one week down:

So, yesterday was the one week anniversary of my top surgery. Ya-f'ing-hoo! I feel great. Jules and Mel tried to help me prepare for our trip up north. So, one week down, we had a "going away" party on our last evening in DC. (I got my friends tipsy in an attempt to thank them for their assistance. But instead of a "thank you," it ended up being a bit more cruel to one of our party attendees. Sorry Mel! I guess when we run out of bourbon next time, we should see that as a sign!)

We woke up Tuesday morning a bit slow and unwilling to crawl out of bed. Yet, Jules was peppy and cooking full gourmet meals to bring with us for the drive north. How endearing is he??? (for his amazing recipies, look to future blog entries! ;] )

I had my appointment to get my drains taken out at the surgeon's office out side of Baltimore. Because of the late celebratory night, I hand't fully packed my suitcases, and wasn't ready to roll. We kind of threw some stuff together and headed out. This was the first twinge of sadness I felt ~ knowing that the party was over. Knowing that I wouldn't see Jules again for a while... Knowing that I would have to leave the safety of my own home to branch out into the real world beyond my home city of DC.

(As I write this from my parents' home in Connecticut, the television is on mute in the corner. I turned to check out the picture on tv, as I learned to find that the Executive Office Building in DC has endured a considerable fire today. Feels odd as I am writing about my fears of leaving DC I turn to find a huge fire has errupted in my now vacated home city. Ironic.)

It wasn't that I was afraid to go elsewhere in the literal sense, like I would be beaten up or things like that. It was more of an understanding that this transition had now bridged the gap to the "other side." Having been on testosterone for well over a year, and most recently having had top surgery, there is this understanding that I have about the permanency of these actions. I am content in my choices, and have no regrets at all, but there are these slippery concepts that flash through my head.

The word "trans" means to span across two locations. Whether those be concrete locations such as east coast/west coast, oceans, or more metaphorical points, such as gender binaries. (Personally, I don't believe much in there being simply two genders, but that's another story.)

What I mean is: I see it more in my head as if there were these two cliffs, where I had one toe on each side, to put it comically. Being trans meant that I spanned these two points in this great divide. Where now after having surgery, I feel like I have been catapulted more to one side, the masculine side.

Quick side note: Mel and I stopped at a rest stop in CT last night, and it was the first time I have ever used a men's room at a rest stop (usually I used teh "family assistance" stalls). Walking in and seeing men at urinals, and knowing that I would still have to use a stall to cover up the fact that I can not "pee" standing up. Would they notice, would they care? And I caught a glimpse of my now flat chest in the mirror as I washed my hands, and it hit me how my formerly feminine chest that gave me away in the past no longer existed. There were no signs to "out me" anymore. My deeper voice, my broadened shoulders and smaller hips, my subtle blonde stubble on my unshaven chin, my hair receding ever so slightly above my temples...

As I walked back to the car to meet Melanie, this younger woman totally checked me out, and I knew it wasn't to "figure out what I was" like it had been in the past. It was a very strange sensation. This mixture of relief, that I wouldn't be something people would stare at to deduce "what" I was ~ and this simultaneous feeling of almost confusion. I am not used to living without that fear. The fear of being found out to be other than strangers imagined me to be upon first review. It was a reminder of where the anxiety _used_ to fit in my life. That space where the anxiety used to be has yet to be filled by something else. Despite the very real reminders of "Boys Don't Cry" and horrific stories of that nature, I don't want to carry that fear with me. I want to practice letting go of that anxiety and paralyzing fear. I don't want it to have a place here.

I have never wanted to do any of this to "become a man." I have always felt "in between" ~ trans, if you will. And I think I am feeling the internalized conflict of the ease of passing as a guy, and yet still wanting to affirm my identity as trans.

Ginger and I had talked candidly about this in the past, how if I did begin to pass as a guy without question, there might be a sense of frustration that might arise. She and I spoke about the very process of transitioning ~ not only my own physiological changes, but in essence, how those changes instigate others around me to shift their concepts of me, and the context of our relationships. Ginger and I could imagine how a sense of frustration could surface when maybe the layers and complexities would not always be acknowledged by outsiders. Not that I need guys at the urinal to high five me for the sense of courage it would take to join them in the men's room... (ugh~my ocd just kicked on when rereading that sentence. i think i just threw up in my mouth a little.) But, there is an odd sense of wanting certain people to understand that I am not this person by default. We would talk about how we would subconsciously want props for all of the mindful choices and hard work we had to do to arrive at this point safely, with whole hearted resolve.

I used to tell my good friend Emily that I just wanted to be the boy next door. I wanted to fly so far under the radar that no one would even notice me. To her, this was such a baffling concept, even saddening, that someone could want so little attention. To me, always getting unwelcomed attention, and often with a slightly intrusive and detremental spin was terrifying. Now, I guess I will have to see if I will be as excited about this disintrest as I imagined. Or if the narcissist in me will feel neglected! (Britney Spears and I do share a birthday after all...)