At Least I’ll Own a Dress…

So what does it mean to transition -

 

“The more one talks about the “elephant” in the room, the smaller she becomes,…until she is no longer.”

 

Well, therapy for one is and has been for me, one of the most difficult parts of this journey. Let me break it down into segments, that it might give you more of a crystal clear vision of the stages into which I’ve entered and with the exception of this past year; exited and exited like Elvis leaving the building.

 

My very first encounter with a therapist (we called them Counselors, when I was growing up. Unless of course they had a Ph.D following their name). I was around 13, maybe 14 years old and seemingly in great distress and it must have been, because my mother was the one who suggested I might want to see someone, “talk” with someone. I remember the appointment quite clearly, I was shaking on the inside so badly that I couldn’t concentrate and the man I saw was nice enough, but at every turn when he’d ask me; “So, tell me what’s bothering you,…everything said here is confidential and you can feel safe.” All I remember is that I sat there and barely looked at him, but inside I was screaming out and terrified that at any moment I would just loudly proclaim;

 

“I AM A GIRL!!!

 

Can’t anyone else see this?!

 

What’s wrong with you people?!”

 

Truly, I was on the internal edge of my seat for the entire hour. When it was over I felt relieved, well that’s not entirely true, I was still scared, but refused to return, even when my mom suggested that it might be good to go more than once. Yes, it would have been, not probably would have been, but would have definitely been a good idea to go again, but I knew deep down, that if I did return I’d have painted myself into a corner from which there’d be no return and I would have to tell.

 

Fast-Forward, 16 years later, Baltimore. Once again I was ready to burst wide-open, (oh and by the way, there were innumerable periods during my life, where i’d feel that I would lose it at any moment, but somehow I’d dig deep and hold on with everything I had and tell myself; “I can handle this. I can overcome this. This will pass. It’s just a phase. A fantasy of sorts. Uh huh…and so it went) I called a guy with (yes, you guessed it) a Ph.D behind his name, a therapist/psychologist with GID/Transsexualism as his specialty. (“Specialty sounds so, so,…Culinaryesque – “Yes waiter, as my appetizer I’ll have the GID, dressing on the side (double-entendre absolutely not intended, still funny, n’est pas?) and for my main course, my main course,…did I hear you correctly when you said that the House Speciality was,…was,…what did you call it, wait-wait don’t tell me,…ah yes, Transsexualism. Yes, definitely I’ll have the Transsexualism and not the lunch portion either, I’m famished,…and I want it to arrive to my table on a platter,…yes you heard me correctly, did I stutter,…a platter of Transsexualism, and no-no-no, no dessert for me, I’m certain I’ll be quite satisfied after that…) So, there I was in his office, no couch, no tables, just a couple of leather Brahmin-Lawyer like chairs. I tell him my “story”, 50 minutes later he renders and delivers his diagnosis; “It is evident that you are a textbook transsexual.” It was chilling to actually hear it for the first time, out loud. I believe I wept, yes I wept. Then he hands me a tissue and says, “Alright, tomorrow I’m going to make a call and refer you for Hormone Replacement Therapy.” Yes, that matter-of-fact, as if he were about to call the Deli and order a Rueben. (I’m thinking; what? No roses? ) And I freak. I mean I just freak, internally of course, but nonetheless I do and I ask him (I’m very polite, as I’m sure you’ve noticed by now, about things, so mostly I don’t tell anyone anything, mostly I ask) if it’d be alright if I got back to him. He says of course and says also this, his parting words, something I will never forget;

 

“I wouldn’t wait any longer,…if I were you.”

 

I will return to this; My Travels Through My “Escape from Therapy”, shortly.

 

But my next post will deal specifically with finally telling someone,…

 

My Mom.