Testing...Testing...

If there is any one thing that I can name as a test of my resolve to transition, it would have to be the physical pain.  Always itchy, tender breasts pale in comparison with the hair removal methods that I have endured.  The only saving grace to the laser treatments that I am undergoing is that they are relatively quick.  They are physically draining.  I feel like butt right now.  I will use the laser method until such time as it doesn’t work anymore.  By then hopefully I will not have much left, because the only alternative at that point is to finish the rest with the dreaded needle electrolysis.  I hope that day never comes.  The forty hours I endured back when I started this journey was enough.  I cringe whenever I think about those sessions.

The funny thing with my laser doc is, he always starts a conversation when he is about to start frying my face.  After the first couple of zaps, everything I was thinking is quickly replaced with “oh fuck that hurt!”  Our conversations don’t end up making it very far.  We usually take a short break between wavelength changes, which I use to ponder whether or not all of this pain is worth it.  I had him turn up the power this time again.  Mistake.  The last time was bearable while he was doing it, whereas this time was quite excruciating.  The last time a different nurse applied the Emla to my face and did a better job of it.  Oh well, it’s over for now.  Until next month.  The thought of never having to shave again and the soft supple skin that will be left over is certainly worth it.  Shaving has become relatively easy and I can shave every day if I need to, without problems as proven during the holiday vacation.

My preferred language of female mode as opposed to saying that I was living as “Christine” is on purpose.  I feel that I am Christine no matter how I am dressed, and it sounds creepy, like I am talking about another person.  I am Christine and I am Christopher all in one package.  A name is nothing but another label.  The name alone doesn’t include all that’s inside, unless your name is asshole.  Presenting in female mode is obviously a huge part of who I am, but it alone does not define me to myself.  My life has taken on a whole new meaning for me over the past few months.  I actually feel that I am really close to being the person I have always envisioned myself to be.

My holiday vacation served as a mini real life test.  I subconsciously ended up pushing myself to live as much of that time in female mode as possible.  I didn’t set out or even plan it.  I was debating with myself when I was thinking about packing my bag and what clothing I would take with me.  I had always wanted to live in female mode for consecutive days, but never ended up for whatever reason being able to do it.  After the first couple of days, it didn’t seem so difficult to imagine.  It actually felt really good.  I felt as though I crossed a line of sorts.  It felt right.  It is difficult for me to put into words how all this feels.  Simply put, my outer appearance now fits with my inner identity.  I used to hate myself for wanting this.  I could always come up with an excuse not to transition.  Why did I fight it so long?  I wish I would have had the determination to do it thirteen years ago.  Life could have been so much simpler for everyone around me, and for that I feel deep regret, sorrow and guilt.  It makes me weep when I think about all the lives I’ve wrecked with my problems.

I love my family for caring enough about me to support me throughout my life, whatever or whoever I am or become.