I’d spent the weeks before shedding, shedding, shedding. Those things weighting me down, things of the past, those things not used or not needed for this journey, those reminders pulling me back. I did not fully realize how much I was carrying until the moment I let them go. And then going further still, deconstructing my space to give myself something new, the perfect late stage capitalism writer’s garret, books and art, the beautiful ghost of my mother all around me - all of this my inadvertent preparation, constructing a cocoon for the day the pharmacist would finally call.
I started hrt on November 6.
New year, new beginning, new horizon. It may be trite, perhaps sounding in your ear with that lilt denoting - sarcasm. And it is, but given my very dual nature it is also sincere. Incredibly so, I’m afraid. It’s so easy to lose sight of the fact that every day is a new beginning, every hour, every minute, even. Or they can be, if you let them be.
I am coming into the New Year hot. In spite of the fact that I feel hopeful these days about little outside of my own little world. An act of resistance and the manifestation of the noticeable ease in my dysphoria the day that I started on tea, meditating and better able to deal - with the world, with myself and all of these feelings, with my failings and the failings of the people that I once loved, some of them former lovers and some that are people that I am related to. Some days feeling more joy than I feel I deserve, while others that inclination to burn it all down, scream and rage against the dying of the light, stumbling towards the apocalypse with nothing figured out and no idea what I’m doing and no master plan, thinking to myself,
“the most important moment is now.”
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