Can’t say there’s a reason I’d abandoned Sams Space. Possibly because I’d stepped away from me for a while. Ironic, since I returned to cognitive therapy sessions as a precursor to hormone therapy, as requested by my provider of T. On May twenty-third, when I last saw D., I made him aware that things in my world had gotten bleak. Hadn’t apprised him previously, via email or otherwise, I’d been hospitalized in April for wanting to be gone from this earth. He was concerned about putting me right back on T.
Mentioned to him I’d become distraught and no longer wished to be trans. Actually, it’s why I wanted to die. What I neglected to say was, I don’t want to live as a trans person/male in a female body. Also, said I was especially bummed because I thought I was allergic, somehow, to the testosterone itself. We discussed alternatives to the gel I’d tried; he told me he didn’t feel T would have caused the allergic reaction. Perhaps it’d been the oil the T was suspended in. Then he had a behavioral health consultant meet with me.
C. is a cool guy. Liked him immediately and wished he could have become my counselor. He was there for crises only but made excellent referrals. When I phoned the first recommended psych center they were not taking new patients. Phoned the second and was told there’d be a three month (at the earliest) wait to be seen. That was early June. By some miracle I was granted an appointment for the 16th and have been seeing A., same name as my mother–eek– since. At my first visit, A. determined I needed weekly visits and got me on a scholarship so I could afford them. Don’t know what the winter will be like, traveling to and from the city, but I am passionate about my journey.
Opening up to A. was not difficult. Saying as much about her as it does me. She’s kind, caring and supportive. There’d been years of therapy on my part, more than half my life devoted to the cause; this was just one more chance to have someone listen and help me sort out my dysfunctional upbringing and the ensuing pain brought on. Last week, at a loss for something to focus and zoom in on, I told her I’d hoped she had an arsenal of questions for me. She did and therapy continues.
Because I am not yet on T, ( I have an appointment with D. next month to possibly try the patch), there’s no delving into behaviors which may arise as a result of introducing said hormone. So I talk about fears. Not directly tied to going through second puberty, this time as male, but other fears. One day, shortly before I was interviewed and on the evening news discussing the mess of a railway system in our fair city, I looked around. It dawned on me there were no emergency exits from where I sat, underground, in the train station. I know a good deal about safety and its concerns. Drove a school bus for twenty-plus years and worked as a security guard for a time. Know danger. Be aware of a way out. Always.
Naturally, A. must inquire as to whether I obsess on thoughts of crises, fire and the like. My answer: No. But, I am aware of my surroundings, I tell her. Have decided if there is a likely menace and no escape, I will kneel, say a prayer and stay put. The thought of being trampled in an attempt to escape a crowded tunnel, which, in essence, is what the train station is, does not appeal to my good senses. That said, I say a prayer each time I embark/disembark. And go on my way.
The other week, I was disrespected by an acquaintance when I revealed I was in counseling for trans issues. I know I put myself out there. For eight years, J. and I have been members of the same group. Part of me was testing the waters. Would I be accepted as trans in the all- women’s atmosphere? When I ‘came out’ to the moderator of the group, she assured me I’d be welcomed. This was to see how another might feel, within the ranks, so to speak.
“What did you say?!” “Did you say transitioning?!” J. asked. It was at a party and it was kinda loud. I nodded. Then she turned, spat and said, ” Fa putz on that!” Shocked and on my way out the door, anyway, I turned and left. Didn’t confront J. Until a few days later when I wrote a type of email. “Anyone has a problem with me being trans, I wanna know NOW,” I wrote. Something to that effect. More diplomatic. I was pissed.
Folks gave a bit of feedback and I felt even more widely accepted than when the moderator warmly calmed my fears of discrimination. Contacted the moderator and genuinely wanted the woman removed from membership. At her suggestion, I got in touch with J. and we chatted. J. was all apologies. Said I must have heard her wrong. When confronted, she had the nerve to say she never used the term and wouldn’t know what it meant. To me, quite simply, it means, FUCK THAT! So, she’s been exposed. She’ll think twice before ever offending anyone again, I’d wager.
That’s where I’ve been these weeks and moving forward. Continuing therapy. Looking forward to trying T for the second time. Taking the high road when necessary.