In an unexpected turnabout of
thought--or perhaps it was a sudden change of heart--this scared me
so incredibly and thoroughly that I quickly loosened my instrument of
death, frantically gulped some air down, and thought a bit about what I was doing. I
will say this, the experience certainly awakened me from the pathetic
mewing wretch of tears and boogers I had metamorphosed into for the
night. And I was immediately sobered.
Why bring this up?
You see, a lot has happened in the past
year--so much that it can be hard to make proper sense of what
exactly HAS happened, much less deciphering whether it was good or
bad. And among the incessant number of things that have happened to
me, there have been two things that have been the most difficult for
my heart to make sense of, two relationships, both of decent length,
that have abruptly ended just within the past year.
The shorter of these two officially
ended a month ago now, but really the annoying calls (admittedly,
most made by me), insults (his domain), and heartwrenchedness
(Microsoft says its not a word... Agree to disagree) came to a teary
climax a few weeks back. And for a moment, it did bring this past
incident described at the beginning to mind. Of course, I didn't have
to relive the insanity to sober up this time. That, ladies and
gentlemen, is what experience is for--that is, if you were like me as
a kid and you didn't have the common sense to listen to advice...
Yes, EXPERIENCE--and hopefully none of you have to experience a night
like that.
Getting back on track: I had been in a
relationship with this man--we'll just call him Mr. Wonderful for
now--since last December, which was not at all a vast stretch of
time, but as stated, it was a decent length; It was long enough for
me to have fallen for him.
Now, I could go into a gushing
description of how I met him, our time together, even the romance and
the sex--believe me, there will be plenty of time for sex talk
later--but at this point, what's the point? The details are
irrelevant. He is irrelevant. At least, that is what I keep telling
myself.
But as I lie here on my couch, typing
this while I treat my ears to a little Fun, I think about what my mom
said to me one time when I was feeling lonely: "You're always
looking for someone to love."
Rewind to two months before I met Mr.
Not-So-Wonderful and you come to the beginning of my transition, or
more correctly, the beginning of the end of my marriage. I had been
on HRT about one month and my wife changed her mind and decided the
transition was too much for her and began seeing other people behind
my back. It was not long before I was told the marriage was over. I
can't say I blame her.
"I can't say I blame her," is
what I have said about my wife's decision since the beginning. And it
comes from the fact that I do understand where she is coming from. I
do understand that this is not what she signed up for: watching her
strong 200 pound "angry gorilla" (a weird term of
endearment) transform into a delicate 135 pound woman would be
disturbing, to say the least. But nobody signs up for their husband
to have medical issues like testicular cancer either, yet it happens.
I am sure watching your husband shrink and get sick from the chemo
and other medications is just as disturbing, yet not many wives would
abandon their husbands in this situation. The difference is
perception of cause.
The main point is, I say "I don't
blame her" because that's what I am supposed to say. I am
supposed to understand that am the selfish one that has done
something that did not need to be done. I'm supposed to admit that
this could have waited.
"You are the cause of all your
problems," is the last thing my ex-boyfriend said to me before I told him I did not want to talk to him anymore--referring not only to this, but also to his opinion that
I should never have had kids. Again, I am supposed to admit that 'while
being trans is not a choice, transitioning was,' and that by choosing
it I effectively did not choose my marriage. I am expected to not
compare my situation to someone that is terminally ill or whose life
is in danger. It's not life threatening after all, right? If you
forgot, please reread the introduction to this post.
No. The truth is not that "I can't
say I blame her," but that "I still love her and just want
to see her happy." It's "I am so hurt, but the opinions of
everyone else make me feel too guilty to say so." The truth is I
never got a chance to come to terms with my first broken
relationship--my failed marriage of six years. I never got the chance
to say, "I didn't fail us... I just tried to fix myself because
I was broken."
I would like the tables to be
turned--just for a moment--for people to tell me my wife never loved
me, and that SHE was being selfish for rejecting me in my time of
need. And I would be the one fighting off such accusations of my
wife, just as she did those who accused me, only to be--like she had
been--left with their words floating about in my head, poisoning my
mind and making me second guess and wonder if everyone had been truly
right about my wife after all.
But then, for me, the moment would be
over, because the transsexual never does the throwing out bit. They
are the ones to get tossed on their ass and told, "This is what
you wanted. Deal with it." And that's the socially acceptable
outcome.
So the truth is I am still bleeding and
cursing from removing the first of cupid's arrows. The truth is my
six month relationship with Mr. Not-Not-So-Wonderful was actually my
way of purging myself of the six year marriage. I wasn't ready for it
from the beginning. The truth is when it ended, I felt absolutely
crushed, not just by the loss of a six month relationship, but by the
weight of finally coming to terms with the fact my marriage was over.
I got to feel betrayed. I got to be upset. I got to be angry. And it
was OK to be this time.