Why can’t you just be a crossdresser?
I notice that soon after coming out as a crossdresser, my boyfriend is reading everything he can by and about transsexuals. Did I bring that on by asking if his transgendered self stopped at crossdressing? I’m not ready to deal with the huge adjustment that his being a transsexual would require. And then there’s my gut, my ever-reliant intuition telling me that his coming out isn’t over. Waiting to hear what seems to be the inevitable is HARD. Also, I’m incredibly impatient. If it’s news that will greatly impact me and change our relationship forever, I wanted to know yesterday, damn it. So I push the question; I ask him with increasing frequency if he’s sure he’s not a transsexual even though my wiser self knows that I’m not ready to truly deal with his answer.
My brain is so mad at me:
Why can’t you just enjoy what might be the last moments of your hetero relationship as you know it?
Because knowing it could be the last makes it impossible for me to enjoy.
And I’d rather know now so I can start dealing.
And it’s already different…just anticipating how different it will be.
How about giving him the time he needs because it’s not all about you?
Fine, yes, I get that. But this waiting is TORTURE.
And I am so. fucking. torn. I waver between being his supportive best friend and the girlfriend desperately trying to be okay with her boyfriend’s probable true coming out. Aside from the bottom dropping out of any future expectations of our relationship, the countdown is seriously upon us before Tokyo take-off. My brain is quickly, quickly, not quickly enough trying to sort it out. We have to sell off and pack up our American lives in less than six months, my boyfriend is talking all sorts of transgender, cisgender (which I apparently am 100%), agender, bigender, genderqueer, crossdresser vs. transvestite vs. transsexual and I’m…waiting, still waiting.
And then one day…
Rumi, I think I want to take hormones.
I’m a transsexual.
Of course you are, love.
And then I start to cry.