Not long before I realized I was transgender, I stumbled onto and became fascinated with transition blogs. I spent hours combing through testosterone result logs and read one tearful admission of relief after another.
I can’t remember why I thought I was so interested before I realized how deeply in every grain of my being, I neeeeeeded that.
I read each one with my heart pounding and a stomach full of stone.
I may have gone on like that indefinitely, but inevitably the bubble of cognitive dissonance had to break.
and I came tumbling down.
Back then there was a photographer, French if I remember right, who took sexy pictures of trans men for their own empowerment at any point in their transition process…even if they were choosing not to transition at all. He had a website called XXX boys. I scoured that website for weeks. Months. An eternity.
All these pictures of beautiful men who have a small sliver of shared history with me.
The first time I felt like there may be a place in the human race I might actually fit.
I sat in the basement in raw amazed joy, chain smoking and writing dear john letters to the person they made me think I was.
I was free.
or something like it.
Tonight I’m watching Queer Eye. It’s far from perfect.
still. time stretches…stomach in knots for more reasons than I can lay out in an easily digestible mini essay.
watching a trans man learn to dress his new body.
oh bitter sweet
I’ll never have that.
watching young gay men frolic…envious.
My twenties were spent trying to jam myself into a woman mold that would never fit.
I’m not sure what I am feeling, regret? wistfulness?
I don’t know, but here I am
alive and well-ish
with my own origin story that’s just as real
and that will just have to do.