Coming Out(s)

I.

I'm a little kid watching Ace Ventura: Pet Detective and laughing at the silly man with the weird face running around and talking out of his ass.  It's a fun movie, relatively harmless.  Towards the end, it's revealed that the male perp they're looking for is actually the female police lieutenant Einhorn.  The entire squad, all of whom have been in some way seduced by her, proceed to become violently ill.  I can see in an instant what I am, and what I should never be.  In a single moment, I come out to myself and immediately shut the closet door in my own face.

II.

I'm in a psychology course and we're studying abnormal psychology.  I find a term that makes me stop in my tracks.  Transvestism, I read, is the desire or habit to dress or act in a manner traditionally befitting another gender.  So there I am, reading about myself in a textbook, in a section about mentally unhealthy people.  I have an identity, and it feels ugly.

III.

I'm writing a blog post in which I explain the nature of coming out while simultaneously coming out to everyone on Facebook.  If I look out of the corner of my eye, I swear I can see infinity.  I can see where I've been, what could have happened, what might still be.

Two years from now I'm happy and healthy and whole.  One year from now, I'm dying in a gutter because someone thinks I'm trying to trick them.  Three years from now, I'm still trying to get on HRT.  Eight years ago, I go hunting all over Google and recognize my identity in time to have a revelation before I've even finished college.  Seventeen years ago I stop Ace Ventura halfway through to go get ice cream with the family, and I still don't know how it ends.

IV.

I come home from work early because I'm worn out by my anxiety.  I curl up in my bed with the lights off and proceed to read the entire e-book of Parker Marie Molloy's coming out story on my phone.  I weep openly and realize that my coming out is about to happen far, far faster than I ever realized.  I know I can't wait much longer.

V.

It's my first time at a trans support group meeting, and despite my reservations, it's going well enough.  I get the name of some local doctors who can probably help me get hormone treatment.  The room is comprised of plenty of trans women of all stripes, a few genderqueer folks, even a trans man who is far more dashing than I would have ever been able to pull off.  Some seem cool, like the trans lesbian couple who kinda remind me of Daria and Jane.  Others I can't stand.  One I'm even kind of crushing on.  But most importantly, the normality of it all comes crashing down on my head and I feel a little more whole.  The last half-hour was designated for "social time" and I leave because my anxiety is downright crippling and I forgot to take my meds that day.

VI.

I hit send on the Facebook messenger program and close my laptop.  I drink some more white wine and eat a few more Hershey's kisses.  There's no going back now, my family knows what I've only just been able to surmise after two decades.  I am trans, and I can only hope they have my back.  Of course, all my worrying was for nothing.  Message after message comes back my way, filled with the love of people who are willing even if they are unprepared.  It's enough.

VII.

I'm taking a class on queer theology with a group of fellow students and friends, in my dean's apartment.  We're drinking wine and eating cheese and crackers and discussing the book on trans theology.  I want to speak up, say more, contribute, tell my life's story.  I want to help them understand this text better.  But I'm not out to a lot of people yet, and it feels weird outing myself just to say something poignant.  I pull my hand away from the knob and wait for another day, a better moment.

VIII.

I'm reading a random webcomic I've found, and I finish the thing in a single setting, fighting back tears.  I know now, truly, that my sexuality is not so easily definable.  I know that if the right person were to come along, it wouldn't matter to me who they were or what they "had".

I'm queer.  It feels good to know.  It's not a mental illness or something you see in a psych textbook.  It's a way of being, of living.

IX.

A friend I've made online informs me that I just might have Gender Dysphoria, which she just so happens to be writing a paper on.  Another term, another identity, another psychological issue.  I never bother to read the paper, and it's not long before we stop communicating for stupid reasons.  Regardless, I adopt the new term, and come out publicly for the first time a few months later.  It's an awkward and ungraceful event, and it isn't long before I regret not better understanding myself.

X.

Just before I've giving up on Thought Catalog entirely, I'm reading an article by someone I've never heard of.  It hits home on a lot of levels, but the most potent line was not the punchline by any means.  She says

~These inaccurate depictions set such a high bar that some women, despite thinking about it every day, will put off transitioning for years while allowing testosterone to ravage their bodies just because they aren’t sure that transition is a “need” for them rather than a “want.”~

The line blows me away, because I've never thought about it before - that testosterone could be considered a poison for someone like me.  There is something wrong with me, but in a way I'd never before imagined.  This is healthy.  This is understanding I've never known before.

XI.

Despite being in leadership for two separate LGBTQ groups at BU, I'm not really out.  I keep thinking I should be more blatant about it, but what happens when I say I think I might be trans?  What if someone calls me out, questions my reality?  It was too stressful, and I kept quiet, clearly an ally but otherwise mysterious in my support.  I would rather have been mysterious than risk such anxiety.

XII.

A trio of amusing new characters have been added to the webcomic Questionable Content.  During a party, one of them, the adorable redheaded nerd Claire, approaches major character Marten and comes out to him as trans.  Immediately she earns her place in my heart as my favorite character.  It's the exact opposite of my childhood. I may not have a role model, but I do have a positive character I could point to and say "that there is a human being". It's something.

+++++

Despite the usual imagery, coming out of the closet isn't always a one-time deal.  Sometimes it's clean and comforting, other times it's messy and upsetting.  Sometimes it doesn't even happen at all.  It happens so many times the memories get scattered across your mind in a kaleidoscope of beauty and horror.

You can come out to yourself, to your family, to your friends, to other queer folk, and each time may require a different approach.

Sometimes I worry that maybe I'm not "trans enough," that I'm somehow appropriating a label that doesn't apply to me until some time in the future when I've gone through enough HRT or had the right surgeries.  I'm still figuring a lot of stuff out, following folks on Twitter, and reading all kinds of articles and conversations and debates.  But at least there are things like this to make figuring it out a little easier.

So, I'm trans, and queer, and still particularly confused about a lot.

And I suppose I'm never not coming out.