It has not been a few good days. I am consumed with doubt, but not about who I am, but how to proceed. In the end, the world won’t care if I transition. It will spin on.
I’m not sure anyone cares, really. But that isn’t the point. It is not about them. What I am worried about is that I will never get to transition or even begin the process. I am not patient. I want to start this right now, but I can’t. I cannot get into it without hurting someone, and I choose not to do that.
I am alone and afraid. For once, I know what makes me happy. For once, I know who I am. I know what will kill the pain I’ve felt for decades. But I can’t do a thing about it right now. Am I worried about losing steam? No. But I did question that. Am I worried that I won’t have the nerve when the time comes? No. I am ready now.
I am worried that if I don’t do this soon, I will commit suicide. I can’t continue like this. I think that is why the suicide rate among pre-op transfolk is so high. They have two options: commit fully, or live life the way you have been. I can’t go back to that mentality. If forced to, I will choose death. If I am forced to wait too much longer, I will have no other choice.
It is a strange feeling to feel such bliss at knowing who you are, but have circumstances say, no, you must endure this pain until I say otherwise. I am life’s bitch. I have always been.
I hate looking in the mirror. I hate what I see; I always have.
I just want to be me.