i am not throwing away my shots (i think)

Y’all, I’m going to be totally honest: I’m not convinced I did my shot correctly last week and I AM STRESSED ABOUT IT.

I’m looking forward to the day my hands don’t shake and my heart doesn’t race. When I don’t wince at all the fresh, red stretchmarks on my belly and just accept my body for the work-in-progress it definitely is. This is (I hope) Shot #3 and I still don’t notice anything and I know I won’t for a while still and I don’t know what is going to happen and I still don’t know if this was the right thing to do and I hate that I’m not just purely excited, you know?

Fuck.

Breathe, Daniel.

I got mail addressed to “Daniel” today. Fancy chocolates- chai and yuzu- from my fancy best friend Vandy in Boston. And I am looking forward to letting it melt on my trembling tongue, to letting the chocolate work its way through my system alongside the hormones.

Because I am not just my gender or my bloodstream, right? I am not the fat beneath the skin, poked and pierced as gently as I can manage. I am yuzu chocolate bars and I am Bernie Taupin lyrics and I am the whiskey gingers I used to drink before warbling my way through Write Club pieces and I am all the things I miss and all the things I have found.

I haven’t told everyone yet, is the thing. I’m scared. I’m scared of letting anyone down, I’m scared of making anyone sad. All I think I have to say is this (and I do not know that it is enough):

Hello.

I love you.

When my friends send chocolate bars to “Daniel,” it makes my heart feel sturdier than I think it ever has. Once a week I stick a little needle beneath my skin and eventually I will have a different face and a fuzzy upper lip, but my heart has always been mine. I am just growing strong, more confident. I will not be alone. Because I’m not alone right now. I know now (finally) that I have never been alone. I don’t have all the answers, only the truth of my heart.

I am going to be okay.

(Oh, shit, this chai chocolate is really good. Thank you, Vandy.)

I will not be alone because I am trans. If anything, I have monumental evidence that the people who love me are good and honest and they will love me no matter what my pronouns or my name or my fuzzy upper lip is doing.

(OH, SHIT, THE YUZU IS INCREDIBLE THIS IS DINNER NOW.)

It wasn’t a small thing- to choose to stick a needle in my skin once a week- but I do think it was a strangely quiet one. A cool, sunny breeze drifting in through a window to wrap itself around my chest and whisper, “You know who you are, my heart. Be brave and true and that will be enough.”

Could you have guessed? The voice was rather soft and English and angelic. What a surprise.

In other boy-news, my first StitchFix box came in the mail a few days ago and I spiraled a little bit. Nothing felt right and that made me worry that maybe nothing will? I am grateful to my sweet roommate who got drunk with me during Rocketman and took pictures of all of young Elton’s outfits for some future thrifting inspiration.

That’s the dream, you know? Kicking down the door the first day of grad school (DEAR GOD I HOPE) clad in a silk shirt and some bell bottoms and maybe a fucking cravat?! I DON’T KNOW. Introducing myself for the FIRST TIME instead of a re-introduction?!

HELLO FELLOW MFA PLAYWRIGHTS PLEASE ENJOY MY ROCKING BOY-PANTS AND MY SEXY, CRACKING VOICE AND MY MESSENGER BAG COVERED IN PRONOUN PINS WHO IS READY TO TALK ABOUT DRAMATIC STRUCTURE?!

For now. (Because now is only ever now.)

For now there is yuzu chocolate on my tongue and I feel something like okay.

Published by Dani

I like breakfast, marine mammals, Star Wars, comedy, the song "Dead Man's Party," and Halloween musical revues at theme parks. Let's be friends!

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