the_fantastic_ms_fox | Feelin' Good

More trans stuff.
I mostly write this for myself, but you're welcome to read it. Especially if you need it.

I didn't write the following lyrics though: they're from "Feelin' Good" by Nina Simone

Fish in the sea
You know how I feel
River running free
You know how I feel
Blossom in the tree
You know how I feel
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me
And I'm feeling good

Back in August 2006, I remember looking for proof that I should change sex. It's understandable. You get a crrrraaazy idea in your head and you want to look outside yourself for external input: exterior reference is what allows us to separate "crazy-awesome" from "crazy-insane." If the world agrees with you, you're on the wrong track, possibly dangerously so. If the word agrees with your bold idea, you're innovative. The catch with trans identity is that there's no outside proof. It's the nature of the beast. If there was outside proof of your identity (like... oh... genitals?) it wouldn't be so trans would it? There are tests and oracles and such, but none of them cut it. (I want to write a better guide someday, but that's another story.) It's you looking at yourself, (observer observing the observer - something our society doesn't much like), tracking details and making an educated guess between two very difficult alternatives.

I went to the trans focus group, I scoured the internet, I went to the doctor, ~~I drank from the fountain~~. I used ecstatic experiences. Other people have run expensive genetic tests on themselves (see diary of a sex change). But there are no sure signs. There can be no sure signs. The best proof to date is going ahead, starting to change sex and seeing how it feels.

And it feels really good.

Understand that this is often difficult. We're talking about going through puberty a second time without the teenage social framework that sanctifies being a hormonally-convoluted emotional train wreck and which has established norms for changing bodies. Of course, you're also smarter now, so you can deal with it better. Then again, you can't exactly rely on your parents for economic support (or, for many trans folk, any support). And, by our society's standards, you look and sound and are shaped weird, which can be anywhere from awkward to outright dangerous. And your ID may or may not match up with you, which is problematic.

Too, I understand that I write this from a position of (relative) privilege: I pass and I have work. If this was different, the world would be much less kind.

But.

There is one hell of a reward on the other side of things.

It feels....

It feels miraculous.
I never thought this was possible, let alone that it would happen.

I remember years ago (five? more?) coming to the thought that I'd be happier as female, but I saw no way of getting there, and so made efforts to put it out of my mind.
Later, when it would not stay buried, I remember thinking that I could identify internally, imagining myself in secret. This did not work.
There are other techniques of dodging and burying that I do not want to talk about now.

But. Here I am. I'm a girl now. Made it.

It feels alive.
Several Christmases ago. I remember noting how emotionally muted I felt. Like someone had shoved a blanket over my ability to feel anything. Another word for this feeling is "dead." I understand this, because I really do feel alive now. I have things that I enjoy, and I have plans. Plans! I have things that I want to do because I'll find them rewarding, rather than because I don't see a better alternative. Even when I feel crappy, this feeling of being a radiating living being is there. Yeah, this is good.

It feels comfortable.
While sorting out gender identity feels like putting on clothes that fit for the first time, I find that further exploring it, living it, describing it, and settling into it feels like slumping in a large comfortable chair and letting it hold you up. Relax. Let your head droop. Take it easy. Let yourself lie.

It feels like escaping something horrible.
Living as male was not doing my mental health any favours. Above all else, it was nameless and frustrating; seeing a lot of people around me who were being what I wanted, noat quite understanding the problem, but, understanding why or not, feeling feeling unable to get there - ever. I could go on for a long time about all the subtle deaths that come from this place, but I'll just say that it was unpleasant and now I've escaped from it. I will never have to go back. I will never have to go back. I will never have to go back. I will never have to go back. This is not a dream. This is not a lucid dream. This is not a fantasy. This is not a hallucination. This is not a picture. This is not a character. This is not projection. This is not imaginary. This is not fleeting. This is not shifting. This is not elusive. This is not temporary. This is not going to be taken from me under any circumstances - I don't see how that colud happen, but if it did, I wouldn't let it.

This is real. And it will be real for the rest of my life. Thank God. I'm done with that stage. Finished.

That other state. It is done. It is past. It exists in the present only in memories and photographs. It is chimera now.

Tears come and flow as I repeat to myself. Speaking or writing. It is over. It is over. It is over. It is over. It is over. It is over. It is over. It is over. It is over. IT is over. It is over. It is over. It is over. It's over. It's over. It's over. It's over. IIt's over. It's over. It's ove. It'v over. It's over. It's over. It is over. IT is over. It is over. It is over. It is over. It is over. It is over.

It is the dream now. This is the actual. The real. The stable.

I will never have to go back. I will never have to go back. I will never have to go back.

----

This being female is more than the alternative to discomfort, but, upon reflection, it is its place as an alternative that is the most salient. I guess it's hard for me to frame it in any other way. I have little other reference to compare. Still, besides not-being-terrible, this state is good. And it is natural. I like this. I was born to do this. To be here, more or less.

I remember thinking about what "transition" means. Where does it begin and end? Surgery is the old milestone - in part because it often takes so long, and in part because it's such a definite cut. Others say that it never ends. You're always in transition.I wonder where it begins and ends for me. I'd figured that it can begin and end with physical (and bureaucratic?) changes. I began the physical in January or February or March of last year (depending on how you want to measure it: initial meds, blockers or estrogen) and hope to either end them this year, or have a date set to end them. The bureaucracy begins with permissions, scrutinies and waivers a few months in advance, and ends a few months afterwards (at least that's what I expect in my case).

That's physically and legally. Mentally and spiritually? I'd say it begins when you sort things out, and ends when you can say "I am x." And you can say it the next day and the day after; in good moods and bad and mean without hesitation every time. I could do this when I was in a ritual/sleep-deprivation/exhaustion/drug-induced state last August, and it felt good; the kind of confidence that inspires the one who has it. But I could not do it outside of that state. But I've been able to do it recently. Consistantly even. I'm there today. Will I be there tomorrow? Maybe. Increasingly likely I hope.

Saying I'm done that part of transition would really be a milestone. I have no way of knowing; there is no proof outside of my head. There can't be any. But I will definitely be done it by or before May, when we will conclude the renaming.

Until then,

Here I am.

Feelin' Good

(Stands and claps)

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