Monday, June 10, 2019

Written Monday, June 10, 2019

[Published retroactively on 2021-09-03, unedited.]

One of the reasons I take my transition desires seriously is that they are very different from other things I want.

What should I get for lunch? Oh, hmm... maybe a sandwich? Do I want a sandwich? What kind of sandwich? The place that makes that kind of sandwich is further away... but you can get this less appealing type of sandwich closer – and cheaper! Is that compelling enough? Or should I take the hit and get the first kind? Maybe I don't want that kind so bad after all. Do I?

Give me a decision to make, and I'll find a thousand questions that are somehow all super important for making the actual choice. If I don't know much about the decision, or the implications of various choices, it gets even worse... first I need to understand all the ramifications of all possible outcomes, and then I will ask a thousand annoying questions about all that.

I over-analyze the ever living fucking shit out of everything.

And then there's transition or gender expression matters. Everything just feels like the polar opposite of my usual process. Would I like to have long hair? Yes. Am I content with the color of my hair? No, jet black or broke, mother fucker. I have never had appreciably long hair or any other color (discounting the blinding white-blonde thing I had naturally, at a very young age). I have no point of reference here, no anchor from which to understand the impact of these desires, and I don't fucking care. I feel no need to ask questions, to weigh options, to consider consequences.

In general, I have a lot of trouble wanting things. So when I pause and observe that I really, really, fucking want boobs – that sort of makes one take notice. When I am suddenly insistent on not analyzing things to death... I think that's a pretty good sign that the feelings are fucking real.