There were so many hopes that I had last year as I was about to begin testosterone. So many dreams that I had hoped would come to fruition. And with that said, there have been so many dreams that I have had to let go of over the past few months. Some dreams that were never even mine to realize, but more so, many dreams that I had held on to so tightly...
It is here in this place now that it all settles in...
I am home. Have been for a few days. But everything is different now. The party is over. The celebration that began when my friends came into town to help me while I recuperate, well, it has dissipated. Everyone is back in their respective homes, and I am here alone. With all the time in the world to think about where I have been. It has been amazing, and baffling, and solemn. So many elements to calculate, and yet what is the sum total? Was it worth it?: yes. Do I have any regrets?: No. And yet...
I am home alone. I just picked up my dog from the kennel, where he has been for nearly 3 or 4 weeks. I barely recognize him, he is so thin. He barely recognizes me, as he naps in disinterest. (Isn't that the point of having a dog? They are happy to see you? God, even my obese cat has been happier than this, nestling in my sore and stitched under arm, next to me in bed, as I watch bad tv. Oh well.)
There are things I forgot: to move the clothes in my closet lower so I could reach them while I am healing. To move food down in the cabinets to make it easier to cook, or to even remember to have food in the house at all. I am naked and hungry. Well, not exactly. Actually, I am bundled in many layers of cotton, and snacking on bad take out. (PS, if any restaurants are reading this~don't pack savory, garlicky take out with the deserts. Garlicky canoli are revolting!)
My dog is snoring at my feet at the end of my bed, and I am watching silly British lesbo love stories OnDemand. (Ironic, as I never much cared for lesbians pre-top surgery. Sorry to any who may be reading this. Especially those who may have bagged my take out at the aforementioned bad neighborhood restaurant. But I digress.)
It is dark, and cold, and there is a painting that I loosely inherited that rests on a huge old farm table that I have as a work table in my bedroom. This painted woman has her back turned to me. And somehow it makes me feel more alone.
There are dreams that I have missed. I went to a wedding with my friend Jen in NYC, where her best friend from college was the bride to be. Said friend of Jen's walked down the aisle in her $11,000 Vera Wang boutique dress (that they personally asked Ms. Wang to alter ~ wha???) and it dawned on me: That was supposed to be me.
I mean, not that day, not that dress, not that wedding ~ but in theory. My parents were so happy to have a boy, and then a girl 5 years later. With all of their bases covered, no one prepares for this. A trans kid. (My mom was the younger of two sisters, and a Daddy's girl at that. She out grew her tomboy days, and she assumed that I would have as well. But she asked my dad to a Sadie Hawkins' dance in 9th grade, and they have been together ever since. I am already older than she was when they had me, their second child.)
But I will never be a bride. (Nor a brides' maid, thank goodness!) And alone in this bedroom with a dog who doesn't even take much interest in me, I wonder if I will ever find another relationship. (It is the end of the lesbian movie as I write this. They are running towards each other in that cliched British love story ending. Does anyone really run towards each other? Besides my obese cat, during her only momentary lapses from sedentary paralysis.)
I will never grant my parents the luxury of seeing their once baby girl walk down the aisle on her father's arm, in the white flowing gown, all the while my mother cries in the front row. They will say because the day was so beautiful, but later they will admit it was because they footed the bill. (Wait, so do they not have to pay anymore if I ever get married? Score for them!)
Nor will I ever be able to bear them any grandchildren. After taking testosterone for over a year, I have basically sterilized myself. Even if I stopped taking t and things resumed, I don't think I would trust my body to get it right after all of the hormones.
I won't be able to get in free at ladies' nights... And the list goes on.
(Last night I watched "Gay Sex in the 70s" and was so jealous that I wasn't in shape enough to mimic those svelt, young beefcake studs that were depicted. I had hoped to look like a young Paul Newman when I transitioned. Now I am afraid I look more like David Crosby... I am really convinced my hair in thinning in the front. Just Dave and his cat. Look familiar??? Where's my 'stache?)
I have let go of the dream of the guy I could have been.
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