A Boy Razed, A Girl Raised

I grew up with a subconscious hatred of everything that I was.

I hated the facial hair, the receding hairline, the thinning hair, and my voice.

I felt like an alien in my own body, trapped in a puppet that I had no idea I wanted out of.

A figure lost in the matrix, consumed by society’s demands for a boy and for men.

 

Keep the facial hair, it lets you look more mature.

Keep your hair short, it slims your face a lot.

Keep that behavior, it’s more masculine.

 

Kill the girl inside of you because it is an abomination unto humanity.

Drown your feminine side in a flood of testosterone and anger.

You will never be the girl you needed.

 

It wasn’t until I actually left home for good that I finally discovered who I am.

Now, I can consciously call my inner hatred of my body what it is: dysphoria.

I am changing my body because my body is not a permanent state of matter.

I am a river, changing my path and what I look like through my own will and force.

 

My chest isn’t flat anymore and I don’t have as much hair in places I didn’t want it.

My hair is coming back, thicker and healthier.

I’m finding it slightly harder to fit my hips into my pants at times.

 

I am a garden that has come back from the dead after several harsh winters.

A field of flowers in the irradiated wilderness of nuclear disaster.

The person in the mirror isn’t the alien in an uncomfortable meat suit,

The figure in the matrix without a map and no sense of direction.

 

I have flung myself into a new freedom that I never thought possible.

 

There’s parts that will always seem off for me, but the off parts aren’t what I see all the time in the mirror anymore.

 

I erased the facial hair, tearing it to the ground and drowning it beneath my feet.

I grew my hair, the waves cresting along my head like an ink-drowned field on a windy day.

I destroyed the behaviors, the toxins slowly purged from my body in hormonal antivenom.

 

I resurrected the girl, my personal phoenix emerging from the ashes of long burned boyhood.

I rescued my feminine side, scorching the flood of testosterone as she emerged from her well.

I am the girl I needed now, safe at last from the live burial in my subconscious.

 

And it’s all because of moving more into the love part of the love/hate relationship with my body.

 

I see me. I am me.

Reflections on One Year of HRT

A lot can change in a year.

Sometimes things can go so wrong that things don’t really seem like it’s worth sticking it out anymore.

That’s what happened to me last September. I had been approved for my first doses of HRT back in September 2017 – shortly after my birthday, and despite my lack of job prospects and a rather complicated living situation, I was happy.

Then, after a few days, I ended up getting a phone call from my doctor in Minneapolis. He advised me to stop taking my HRT immediately due to a severe concern regarding my liver. Over the next few weeks, I kept going back to do testing before the doctors were able to determine that I had a fatty liver due to a Vitamin E deficiency, and I was put on a vitamin regimen to combat any potential damage.

Those were the longest few weeks of my life, and probably the worst my mental state had been in quite some time. A friend of mine had taken the steps to hide anything that could be harmful to myself, sometimes at my request. I was stuck in a severe depressed state due to the thing I wanted the most and the only hope for my future taken away from me with no guarantee that I would get to go back on HRT. I was, at the time, trapped in a dead end job with every single job prospect turning up nothing. I honestly felt like I didn’t really have much to go on with my life at that time, and I do feel like I was extremely close to deciding I didn’t want to deal with anything anymore.

Things changed, though, starting November 11. That day, my friend rescued a stray cat from outside of our apartment complex, and I ended up adopting her after trying to locate her owner(s). I couldn’t come up with a name, so I named her Pounce, after our college mascot.

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The fateful first meeting with Pounce.

A few days after that, a phone call came back to me from my doctor in Minneapolis. My liver function tests had come back and I was given the go ahead to start HRT again! With that bit of news, November 15, 2018 marks my one year anniversary on HRT.

I have successfully made it to a point that I wasn’t 100% sure that I’d have made it to last year. I’m even considering possibly doing some sort of bottom surgery down the line and looking into possibly getting laser hair removal for what exists of my facial hair.

Despite the fact that I’ve still struggled with my depression over the past year, I’d like to think that things are getting better for me. I’ve gotten back on antidepressants lately and they’ve been helping me out immensely when I combine it with my regular visits with my therapist.

The biggest thing that’s coming for me is the impending court date for my legal name change in December. As of writing this, I have a little over a week until that fateful moment when the courts will determine whether or not I will still be known under my deadname.

I didn’t think I’d have made it this far, and I’m honestly still in some form of shock that I’ve successfully reached the one year mark. I thank everyone that helped me along in that time period, and I’m hoping that after my name change, things begin to look up even more. Hopefully by this time next year, I’ll have made even more progress, because as I said in the beginning:

A lot can change in a year.