Things are getting pretty real in terms of the testosterone-fuelled part of my journey this week. I go for blood tests and a visit to my psychiatrist tomorrow to get the letter referring me to the GP who will manage my hormone balancing, whom I see next week Tuesday.
And it’s a very double-edged sword kind of week emotion-wise. I’m calm and ready. And excited. And there will be time for the exciting things, and I’ll speak about them as they happen.
But now I’m also using this period as a bracing of myself for the journey ahead, as a very realistic and healthy mourning of the changes ahead: This is one of the last times I will look like this. This is the last time my voice will sound like this to this particular song I’m singing while I drive. This will be one of the last times women I don’t know will react to me as a fellow woman, and not incrementally distance me as a ‘man’. This is one of the last times lying here with my partner that the body she feels will feel like this. This is one of the last times that her and I can speak hypothetically about whether our relationship will make it through this period. From next week those conversations will be more reality-based.
Calm. Excited. Scared. Sad. Happy. Real.
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