The decision was rather swift, honestly. I was just moved out of my childhood home—a decision that I will never have an answer too.
I was still recovering from a stomach surgery, music was bountiful in my life, and love was in every crevice of my life.
Evictions are hard to swallow,
Waking up not knowing you had been, terrifying.
I always hear about how you only have this one shot at life, I never really knew what that meant until you’re staring down the barrel of a blast that you can already taste the gunpowder from. That in it, you have choices to make.
Clear answers, lives I could already picture—that then scared everything in me as well.
So you (I) do scared,
You do it alone.
You do it together.
You do it with love.
You do it for yourself.
So now,
As I just past the 2 year mark of HRT, as I wake up another day, as I recover functionally back into the person I always truthfully, want to be.
I’m not sure how to even begin to share those feelings—I think art is the way without any doubt but,
To wake up and know yes, there is progress, that I—despite every bit of the universe doing its horrid doings.
I am better.
I am Equal.
I am free.
That me resides in my chest now. From feeling lightning bolts when I catch a moment with myself to, finally up-keeping my hair well enough that it suits me now.
There are still knots in my chest in time though, I still feel the plunge into my nothingness when I overthink.
Though I am still appreciative of the prefix ‘Post’ in “Post-Traumatic”
So now—it’s over.
This trauma.
This chapter.
And again still,
I’m thankful to be whole.
Happy 2 years of trans-ness.
I hope to figure out whatever that means soon.
This is a marathon, not a sprint.
I love you,
-Alice
xoxo
