…it’s such a shame that I row to the edges so I can fall off. – Of Monsters and Men – Rororo
I can’t quite put my finger on an exact date but Gender Dysphoria (its insidious forms are legion) has been a demon in my life for something like a year give or take. In years, prior, I just had some unfortunate, but fairly common fetishes.
So not bad timing in my life to be having a long-distance relationship with my girlfriend. As much as I truly love and miss her, trying to figure this out while living together or seeing each other all the time would be even more difficult.
One Gender Dysphoria inducing ritual I particularly detest is packing all “my” things away. Like being some kind of crime scene cleaner. I erase all evidence of something unfortunate that occurred…myself.
I have written several times about how much I love my girlfriend so I’ll skip gushing over her here. I’ll cut to the chase and just say that we really look forward to seeing each other…well, mostly.
Things changed once Gender Dysphoria unceremoniously invaded my life. I have been honest with my girlfriend from Day 1.
Now I have a secret…and by no means a little one. It’s not a comfortable feeling.
I feel dishonest and I question my own personal ethics on a daily basis.
When MUST I tell her? I started HRT a few days ago. Surely the time to speak to her is now? Or maybe I can drag this out until something starts to change physically? Maybe I control this by managing dosages and keep myself a “man” for just a little longer.
Or maybe I’m full of shit and all my pathetic attempts at control will blow up in my face.
You see my subconscious is always trying to “out” me. It turns out my subconscious (like all the most evil politicians in the world) is also an expert in brinkmanship.
Despite my desire to not have “the talk” at this time, my subconscious has other ideas and will push the boundaries of normal conversation into dangerous territory nearly every time I interact with my girlfriend and even my one close guy friend.
Observe a typical text message exchange between my girlfriend and myself.
Last week my only good guy friend comes over and suddenly, out of the blue, it turns out he has a bee in his bonnet about “the transgender political agenda”.
“Stay in the closet Alli. Leave it alone.” says my logical brain.
My subconscious: “Hey this is a wonderful time to speak at length on this. After all, no way it’ll raise any suspicions.”
So I go for it. Seemingly carefree of getting found out, my friend’s eyes wide as I dive right in. Surely he’ll just ask me what gives? Nope. Like it never happened.
Likewise with my girlfriend…
She came to visit me this past weekend.
Rather than visit the local hot springs like we normally would, we went to the local community center to use their hot tub and pool.
I was reminded instantly that the pool had a ceiling colored like the transgender flag.
My subconscious: “Hey Alli sup? I think you should totally mention the ceiling to her!”
I managed to resist although the suggestion must have been tabled about a dozen times while I used the pool.
As per usual, my subconscious finds a way to cut me out of the decision making process entirely and somehow steers the conversation into the orbit of one LGBTQ2S+ topic or another.
My girlfriend comments on how now “…even some straight guys get together with other guys. But that means they aren’t straight last time I checked.”
Me: “They might be straight. Kind of like a woman who might entertain a fun night with another woman but not be into a relationship with one…or maybe the person has a fetish for dick. Plus you never know – people get lonely. Just the desire for some human closeness…or maybe they just exist somewhere on the non-binary spectrum somewhere.”
Her: “Well, like I can’t imagine what it would take for you to be gay with another man.”
Me: Fuck it. “Well, I’m gay for you.”
She just smiles.
Now I should have just left it well enough alone and had a nice soak in the hot tub, but noooo I had to push things to the brink again.
Me: “What? No non-binary Becky?” (referring to her)
Her: Scrunches up her nose (which would normally be super cute) in mock disgust and shakes her head.
Now I felt a bit sad. Even worse perhaps than my subconscious actually provoking “the talk”, I now had an idea that “the talk” may actually not go very well when/if it ever happens.
Once again, this little interaction doesn’t seem to raise any alarms.
I look dejected. She asks if I am alright. “Yeah, I’m all good. Just relaxing.”
Afterwards we go back to my place to shower again and change so we can go out for lunch and get smashed on Bellinis.
Her: “I’d like to stop and get some new makeup if we can fit it in. I’ll make it quick.”
Me: “No need to make it quick. I’m all good.” (Yes, please drag this out. Let me shop with you.)
Her: “I also need some new heels. Can we stop in at Michael Kors? We don’t have to…”
Me: “No problem. I’ll come in with you. No need to rush.” (Wonder if they have anything in size 14?)
Even after I started shaving my entire body a few months back (prior to that it was just regular manscaping) I had an opportunity to stop and grow some back before she noticed.
Nope. I just couldn’t bring myself to let it grow back. My girlfriend made a couple of comments then it just went away.
I have been taking a herbal estrogen supplement for a couple of months. (Truth be told, there has been a tiny bit of breast growth.)
My objective mind: “Alli, uhh…you really better stop.”
My subconscious mind: “Don’t stop. You can manage this. Just pay attention and stop if you need to later on.”
So I didn’t stop.
I finally got the green-light to start Hormone Replacement Therapy.
My objective mind: “Alli, you are so going to get caught.”
My subconscious mind: “No. you can play this just right and somehow see some changes but you’ll be able to control it all or explain it away…not to worry.”
I forge ahead.
My objective mind: “Uhh…you do realize that getting approved for FFS/GRS means actual surgery right?”
My subconscious mind: “No worries. By the time it rolls around you’ll be all set up in life and good to go!”
I carry on with my plans for my surgical assessments.
I can’t explain any of this in any rational sense other than to assume I clearly want to get caught.
It’ll be easier if I do. I just won’t have a choice.
Like waiting for a big fight to dump your significant other. Or baiting someone to throw the first punch so you can muster the stones to jump into the fight…
In any case…just a cheap move to make up for my fear.
How much longer will I just lay these traps for myself?
When will I get caught?
…until then. I’ll keep rowing to the edge so I can fall off.