Over recent weeks so many people have chimed in with what they think is wise advice about my transition. All in the same vein that there is no going back. Each time I hear it, I listen and try not to bite as in the main they are being kind. The fact is I am past the point of turning back. I passed it the day I walked into Doc M’s surgery and asked her to help me. All the thinking had been done.
I have lost count of the sleepless nights spent in anguish trying to escape the inevitable choice of going down the road of becoming a man. Yes I said inevitable as there was really no other choice as my emotional and mental well-being was deteriorating rapidly. That anguish and pain I never shared with anyone. It is not something that just quietly crept through the door like a good idea. It has haunted me in some way since childhood.
Each time I pushed it back refusing to give in. Each time that got more difficult to do, until I could not fight anymore, not for her. She had reached the point of exhaustion and he had to take over. I have no regrets here. My life as she built him up until he was ready to take over and face the journey that will take me through this.
Mentally and emotionally the transition has taken place and has been going on for many a year. The times I feel like I have killed her, are the times I need to reflect on all that she gave me and yes my life as she gave me a lot, not least my wonderful sons. Nothing, not even he, can take their mother away but he does not want to as they are as much a part of him as they were of her.
Yes I know there will be no going back once medical intervention has taken place but in my heart in my mind I cannot go back as there is no place to go back to. As I sat in the guy from the Laurel’s office on Friday answering his questions, answers that go back to the 1970’s I felt the boxes of myself being unpacked – again. This is something I hate doing as it tears into my core. I cracked up a few times and despised myself for most of it.
This is nothing new, my LIFT counsellor and my psychiatrist have done the same thing a fair few times. It does not get easier and it does not get harder. Each time it is like opening up the wounds of self-hate and guilt for the first time, it hurts and it bleeds. I see the person asking me the questions and they are always kind and supportive but my barriers rise and I feel alone and haunted. Each little event of the past is like ghost reminding me of things I do not want to remember.
There is no going back as this time I am repacking those boxes and I do not think I will need to open them again. They are the events that hurt me and reliving them causes me the greatest agony I have ever known. Instead I am ready to move forward into the future and take all the crap and the good times that has to offer. This time I am aware it is those past events, and surviving, them that has made me stronger and ready to do that.
Once again I send my deepest gratitude to all of you who message me; your support is valued more than I can ever say in words.
Love and light