April Fools

On April 1st 2016 I started hormones, the symbolism of that day was lost on me then, but now over two years later April Fools Day seems the most appropriate time to have started the physical process of transitioning from male to female—like taking those pills that day was my way of yelling “APRIL FOOLS!” at my entire world. Now, I can’t help but be nostalgic and reflective as I look at how the past two years have unfolded. It’s funny because I prepared for that moment in so many ways, many years of denial, many moments of surviving intense internal struggles over matters I thought insane or impossible to voice. I thought I was ready, I was wrong. My transition has thrown me some curve balls a few fast balls too, and at times I’ve completely struck out. My lack of support system, at times crippling depression, and fight for my family’s acceptance has decimated me multiple times. For so long all this made me feel and think I was weak. The “what if’s” and “could have’s” ate on the edges of my soul, the massive mound of doubt I carried around paralyzed progress and I stagnated, in several ways.
Things are changing though: Over the past three months plus I’ve been extremely fortunate to come across people who do genuinely care about me, people who will give me support, sometimes all it takes is a really good hug. My depression never evaporated and there’s a decent chance it never will, I’ll probably fight it in several different ways going forward, but I’m getting better at it, getting out making a few friends, being involved in my local community when I can, or just recognizing when my depression is shutting me down. Several little things are helping me walk on a more stable ground. My family continues to be an uphill battle, but even on that front there is some progress and I’ll gladly take it. I’ve never consider myself a big “family” person, but I do love my parents and any improvement of our relationships is a relief.
All of this has been immensely surreal, at times it feels like there was no “me” before that April day, I look back on life before my transition and it feels like a shadow stole my likeness and paraded around with it for twenty-three years before I stole my body back. I wish I could proclaim that I reclaimed my body back in one fail-safe swoop but that is most certainly not the case, it’s a process, one that two years hasn’t even scratched the surface at finishing. It takes a long time to hit “fuck it” mode, but sometimes when you do hit it you find that way to move forward, to change yourself in some way, hopefully for the better. It took me way longer than it should to hit fuck it and to learn that I have to live my life for myself, not my parents, not an idea perpetrated by various cultures or communities. Deciding to transition was the first thing in my life I chased after without any influence of others or desire to please anyone but myself. Essentially owning my life for the first time. I think, however slowly, I'm finally coming into my own, that the person you see now is who I was meant to be. I have no fucking clue what I’m doing or where I’m going, but I plan on continuing to own this life, to pursue all the things I want to be. Here’s to the next two years!

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