Revolution

Of the mechanical type, a turning round or rotating, as on an axis. Though in the period of time I have not posted to this blog I have, from an emotional since, under gone an internal revolution. Fortunately it has been devoid of violence. Though my body may disagree.

I was sitting in my garage yesterday. Planted firmly to a bucket watching the rain hit the asphalt drive of my alley. Water streaming in earnest. I’m not really sure where it ends up. Vying for space in a cluttered gutter on 13^th street no doubt. Or pooling annoyingly at the four way, two houses down. I felt, and still feel nostalgic. Perhaps because I should have been sitting on that bucket more throughout the two years I have lived in my apartment. Or perhaps it was the closest I have felt in so long to being complete.

My transformation has been slow. Similar to wading through mud. My voice being the recipient of the most drastic of changes. The most noticeable by just about everyone. I’m ok with the pace. It feels safe. I’m nearly at the end of that road though. I can’t continue much longer without fully coming out. Work is the only realm of my life where my legal name is still used, where she is still used, where the questioning looks continue to look me dead in the eye. Every day.

My motorcycle. The object of my affection. Or obsession. Or current object is most accurate. I’m an air sign after all and will probably never cling to one place or thing for very long. My first response cruising at 40 mph hour down K st was, ‘this feels like god’. Appropriate? In more ways than one. She is in need of attention. It will take a while to work out the bugs. I don’t think this motorcycle, in her 29 years has seen enough road time. She’s cranky, and well, stubborn. She’s left me nearly stranded twice (I’ve only gone out twice) in the middle of night in the middle of NE in near darkness. A test of my patience? Probably. That in of itself is a good thing.

I’m finally here. In my body. Fully conscious. Fully aware. Aware of how intense and unforgiving my depression is. Aware that my depression is not debilitating.

So back to revolution. I choose revolution over evolution for the simple reason I don’t believe I have actually evolved. Though I know I have somewhat, we all do with the passing of time. I feel I am back where I started nearly three years ago. Fighting the daunting cloud of codependency that will no doubt follow me for the rest of my life. Dropping buckets of precipitation on my head when I am left, unequivocally, without rain gear. I have never been good at setting boundaries. It’s more than just setting boundaries. Effective communication is not my strong point, especially when I’m feeling scared and vulnerable.

Revolution. I have returned full circle. I remember again that I am capable of love. I have held on so tight. So hard. I have fought against. Spit in the face of. And rebelled at the notion of unlocking that door again. That door. This is not to say that I ever shut down completely. I have an immense amount of love to give and have dished it out continuously. However. Not without consequence. A consequence of self deprecation. I know what I’m capable of. I know how fiercely in love I am capable of being. I know how much I want that. I know what it feels like. I know once the taste of it reaches your lips there is no going back. The heart does not simply forgive and forget when the shit is the real deal. I know all good foodies will understand this.

I am guilty of refusal. I am guilty of being in a constant disagreeable state. I am guilty of expecting eventual resolution, when all I should have ever hoped for was an eventual revolution. I’d like to be over it. 1000 miles away from where I started, but I’m really just back at the beginning. I’m tired of feeling guilty, everyday, for the angsty retributions I have allowed myself to endure. This is me holding myself accountable for something I have probably been making up in my head for years. Accountability only works when you can forgive yourself for your own transgressions.

I haven’t. I’m not sure I ever will. My accountability is probably a bit of a farce if you think about it from a place of forgiveness. I hope I’m wrong. Or at least I hope I can just fucking do it. Forgive myself that is.

All is well. This is my journey. I am truly hopeful.

Liquid N'Metal

Its been two weeks. I'm sweating constantly. I still don't really smell though. I have never had to wear deodorant. I'd say overall change has been minimal. I don't have much of an appetite. I seem to need less sleep. My period has lasted 7 days, which has never happened. My orgasms are different. I can feel them in my gut, just under my belly button. And 'it' has grown a bit.

I have my second shot tomorrow. I have to give it myself. I don't feel to nervous about it. Watching the needle pierce my skin and slip in my thigh the first time helped. It didn't hurt at all, even as the T was injected into my muscle.

So we'll see how things go tomorrow. I have done really really well with my drinking. I basically went from drinking nearly every day, to drinking 3-4 drinks in a week. I have not drank alone at all, which is probably a pretty good indication I am the road to a healthy drinking habit. I also quit smoking. I have slipped here and there, but this time has been the easiest of all the other times I have tried to quit.

I'm feeling a little less than eloquent right now. Hopefully tomorrows post will be better. Less all over the place.

Now that I think of it, I have no patience. This may be a factor in my inability to be more thoughtful about what I'm writing.

Last Day

Today is my last day. In this spot. The ambiguous transmigration begins here. Where will I go? How will I get there? What will I look like at the end of this journey? I have no idea. I have no expectations. I do know change is inevitable. The rate of that change is limited to my chemistry and my biology. However, on the matter of my soul. Change is limited only to me and my willingness to let go. Starting tomorrow a chemical will be introduced into my body. That chemical, testosterone, is not foreign to me, however the levels that I will be receiving are. Thus the transmigration. Ambiguous because of biology. Ambiguous because of societal expectations for gender conformity.