I was going to write about depression, but I was too depressed.
Instead, I played a computer game.
And tried yet again to avoid wondering how much of my depression might be linked to my gender dysphoria.
A truism I’ve heard and now watched firsthand is that any issues you take into transition will likely be there when you get back out the other side.
Transition does not appear to solve for the other issues in life, like depression. It solves gender dysphoria. Nothing more, nothing less.
But over and over again I see and hear how much happier people are after transition. Except for when they’re not.
I’ve seen their waves of depression swell at different rhythms.
But for some – for some there is a solace.
There! There shines a hope. Fragile. Faint.
Hidden near the ends of self-directed corridors of needling, sun-searin pain, of anxious doorways entered and momentuous thresholds crossed, where tender dreams and slicing nightmares are realized.
The promise of awakening from the trance.
The trance of loss.
Loss of self.
The self that was lost before we were born, the self washed away in hormone showers down a sewer, flowing to the sea.
In our worldly imprisonment we are lost.
In hope we find ourselves, scum and sludge encrusted, and gently wipe away the muck to reveal a part to love, to cherish, to protect.
From the shit our vibrant flowers bloom.
Hope. Hope to chase away the blues.