All of your energy is focused over a period of years to accomplish one goal after another. Transition, adaptation and then after a longish while surgery. Now what? Well, you get to live your life the way it was supposed to be, but aside from having some new chores to maintain the new biology, you no longer are driving toward a goal, just living.
I’ve reached this point and find myself alone after twenty nine years of marriage, in a strange place (but very nice), still estranged from our daughter and losing my male friends because, as my friend C stated it “men don’t really want to be friends with women”. While a generality, there’s plenty of truth in that.
There’s plenty for me to be thankful for, and I am, but the miasma of depression is about the meeting of thought and biochemistry, not about objective measures of living a good life. If it were amenable to that I would have been able to live out my life as D.
I’m grieving my old biology. I know trans women who at least say they had no qualms, but I lived with those parts for 58 years. I hardly want them back, and I’m content with my decision, but just as I’ve had to grieve for D, my male self, I need to grieve a bit for the lost biology while I take delight in having the new biology and the potential it symbolizes.
I saw my psych nurse yesterday and my therapist last week (and I’ll see my therapist again this coming week). What I heard was that if the combination of loss, divorce, surgery and displacement hadn’t affected me deeply that then they’d be worried. I think they’re right.
The dose on one of my three meds was raised and I’ll check in a month from now. Hopefully the combination of time and medication will see rapid improvement.