Winds whipped. Gusts beyond 60 miles per hour. Trees– tall, majestic– ripped like carrots from a backyard garden. Frozen tundra came to mind. Spaghetti-strewn wires adorned darkened, bare streets. Teeth chattered. Windows rattled. Ordinarily I’d sleep through it all. Not this time. Jolted, I crouched low anticipating disaster. It never came.
Hardly at once. Open the door. Inhale deeply till your lungs burst. No time for mindfulness. Fight or flight. Remain curious. Face facts. Good old transition. Wild, wide, knowing. Why did it bite so hard? Tearing at my flesh literally. Came out to declare: “I can’t very well go back in the closet!” A bit on the defensive side. Who am I kidding? Give me an inch, I’ll take a mile. Let me at that fucking closet, Bitch.
Look at me. Can’t tell I’m mental. Bipolar? No way. Can’t envision me trans. Don’t ask how I’m doing ’cause you’ll get an earful. Wanna hear about the cream I’m applying for the next two weeks to my labia? That T might have caused a fungal infection. You’ve suspended T? No way! It was so important to you. Thank Goddess you have two therapists, you blink. You shake your head as I walk away. Poor, dear thing, she/he could have made something of themselves if not for…
Limbo? Maybe. Thanks to A.A. I’m strong. “God don’t make no junk!” Irritated. Bold. Stand in front of the mirror and repeat, I AM NOT A VICTIM! Scared shitless of being transgender. What the fuck? Who wants to die? Anyone gets in your face turn and ask, ‘What skeletons are in YOUR closet?’ Yeah, that’ll work. BTW, I quit group. Questions fly. Happy and proud. Nothing can touch me. Proverbial chime rings. Session’s up. Drive home. Start again the next day.
Grateful to my caring, kind, loving partner, G. We’ll celebrate seventeen years together next month. To God. Friends become family. For texts. Facebook blogs and groups. Doing IT all yet not on my own. Who do I remind every day to be kewl, collected? Gotta walk in these shoes, Bro. No other way. I look back and see, think, feel a small kid. Lost. Unafraid. Lonely. Angry. Frustrated. It’s all me. What’s the saying? ‘Everything that’s happened in this life has made me what I’ve become.’ All right. I’m good with that.