What if ...

What if I don't make it through this in time to save our relationship? The tears are definitely taking their toll on me, but I also see they're affecting how my love sees me. Papi said I looked rough.

Not good.

Femmes aren't supposed to look 'rough'. We're the pretty ones our butches excitedly rush home to with pride and love. Right? We're not the 'rough' ones!

Last night the look on mi esposo's face was that of pity. It was not the look of pride and love. But the conversation that followed was even worse. "I didn't know that going on testosterone would make you so upset."

I've expressed my feelings about women going on testosterone to Papi so many times in the past. Did my love just think my feelings were for show? That perhaps I was exaggerating? Papi then said, "If it's going to ruin our relationship, maybe I shouldn't be doing this."

I felt like climbing to the rooftop and shouting, "YEAH!!! I get to keep my wife! She stopped the madness and my tears will leave with that horrible drug!!!" But very quickly reality set in and I reminded myself and Papi, "You can't do that or you won't be happy. I'll work my way through this."

"But what if you don't get over it? Do you think it's possible that you may never get over this?"

And the truth, "Even if I don't get over this, you have to do this to be happy. No matter the outcome." And again came the mournful feeling of defeat.

This is the truth. It's Papi or me.

Either a) I'm happy that there's no more testosterone in the picture and Papi resents me for having to stop taking it to relieve me of my pain, or b) Papi's happy because there's a view in the mirror that is what Papi desires and I have to hope that I 'get over it'.

So. What if I don't ever get over it? About 2 weeks ago, Papi jokingly said, "I'll give you a year." But those words have resonated with me ever since. I was in a relationship once where there were many 'jokes' that turned out to be factual realities. I was fooling myself that my ex was only 'kidding' all the time, yet my friends would look those 'jokes' as horrid words and wonder how I could stay in a relationship so toxic and not even see it.

Is this where I am again? Seeing the red flag, but just taking it lightly for the sake of denial? For the sake of not wanting to see that I may really wind up alone after marrying the perfect butch I thought I'd finally found?

I couldn't even begin to tell you the terror that is annihilating my ego after last night's 'pitiful' stare. What if my sorrow and fear are the culprit of dismantling this marriage?

My love told me that a couple we know were talking about 'our problem' and the femme said she would leave if her butch transitioned. Yesterday, I had my 3rd blubbering phone call of trying to talk about it and 'get it out' with a friend who is the butch who told me that if she transitioned, her sweetheart would leave as well.

Yet here I am. Sticking it out, all the while feeling as if it's MY wife that's leaving ME, and all I can do is stand on the sidelines and just watch her go like sending a message in a bottle out to sea. I watch it bob with every wave that carries that fragile glass encasement further from me. All you really get to see of the bottle is the cork that holds in so much importance. You send it away so that someone else gets to open it.

Every day I look at my love I see more of the 'man' Papi desires to be. Are my tears ferrying away my love, leaving behind a salty remnant of what could have been?

I have cried every day but 3 for almost a month now. Sweety asked me last night, "are you depressed?" And we both know what that really means. We are both prone to depression. We both have had times where we've fallen into the black hole of desolation, and we both know the difference between being 'upset about something' and 'depressed'. If you're prone to depression, you too know what I mean.

"Yes," I admitted.

I'm in. I'm in and it's wrenching every vein in my body. I can feel it in my toes when the tears flow. That's depression. I didn't want the 'upset' to take over my entire body, but sometimes, we can't control it when we're that type of person.

What if I never get out? My options are to a) leave and hope I get over losing my love, b) stay and hope I can claw myself out of the pit and accept my love for who they want to be, or c) ... I don't even know what c) is right now, but there has to be a c). There has to be another option.

What if there isn't?

What if ...