Whenever I come out of a sharp bout of suicidal ideation, I get into a mood where the basic truths of suffering and endurance, of meaning and survival, become profound and sacred. Even knowing that my elders and betters understand this more thoroughly than I do does not make me feel ashamed for treating this knowledge as a sublime new discovery because it is knowledge I have suffered for and that I have earned.

I will endure. Not for false promises that things will improve, because they may not. It does not always look better in the morning. It does not always look better with friends to help. It does not always look better after a shot of rum. And if it does look better, that may be an illusion, setting me up for an even greater fall. There is no certainty, no promise of a better future, no guarantee that life will ever be better than the utter misery I find myself in whenever this mood strikes me. There is nothing I can do to change this, to bring confidence into my life.

So I endure to avoid certainty. Because if I die, it will never look better.


It Tastes Like Steam

It’s been about seven hours since my first estrogen shot.

About a half hour after the shot, I got real loopy. My head felt floaty, in a pleasant way, and I felt almost detached from my body. That lasted for about a half hour. I came down from the estrogen high, and settled into a deep calm. The kind of calm you get after a long, hard cry, but without the feeling you get in your chest normally. It felt more cerebral. I imagine it sitting “behind” me. Last, and most unusual, I found that estrogen has a taste. It tastes like steam. I’ve had this feeling, of lukewarm steam on my lips and in my mouth, since the loopies.

I can’t tell what is the estrogen, and what is the relief. I have a genderqueer friend WC who shared the story of putting on a skirt for the first time, and making the determination to go out in public (well, to a mental hospital–long story) wearing it. She says she felt much the same way, particularly the steam taste bit. So maybe estrogen doesn’t taste of steam; maybe relief does.

Injections are not very fun. I was hoping for a dramatic arm shot, with a vein and an elastic. I wanted to shoot up with estrogen, hardcore like. Instead, what happens is that I get an inch-and-half long needle shoved all the way into my ass. It hurts a lot. The sting of the needle isn’t that bad, but the deep ache that sets in soon after the shot isn’t much fun. I get one of these every other week for a few months now, and then hopefully transition to patches and pills.

Speaking of pills, I need to call my endocrinologist tomorrow and talk to her about androgen blockers. I should have asked her today. They make the estrogen more effective by preventing my body from processing testosterone. They also cause impotence, but whatever, that was going to happen anyhow. Soft dicks can still come, so I’m golden. Even better, I hear that after you’re on estrogen long enough, you can have multiple orgasms, even with a penis. They’re “dry” and more of a full-body affair. In essence, fully female orgasms. Kind of excited!

I’m also going to get a period with everything but the bleeding, sooner or later. I’m looking forward to the first one. I probably won’t look forward to the second. We’ll see.

I’m on my way. I’m finally on my way.