looking back at the footsteps i just made
i like it better when it’s all in my head
i like it better 'cause at least i’m not dead
i’m getting better 'cause that’s what i’m supposed to do
it's the first sequel blog! time for my favourite thing in the world: looking back on the past and feeling conflicted things about it.
i got my new passport yesterday! it's black! it's accurate! it lets me leave the country!
i took perhaps slightly concerning amounts of pleasure in cutting my old passport to pieces. can you blame me.
as terrifying as the leadup to and the appointment itself was for some unrelated reasons i will get into shortly, i survived, there was only one small issue delaying the new passport and i got it just under a week later. i left the office in tears (look, it was a small issue but it was an issue nonetheless and i panicked), walked through liverpool to meet my friends who had kindly offered to join me as moral support, sat down in a cafe with them, hyperventilated for a bit, and eventually got over myself and had a nice day.
it is a very strange feeling to look at this tiny yet very important legal document, 'the proof that i exist' as a friend put it, and think about all the time, effort, misgendering, arguments with medical professionals, begging of gender clinics, blood, sweat and tears that went into acquiring it. but hey. fuck everything. that's me. i exist.
as for why the leadup to the appointment was terrifying, i can thank my new acquaintance progesterone for that. i, foolishly, interpreted the oft-mentioned side effect of drowsiness when taken orally as a useful sleep aid; considering that i was incredibly stressed the night before the appointment and i had to wake up, get up, get out there very early, i figured: why not, i'll take a break from taking it as a suppository and just swallow it. i'll sleep better!
i did not, in fact, sleep better. seemingly, the 'sleep aid' part refers not to helping one fall asleep, but to helping them not wake up. i missed all my alarms and woke up an hour and a half after i was supposed to (see: i woke up three minutes after the train i was supposed to catch left the station).
so, i burst into tears (that appointment was £200 and not able to be rebooked if missed, so you can understand my panic) but got up at great speed anyway. i ran to the station - not a turn of phrase, i sprinted - made it to the next train somehow, did my eyeliner in the train's bathroom (wouldn't recommend), hailed a taxi the millisecond i exited liverpool lime street and tried not to start crying again in the back of this lovely driver's car. i made it with two minutes to spare.
if you're wondering, no, i have not taken prog orally since. that seems to be a choice limited only to nights where i am certain that i can freely be unconscious for an undisclosed portion of the morning (so, never). at least it isn't uncomfortable taking it the other way!
on a lighter note, unrelated to either legal documents or just-about-legal hormone therapy, my first session of therapy went well. i won't go into too much detail, but i very quickly felt like i had made the right choice in finally starting. took me long enough.
last thing, and this is fresh off the prints (literally) this morning: i was fortunate enough to see an initial draft of my book. like, the entire book. written, edited, designed. a pdf that, after a couple more passes and a couple more months, will be printed into a physical book. what the fuck man.
first time i've ever sobbed scrolling through a pdf.