Woo. Today marks 23 months since I took my first hrt pill and day 46 post-op. For all intents and purposes, my transition should be over, and yet, I can't help but feel as though it's only now that this whole business is beginning to pick up and entirely liable to get much worse. The things that matter? Yeah, been there, done that. It's the small things that get to you - the death by a thousand cuts, you could say. The few dozen malfeasant hairs that laser didn't kill or happened to sprout up off of hrt stare cruelly back at you in the mirror, requiring tweezers quickly and promising to return to remind you that you're still not there yet. It's the slightly prominent brow ridge and subtly too square chin that don't inhibit passing but still mar your face, ensuring that you'll never be an attractive woman and damning you to subsequent compounding horrors with age. The body hair that never entirely goes away entirely still sneaks up on you and belies everything you are just as much as the **** and balls did. Seeing young women every day who are so pretty and lithe as you skulk around nearing six feet with a body more intended for football, and what's more realizing the lot of them have been handed their figures on a silver platter never knowing the vaguest glimmer of this special hell. Dreading another doctor or anything involving a background check because you're suddenly reminded of years of violence perpetrated by a birth defect and reduced to a mental patient. These are the things that kill you from the inside out, day by day without reprieve.
It's funny, all I wanted for years was SRS, to do what I needed to be as close as I could to being any other normal girl. I now have what I wanted, but it would seem like everything else with transition, my problems have merely fissioned, and the amount of things I seek to have done has ballooned. FFS, BA, lipo, full body laser... Whatever it takes to be physically stunning. I want to cause car accidents because men were staring at me, even if it means going the Nina Arsenault route. Maybe then I might be done, maybe catch something to ease my fate, although nothing will ever change the fundamentally flawed facts of my existence.