This post is PART 30 in a guest blogger series following author Rachael's transition from an A.M.A.B (Assigned Male at Birth) individual to that of a self-identified trans woman.
If you are just discovering Queer as me, start the story from the beginning here.
That night I actually slept better than I had in a long time. I mean at least I didn’t hear anything that disturbed my sleep to wake me up. I had decided that I would talk to the doctor about something that I hadn’t told a lot of people, and see if he agreed with me. I was already feeling less depressed today than I had in almost a month. This was, I’d like to think as an encouraging sign of things to come.
I spent breakfast talking with the tall man about our previous conversation. He said that I should think quite seriously about the ramifications of transitioning. I told him that I’ve already lost many friends and family members that I cared for and that if I was indeed Trans, I would do everything in my power to finally find out who I actually am. At least for once in my life I would be me. Whomever that was, I just wanted to find my place. He said that being queer will make my life harder than necessary. He apologized, but said that it was a hard truth. He should know.
I understood that his heart was in the right place, but I knew that my life would never be the same once I left this place.
No matter what. I would never be the same person I was when I originally entered.
Then I got called for my second visit. This one was a bit more in depth. It would hopefully help me understand why I had being calling myself a monster since I was nineteen. Surprisingly the doctor had a different way of seeing my past than I expected. He told me that I couldn’t judge a child’s choices based on my adult reasoning, because I was a child, and therefore couldn’t be held accountable for what I did and thought at that time. I pondered about accountability of a child, until I realized that I had been doing just that in my case. Judging my decisions and my actions based on my knowledge now, and not on what I had been taught at that age. What happened to me, because of the sickness and evils of those who used and abused my body and my mind, could never have been my fault. No matter how many decades that I thought it had, in this case, I was wrong. He let me think on that when he had to excuse himself.
Things was a bit hazy for me then, as a part of my foundation of my identity, that I had been believing all these years started to crack. I was changing, it was more in how I identified, than in my desire to not die. But it was the start of a change that would redefine who I was.
The nurse at the station told me that the doctor had increased my time outside to that of four hours. I was still confined to the hospital and the surrounding grounds though. I quickly grabbed my cell phone and left. This time I went to the cafeteria, and ordered some junk food, and sat and thought.
You never realize how the many decades of punishing internal dialog does to your mental health. All the years that I believed the bullies, all those that told me that I was nothing, and I was so sure that they were right. I was so sure that that their judgement was based on more than hatred or fear. That something was seriously wrong with me.
I now slowly started to realize that they were not only wrong but cruel and inhuman in allowing me to believe that they were right. I knew that was not everything, and I knew that I had a long and difficult path to walk. I had to learn how to not only forgive myself, but to let go of all the internalized hatred.
Even, that one day I could maybe, love myself?
I’m sure at some time in the past I did, love myself that is. I spent the rest of that day in very deep thought.
Editor’s Note: To read Queer as me – Part 31: The cost of freedom, click here. Or click here to read the previous blog post Queer as me – Part 29: Trusting and learning For the latest LSOP blog posts and so much more, make sure to add us on Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram.