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Musings on my Own Transness

July 27th, 2023

A Punk

I have realized I'm a bit of a punk, lately. Was my best friend and semiplatonic life partner who mentioned it originally, this morning, and it got me thinking...

None of the definitions on Google seem to do it justice. The first talks about the fast paced, angry rock music of the 1970s and 1980s, the spiky, colorful, chains and leather aesthetic, and the subculture that accompanies it. The second... worthless people. Criminals, rambunctious, or inexperienced young people, and even worse, as a slur for passive gay men in prison.

I'm... anti-establishment, I'm anti-patriarchy, I'm pro-vandalism, I'm pro-pissing-people-off, when those people are fascists, bigots, and their sort. I'm a bit of a witch, though not as into that sort of thing as my mother and sister. I deeply enjoy being visibly queer, I deeply, deeply enjoy being not just a woman, but a transgender woman. I was sitting in a seat before work, with my horribly outdated laptop (say hi to Dolores, btw) with a transgender pride flag sticker on the back, my long, untamed, and curly brown hair, my nails, cut in the lesbian signifier way of two or three short nails on the dominant hand only, painted a purple so dark it looks black and worn away from being applied like a week ago. I have tits, that's obvious to anyone who sees me. A hot pink sports bra peeking out from the neck-hole in your shirt certainly helps. They're 42DD for now, and I expect it to change as my weight loss progresses and my body develops from the HRT... and I was across from an old white lady with a Karen bob sitting in a booth nearby. And I wondered to myself, do I make her uncomfortable? The idea that I might somehow made me happy. I got plenty of glances from customers who walked by my little two-seater table. I have had a group of three guys laugh to themselves and point at me. Glares when I went to use the bathroom.

I can't help but feel satisfied that I am an affront to their sensibilities. It pleases me to know that I might confuse people, or make them uncomfortable, because it means I am making them think. Think about the fact that I, and others like me, like my coworker Shelby, are real. We exist. We work at the place you're eating at right now. I made your latte today. A trans person made your latte. (a trans person made your food merch coming soon to my non-existent etsy store).

Ex-Friends, and Dysphoria

Two and a half years ago, in February of 2021, a friend of mine named Christina faked her suicide. I called the police for her. I was distraught for weeks, and I still have issues with phone calls. And... "her partner" joined our discord server, and started saying horrible things about her. Claiming she was abusive, all sorts of nasty things. Then, a third party enters the mix, and says this new account also belongs to Christina, and that she wasn't dead. She had faked it, for... well, reasons that frankly did not make sense. She claimed that she was being made to feel dysphoric by hanging around younger trans people, "younger" in the sense that we were not as far along in our transitions as she was. She was 33 years old at the time, and had been on HRT for over a year by the time I started mine in January, the month before this event occurred.

If we use a dark pit as an analogy, as I did back then, dysphoric people are in the pit, and those of us in transition are finding our way out of it. She passed in her day to day life, and looking back into this pit, at those of us still in the depths of our dysphoria and deep in a pit that many of us never escape, she was reminded of her time within it. And so... she turned her back on it. On us, still in the pit, some of us such as myself beginning our journeys out of it. She was the resident elder trans woman on the server... and she wanted out. But she couldn't just say goodbye, or leave unannounced. No, she had to fake killing herself on a discord call and traumatize people, and then do some kind of demented fucking loyalty test afterwards.

I promised myself I would never, ever be like her.

I can't turn my back on my people like that. I stay close to the pit, staying close to friends and partners and strangers who haven't transitioned yet. I'm trying to show people that there is a way out. One that doesn't require your life to end. Transition helps. Transition is the only thing that can really, truly help. I've been out of the closet for three years. I've been on feminizing hormone therapy for over two and a half. I am an elder now, and I'm not going anywhere. I never want to go stealth and blend in with cisnormative society, I will stay loud and proud because that's what this world needs right now. These are my people, and I will stick by them to the end of time.

Life Updates

I have decided, since getting back on testosterone blockers, that the injection monotherapy probably wasn't suppressing my testosterone as much as it should have been. I'm on a fairly low dose of cyproterone acetate, only about 6.25mg a day, but it's the same I actually started on back in January 2021 and I feel... so much better than I did a month and a half ago when I was still on injection monotherapy. Life feels wonderful again. I like my reflection most days, even if the beard shadow bothers me to no end. I still weigh about 70 more pounds than I would like to, even if that number was a lot higher a few months ago. But I'm making progress. Stuff is happening. My transition hasn't stalled out or anything.

I am moving forwards. That's what matters. Come a long way since me being a six year old begging whatever gods were listening to put me in a girl's body in the night. Hell, I've come a long way since my teen years where I enjoyed the content that Steven Crowder made, and had views I might call aligned with the truscum nowadays. Now I'm a gender and relationship anarchist who sees labels as optional descriptions. Who's content to just be called a queer person, and not need the "polyamorous transfeminine fingender gynesexual demiromantic lesbian gentle dom brat tamer" blah-blah-blah thing. I'm Annika motherfucking LaFey. That's all you need to know.

People keep telling me I need to get out of Florida and... yeah. I agree. I wanna go to Michigan, or Minnesota, or Washington state, or Oregon. They seem safe. Congress is apparently having a meeting about transgender issues today. Right wing talking heads and the Proud Boys showed up, apparently. Pushing for a total, federal ban on transgender healthcare. Maybe I can't stay in this country. I'd love to, it would make things so much simpler, but... it might not be an option, if that happens. If the US continues to show its true colors as a regressive third world country with power and influence it doesn't deserve, then I just need to figure out where is accepting refugees and get the fuck out of here.

An ode

How I missed you, though I met you too late. I love being reminded you're there. Soft, warm, brushing my arms as I cross them, or as I reach for things, and moving gently or not so gently as I walk and as I run, and looking down to see your silhouette underneath my shirt. I didn't get to see you the first time. I got to meet your mean brother, instead... he had his way with me, and his marks will be on my body forever... but he's sleeping now, and I'm so glad to have you with me even if I met you many years too late. My breasts, I love you.

Signing off, Annika LaFey~ 2023