30 Days In… and Still Waiting to See Her

Everyone tells me I need to document my journey. I’ve tried. But I don’t really feel like anything’s changing. I don’t really feel like there’s anything to document. Today makes it 30 days on HRT—60 little blue pills, one in the morning and one at night. I’ve heard so many people tell me that after a few days or a week or two, they feel so much different and have clarity, and they know it’s where they need to be. I’m not going to lie—I’ve had moments of clarity. Some of the chaos in my brain is gone. Most days I don’t feel like there are 500 people yelling, but I still feel like Christina is yelling and screaming to get out. I’m sitting here today writing this fully as Christina. My wife and kids left for church a couple hours ago. As soon as I knew they were gone, I shaved my face, jumped in the shower, shaved my whole body, got out, sat down, put a little makeup on—just enough to feel a little better about myself. Then I walked in my closet, rifling through all my outfits, trying to find something I wanted to wear—something I could stand in front of the mirror in, take a couple pictures, and post on my social media—to make myself feel a little better, to let the world know Christina had a little while to shine today. But standing there in front of the mirror, a boy in a dress and a wig was staring back at me. I hate body dysmorphia so badly. I wish I could see Christina looking back, but it’s not happening yet. At this point, I don’t know if it ever will. They say HRT takes time; it’s a slow process. The bad thing is I have no patience, so most days I try to forget I’m even on this journey at all.