My Genderjello Journey
Genderfluid until things cool the heck down
I lay a trail of yarn to leave the closet. I keep it in my sight with a neutral name, old clothes, old voice, and Lord willing, a hat. Do these tools keep me safe or drive me mad?
I live in Idaho, so the answer is: probably both.
The gay dead-end
Coming out nine years ago unlocked unforeseen dimensions. Early on, I was told my genetic material wasn’t worth freezing pre-transition. Nothing else mattered after that. Believe me when I say I went all in, folks.
I lucked out with a supportive counselor, primary doctor, and voice coach. I got my first taste of gender euphoria looking in the mirror after getting my eyebrows waxed. I filed a name change and my parents gifted me a Groupon for laser hair removal!
The years went by, and I could not be sated. Vainest envy cut me low — I would never be a mother how I wanted, yet how my soul distended to take! The lie of self-absorption haunts all who are minority, methinks. I fancied guilt to measure up and deemed myself “the gay dead-end.”
I did not know how to market art, music, and writing. Ulcerative colitis set fire to my insides and embarrassed my outsides. Between that and dissociative depression, I was caught in a revolving…
