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I crouch down and open the cabinet under our sink, hands grabbing a small bottle and tearing a needle away from the rest of the packet. Standing up, I take an alcohol wipe from the side of our sink. I take the needle out of its packet, along with its cap, setting it aside. I carefully wipe the syringe needle with the alcohol wipe, sterilizing it. Sitting down on our toilet’s lid,
I’m sat down on the toilet’s lid, syringe, a needle, a small bottle, and some alcohol wipes lay on the sink just beside me. My leg bounced repetitively as I thought to myself; This is what you’ve always wanted isn’t it? Why are you nervous now ?
I take a deep breath, my hands reaching to my face as my head lightly falls back onto the tile wall. I take my hands away from my face, turning my head to the items to my side. This is what I’ve always wanted. Why am I so nervous then?
Whatever.
I brush off the feeling, sighing as I picked up a small alcohol wipe along with the small bottle, wiping the small bottle lid with the alcohol wipe in a circular motion. When I finished, I placed the small bottle back onto the sink while tossing the alcohol wipe into the bin.
I took two out of the three packets from the sink, they had the syringe and a bigger needle inside of each individual packet. I open the packets, and attaching the syringe to the bigger needle as I threw the plastic into the trash bin along with the alcohol wipe from earlier. I draw air into the syringe, my hands shaking from nervousness, almost dropping the syringe.
I reach for the small bottle from earlier and insert the needle into the top of its lid, injecting the air from the syringe into the bottle, then, drawing the liquid into the syringe. I take the syringe out from the lid, lightly flicking at the needle to make sure air is no longer in the syringe.
I detach the needle, tossing it into the trash bin, then I reach over to the sink, bottle still in hand. I replace the bottle with the smaller, thinner syringe packet. Careful not to stab myself by accident, I tear this packet open like the one I had tore open just a minute ago, before finally attaching it to the syringe. I push the excess air out of the syringe once more.
I reach over to my sink one final time to take another alcohol wipe. With syringe still held with my middle, pointer, and thumb, I pull up the leg hem of my shorts with my pinky. I wipe down the area of my thigh with the alcohol wipe in my other hand. I throw the alcohol wipe away after usage.
I stare down at my thigh. Do I really want this? I ask myself. I’ve wanted to start HRT since I found out about what it was, why am I so nervous? Why am I so scared?
My brow furrowed at a thought that came into my head. Do I really want this? no matter what I do, I’m still going to be me . This won’t take back the years I’ve lived feeling invalidated and wrong for feeling the way I do. I’m still going to have the memories I made living life in a body I didn’t feel was mine.
What if this doesn’t change me or how people see me at all? What if I regret this in the future? I felt myself shake as I continued to spiral, and before I knew it, the filled syringe was laid back onto the sink, my teeth bit at my nails and the skin of my fingertips as I spiraled deeper.
no matter what I do, I’m still gonna be me.
My human experience is limited to the flesh and bone my soul is trapped in.
I can feel my soul tearing at my ribcage, trying so badly to escape this body.
I can hear it begging to be let out. I can hear it screaming, crying, gnawing, scratching at my bones, my meat, my flesh. It doesn’t want to hurt me, it just wants to get out.
It never asked for this. I never asked for this.
My flesh is me, my bones are me, my organs, my blood; they’re all mine, and no matter how much I try to change, nothing will change the fact that I am still the same body I started from. My name, my experiences, my body, my being, it’s already been etched in the record of time, and I can’t do anything about that. I am stuck in this body, no way to permanently alter my body, my experience.
no matter how much I change my hair,
no matter how much I change my weight,
no matter how much I change my presentation,
no matter how much I try to change my body,
I’m still me.
So what’s the point?
I slouch down, raising my hands to my head, gripping and pulling at my hair. The skin feels too tight. I can feel my skin squeezing tighter around my skull as I continue to pull on my hair. It’s too tight. I can’t think, but I’m thinking so much. Why is it so loud?
“Angel?”
I hear a familiar voice from outside of the bathroom paired with a soft knock. The voice is rough and deep, but gentle. Always so gentle with me. I clear my throat, looking up at the clock David had installed in our bathroom a few weeks prior.
“Yes?”, I replied, my voice coming out strained. Twenty minutes had already passed since I told him I was ready to do it. He asked me if I needed help with it, to which I declined, scurrying into the bathroom.
“Are you okay? You’ve been in there for a while. I just wanted to check up on you.” David said through the door, his voice inked with concern. “Can I come in?” He continued. I always joked that he was a worrywart. Always fussing over even the smallest of details. I never minded, though—it’s cute seeing him grumble and pout.
I thought for a moment, before finally caving in, sighing. “Yeah.” my voice coming out smaller than intended. I shift my position, hugging my knees to my chest as I hear the doorknob twisting. My eyes shift towards David’s figure. A hand moving up to my head, running through my hair. I probably look like a mess, I think to myself.
There’s a moment of silence before the door handle of the bathroom door twists, the door opening with a slight creak. I should probably oil that up soon. David peaks his head in and my eyes travel up to his face. His eyes are filled with concern as his eyes scan the room—from the clock, to the cabinets, to the sink, and finally to me.
I feel his eyes soften when his eyes finally meet mine, almost like he’s looking straight into my soul—my core—well, if I had one, that is. I sigh, burying my face into my knees. I hear David step into the bathroom and make his way towards me.
His hand finds his way to my shoulder, his grip firm yet soft, grounding me. I turn my head up to look at him, his eyes met mine, his gaze soft. That look, no words spoken but in that very moment, I felt lighter. I felt myself tear up, hands reaching up to wipe away any unshed tears.
“I don’t know why I’m feeling like this so suddenly.” I whisper against my knee. My eyes shift towards the syringe and the small bottle beside me before I speak, “I’ve always been so sure that I want this, so why am I feeling so..” I shrug, the words dying on my tongue.
“hesitant?”David finishes the thought, his hand giving my shoulder a firm squeeze before going back to resting on it. I could still feel his gaze on me, all of his attention focused on me.
“No, well, yes.. but not exactly?” I say before burying my face into my hands, setting my feet back down on the ground. Why is this so confusing? “It’s not exactly that I’m hesitant, per se, it’s more like I’m scared if anything.” I soft chuckle comes out of my mouth.
“Like, I know I want this, but I can’t help but feel so scared.” My hands move down to rest on my lap. My eyes look down at my hands. I feel my whole body trembling, tears forming in my eyes once again. “What’s the point, David?” I whimper, my hands forming fists on my lap. “It’s already so late in my life. Everybody knows me as me. What if it’s too late to change that?” I continue, my voice breaking as I speak.
“It’s never too late, Angel. You know that.” His voice is soft as he speaks. “I know it’s scary. This is such a big change in your life, and a lot of people are gonna be assholes about it,” his hands moving from my shoulder to my face, the callouses of his skin rubbing against my skin as his thumbs move over my cheek.
“but it’ll be worth it.” He continues. Both of his hands now cupping my face. He moves in closer, pressing a soft peck to top of my head. I sigh, my shoulders relaxing to the feeling of his touch. I feel his lips moving away from my head, “Do you need help with this, or can you do it yourself, Angel?”
“Some help would be nice.” David nods, leaning to the side to reach for the syringe and some alcohol pads. My eyes follow his every action. He moves back to me, kneeling in front of me. He moves the alcohol pad on the outside of my thigh in a circular motion, sanitizing the area.
David looks up at me, his eyes questioning. I bite the inside of my cheek, I move my hand out for him to hold, which he takes. His thumb moving across my knuckles. “Just do it when you’re ready.” I mumble.
“You don’t want me to count?
“No, I just want it over with.”
David nods. My head is turned to the side now, looking away from David, bracing myself. A moment later, I feel tiny sting of the needle piercing my skin. My grip on David’s hand tightens, trying my hardest not to tense up.
Another moment passes, then I hear David moving, I hear a cabinet opening and I look to him. He’s looking through the cabinet. He takes out a bandaid and some cotton. He moved back in front of me, swiping away a bead of blood on my thigh where the syringe entered, then carefully putting a bandaid over it.
He stays there for a moment, just staring before he sighs a content sigh. He gets up from the ground and pressing another kiss to the top of my head. He moves away, I look up at his face, finding a soft smile plastered onto his face. “How are you feeling?”
I hum in response, “Good. Nerves still haven’t gone down.” I chuckle, my hands moving to cup his face. I move his face closer to mine, resting my forehead on his. “Thank you, Davey.” I whisper.
“Ofcourse, Angel.”
No matter how much I try to change, nothing will change the fact that I am still me. My name, my experiences, my body, my being, it’s already been etched in the record of time, and I can’t do anything about that, but I can build from it, starting now.
Despite of everything, I am me. I always have been me.
There is still time.