It’s almost 5 am, I’m sitting on the couch in my new favorite dress and wearing a cute pair of ballet slippers. The rain outside is coming down at a faster pace now. I usually like to take a walk but the rain is bad enough that I don’t think an umbrella would suffice in keeping me dry at all.
So, I sit here in the dark, going over in my head the ways I could come out to my children. So that I don’t have to sit in the dark anymore. I sit here, hopeful that some miracle will happen and I will physically become a girl. I’m a dreamer that way. I still dream of being me, the not this person. Then my time will run out, I will have to get ready for work, which will not include putting on makeup or finding something nice to wear. And I will go into work where people call me “sir” and “man” and I will take a moment of my day to go into the men’s room and cry because I am in the men’s room.
If there was a test that doctors could have run on an infant me, they could have fixed me, my parents would have known that this is a medical issue not a “my son decided” issue. I would still be this strange body, but it would be less strange and I could have grown into it correctly. I’m a dreamer. One that sits in the dark, on a couch, in a nice dress, just being me.