I've been struggling to make a new post, both since it's been too long since my previous, and since I have something to say. I just can't seem to make the words go down in the text box. But as the old saying goes, if at first you don't succeed...
Lately, I've been wondering if it isn't time to make a bold move forward with my transition. I can't say that I'm entirely happy with the idea - quite the contrary, it scares me to death. But at the same time, it's something that I want to do and have wanted to do for a long time, and it has been in my plan (such as it is) from the very beginning. I am speaking about surgeries. And in particular, I am speaking about genital surgeries.
I don't make a huge secret that I am opposed to SRS for myself; it's too big a surgery, and I don't feel like I need to be so radically modified. My dysphoria seems to be mostly social, rather than physical.1 The other side is that there are vast benefits to getting rid of some of those parts. I'll no longer need to take spironolactone, and the headaches and nausea and cost and endless trips to the restroom associated with it will be things of the past. It will also place me in a more natural hormonal state - a blank slate, if you will - so that the estradiol will be able to do its work without having to fight the effects of whatever residual testosterone is still floating around my body. It should reduce my libido, which does nothing but make me feel ashamed of myself. It will also help me feel a little more comfortable with my body shape.
So everything in the preceding paragraph says that it's the logical and correct step to take. Logic, though, is not soothing my shaking hands or flip-flopping tummy. Correctness is not easing the tears that are streaming down my face. I'm scared to death of what it means. There can be no going back. When I think about my transition in general terms, I don't want to go back, even from this awful middle point where I am now. But I could. I could if I had to. Cutting parts of me off, though, that's a threshold through which I may only pass once. No do-overs. No oopses. Done, over, period.
There are a million what-ifs that immediately spring to mind. There are not nearly as many "oh, it'll be so cool..." thoughts which are coming. They can't possibly overbalance all the what-ifs. I've said many times before that the what-if game only serves to delay, and never helps. But knowing that in my head, and feeling that in my heart are two completely different things, and I'm having a really tough time with it.
1 Thank you Helen and Betty Boyd for that bit of phrasing. It fits me well too. :)
dead trees give no shelter
2 hours ago