. Or maybe I've just done this for too long and I'm tired and discourage, again. I just don't care right now (and no, I'm not suicidal. If I were, I wouldn't be in this mess).