I made the decision yesterday that I am going to begin hormone therapy en sincera this month. For the last two to three months, I’ve been taking very small doses of estrogen, but the doses were low enough that it has been more a pacifier than anything–certainly not enough to cause any behavioral or physical changes. It has been my hope that doing this will decrease the psychological impact of a sudden influx of hormones, but that’s not really the way it works, so…
For more than two decades, I’ve had to live as a male, and that’s caused a lot of destructive and self-destructive behavior to manifest in my life. No more. I made that decision in August, following the most disastrous period of my life. It was almost entirely a side effect of my denial. When I left my ex-wife four years ago, I told a long-time friend of mine that I was considering SRS, because I had always told myself that “If I ever divorce, I’m going to go ahead and do it.” Because I’ve always wanted to–in many ways, at least. And that’s an aspect of this I can’t stress enough. Though it seems to many people that this came out of nowhere, it did not.
One of my earliest memories entails a little three or four year old me hiding all my underwear in the closet. Why? Because, for some reason, whenever all my underwear was dirty, my mom put me in my sister’s panties. And even then, even at the age before preschool and before kindergarten, I preferred that. I wish I’d realized then what I know now. I nearly fell into a deep depression earlier today when it dawned on me how much time I’ve lost to this lie, how I’ll never get it back, and how I’ll die in the next two to five decades, and will never get that lost time back. It’s just… gone. Honestly, I can’t help but feel that society stole those 20+ years from me.
And part of that is because I do live in Mississippi. I was born here, I was raised here, and my family is exactly what you’d expect a Mississippi family to be. Though my sister has known for years, it was something we never discussed openly, and I knew why. In the back of my mind, I knew why–it was sort of a “Don’t ask, don’t tell” thing. She knew, but she didn’t want to know. But after spending more than two decades accommodating her and the rest of my family, leading me into lots of self-destructive behavior I’ll inevitably write about here, I finally decided that I’d been accommodating enough, and I threw the gauntlet at her feet: her brother is going to cease to exist, and she’ll be left with her sister. I told her that I was more than willing to ease her into it slowly, because I knew it was a huge adjustment and change, but she made it clear in an absolutely heartbreaking text that she wasn’t interested in adjusting and changing.
I’m not going to read it again, because it crushes my heart every time that I do, but even just seeing it my attention is again called to a few details. First is her continued characterization of it as cross-dressing, waving it away that I’m wanting to just “dress like a woman,” in total disregard of everything I’ve told her. That, of course, makes sense, because, as she says, she doesn’t want to know. So, without doubt, when I told her the details, she ignored every bit of it. I thought that she would have a much easier time with it knowing that I identify as a lesbian, but evidently it didn’t matter.
The self-awareness of her text also strikes me. She knows it’s on her, she knows it’s messed up and closed-minded, and she knows what she is doing. She has made the conscious effort to not deal with it, to ignore it. And since it can no longer be ignored, we came to an impasse. Either she had to accept it, or she had to throw me from her life. She chose the latter. The rest of my family will follow suit, but I haven’t even bothered to tell them, because my sister was the only person in my family that I cared about. My mother would have been accepting, but she’s been dead since I was 12 or 13. My brother probably would have been accepting, but he’s been dead since I was 19 or 20.
But I made the decision yesterday to begin actual hormone therapy, which is difficult in Mississippi without a doctor with whom I can talk. I’ve seen a few general practitioners who were more or less eager to try to assist, but a few pointed questions revealed that they knew much less about the whole thing than I do. This is not the sort of thing you want a doctor guessing about, you know? So you’ve got to find a doctor who specializes in this, who has done it before. And there are none of those in Mississippi, Tennessee, or Arkansas. This has left me reaching out to doctors over the Internet, and I’m more than willing to pay them and to use general practitioners here basically as liaisons and labs, to collect the blood work and whatever else is necessary. But so far, the only responses I’ve gotten from anyone are the wonderful people at Tara’s Resources.
I’m not in the “wrong body.” My body simply didn’t develop the way that it should have. And I’m already in my late 20s. That’s young in the grand scheme of things… unless we’re talking hormonal physiological changes. And unless we’re talking about years lost in a false identity that can never be regained. In those cases, I’m really, really old.
As always, Mississippi does not make this transition easy, and the physical changes hormones bring will make employment virtually impossible six months from now, once I begin growing breasts and stuff. Your assistance to help me get through this would be beyond appreciated: