Two Weeks To Go

With only two weeks left before surgery, I expected that things would mostly be smooth sailing. I guess I underestimated the return to a male endocrine system though. By Friday, I was beginning to have general irritability and strong body image anxiety about all the changes I've written about. By Saturday, I was grouchy and depressed and wanting to be left alone, despite M's reminding me that there were only two weeks of waiting left.

That evening, there was a family gathering. I despised the thought of attending, of having relatives question my mood and being asked how I was doing prior to Thailand and being jealous of the other women for everything they had. I despised the thought of opening up and playing happy, and felt... I guess emotionally constipated, for lack of a better expression. The thing is, this wasn't a new experience - I used to feel very much like this at such gatherings pre-transition, in the deepest moments of gender dysphoria.

I had a mini-breakdown; didn't end up attending. Mum came over - having guessed what was bothering me - and spoke to me, and I cried it out. Felt a little better after that. Then out of the blue, one of my cousins started instant messaging me. "Love your new pic!", she began, "Getting prettier every time."

I'd only changed the little photo in my instant messaging a week ago. I think that put things in perspective a bit - as crappy as I felt, I didn't appear notably different to everyone, and in the end there really were only two weeks left of dealing with the gender dysphoria before surgery would end the hormonal poisoning of my body. And two weeks is nothing compared to the twenty six odd years that have already gone by.

I loathe the state I'm in. There's a harsh edge to all my feelings and an overall lack of emotional sensitivity that feels awfully constricting, that wasn't there when I was on estrogen. Little things are irritating me, but far from being a directed anger, it's the sort of irritation which manifests as a cloudy, vaguely bitter annoyance, as though whatever it is I'm annoyed at is set up against me somehow. I'm not feeling emotionally vulnerable; I'm feeling locked up and guarded behind very high and very thick walls and choking on words even to get all this written down.

The emotional transition which began when I'd started taking estrogen was easy, welcome, and pleasant. I just never expected going the other way to be such a drop off a cliff, and I very much want out.