I did the exercise my therapist asked me to do. I wrote a letter to myself, a me five years from now. I wrote from the point of view of a me who transitioned. I wrote what I thought would happen with my marriage, my family, my friends…and I was surprised that it was mostly positive. It was also somewhat realistic. I was okay with the result. It felt honest.
Then it came time to write a letter from a me who had not transitioned and I couldn’t do it. I think because that’s a hard future for me to see. I think that future will just be more of the same. Bouts of anger, depression and anxiety. Feelings of frustration and restlessness. Inaction. Settling. Continuing to do what’s best for other people and not for me. I don’t like that future. I don’t want to live that life. My therapist said this was very telling.
Working on this exercise conjured up some weird and interesting feelings. I feel like I’m seeing, living, two lives simultaneously. It’s like both of these people – trans man Sam and non-trans Sam – are both alive. To make this choice, one of them has to die. I explained this to my therapist, and out of nowhere I burst into tears. I realized I was grieving. That feeling of loss has stuck with me ever since and I’m not quite sure what to do with it.
And then the unthinkable happened in Orlando last night. I don’t know what to do with that either. I’m sitting here awake at 3:30 in the morning, feeling hopeless, helpless and afraid. For the first time In my life I’m scared to go to Pride. Scared to go anywhere that queer people congregate. Scared to be a target. In one way or another, I’ve always had a target on my back, so what makes this different? I don’t know…I just don’t know. I guess I should get some sleep and hope things are clearer tomorrow. Good night, everyone. Be safe.