I have arrived at an interesting point, a place that feels unusual for me and it may strike my friends as incredible. But after visiting Trinidad for GRS, after scores of laser hair removal sessions, after hundreds of hours of electrolysis, after almost three years of therapy, after reconfiguring my body to be my new self, after throwing away all my old clothes and buying all new ones, after telling everyone in the world that I was becoming Joyce, and after being Joyce for long enough that it’s becoming hard to remember not being Joyce — after all of this, I suddenly feel almost as if it’s all been unnecessary. And by “unnecessary,” I don’t mean to suggest that I have any regrets — what I think I mean is that whatever was driving this incredible change within me has vanished, that I don’t feel any urge or necessity to make any changes. And if I could imagine myself three or four years ago feeling like I do today, then I probably wouldn’t have had to make all these changes.
But there’s the rub, isn’t it? Because I was NOT at this point three or four years ago. Back then, I was eaten up with shame and guilt and anxiety and despair and couldn’t possibly imagine (no matter how hard I might try) arriving at today’s place of stasis. At this point, I don’t feel anything — I don’t have a single gender, I don’t belong to a sex, I don’t have a firm history or identity. It’s as if this huge turmoil of the past few years erased — no, burned or grinded away — the bumps and ridges of my surface like an industrial acid or a giant grinding wheel of my re-formation, leaving me smooth and finished in only once sense of meaning. I can also be seen as raw and unfinished, a jewel that’s half-way complete, not quite a stone, but not glittering, either.
I don’t feel elation, excitement, despair, or depression — just mundane rawness.
It’s a paradox because I’ve just returned from a fairly important surgery of transformation, and yet instead of feeling transformed, I feel normal. My body’s just a body. Maybe that’s what feeling all right in your skin feels like. Or maybe I’m just settling into my new parts. Does this mean I’ve lost my feeling of gender-variance? I don’t know — I don’t feel terribly variant right now, but maybe I need time to heal. On the other hand, maybe I’m on the cusp of being perfectly normal for the rest of my life (history notwithstanding).
This feeling of nothingness may seem familiar. In fact, I wrote about 9 months ago that I seemed to have arrived at a point of nothingness, but if this transition has taught me anything, it’s that just when you think you’ve reached a plateau, there always seems to be another bit of interesting geography ahead. Maybe it’s a gentle settling into a certain valley of peace or maybe it’s a completely-unforeseen peak of difficulty, but the important thing is that one is never finished.
Maybe that’s the obvious and natural way to perceive life. We’re never really finished learning or growing or experiencing life’s rough blows, so why would a transsexual believe that there is some kind of flat stasis waiting him or her after settling a huge piece of life’s unfinished business? The very act of settling that business gives rise to new insights, complications, ambitions, does it not?
Will this current feeling of nothingess, of being utterly mundane, give rise to new terrain of physical, emotional, or psychological complexity? Who knows? Probably, but there’s really no anticipating what’s over that next rise, that undiscovered country.
August 27, 2009 at 7:34 am
Your post struck a chord with me, as I have been feeling something similar. For all of my 20’s I struggled with horrible mood swings and depression, to the point where I have seen more doctors than I can count on two hands, been a guniea pig for every major pharmaceutical company and even “took a rest” if you know what I mean. After finally figuring out what was wrong with me and accepting the diagnosis and treatment, I struggled for years with inner turmoil. It took a long time for those moods to calm down, for the medication to work, for me to stop fighting the medication, etc. I remember the last 9 years as one of major suffering and turmoil and fighting and angst. Last October, I decided to try one last time to live my life medication free. I was ready for a huge fight and failure. However, sitting here now, I’m amazed at how put together and at peace with myself I am. I’m not saying I don’t ahve my days where I struggle, and that the moods are completely “normal,” but I’m so amazed at how happy and peaceful I am. I’ve finally accepted myself. I ask myself all the time if those meds and years of turmoil were really worth it. Could I have just “waited it out” until now? But I realize that no, those years of struggle and the medications were absolutely necessary in order to be who and how I am today. Just because I’m not feeling that way I expected doesn’t mean I haven’t won the battle.
September 5, 2009 at 10:50 am
What is over the rise is a spectrum of creativity that’s been focused on the changing. You are such a natural writer. What creative texts do you see waiting to activate your keyboard?