[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.
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