I have now seen the effect that crying for 6 weeks straight has had on my love. You never know what this darkness will bring to those around you. Well, I see the outcome in this particular case and it's not pretty.
Papi works graveyard 3 nights of the week, and when my love asked me not to refer to the transition as disgusting during our goodnight texting session, I was overthrown with shock! Someone may as well have shot me in the heart with a stun gun. Sleep wasn't going to arrive anytime soon.
I reserve that word for hate. I don't feel I've thought of any of this transition in a loathsome way. Yes, I'm terrified, I'm grieving loss, I'm feeling alone and abandoned, but disgusted? Please tell me I didn't use that word in anguish.
I suppose because I spent so much of my time catatonic, except with 'you', my imaginary friend, Papi could jump to 'worst case' scenario, as there wasn't much communication on my part. It absolutely shook me to the core that the point my love would go to for 'worst case' was that I felt disgust.
I would offer this word to a certain person in our community and their doctor. Before Papi had come out to me as transitioning to male, we were standing in this person's hallway saying goodbye. Papi had asked this person questions about the hormone and they had found it appropriate to flippantly offer mi esposo some 'T' so my sweetheart could just 'try it' like it was a new flavour of ice cream.
This same person also has a doctor who will pretty much give this serious hormone to people without going through proper procedures. So, when my love was considering taking the hormone, this person gave my love this doctor's contact so my sweety could get it without any effort and blammo! Mi esposo was on the hormone on the spot.
This person doesn't have gender dysphoria and are quite open about the fact that they want to be part man, part woman. Their doctor who gives out this hormone willy nilly also thinks that this is ok. This is a life who has obviously got a mental illness and they have a doctor who is entertaining their 'experiment'.
That my friend, is disgusting. These are the people I conserve this word for.
But my love? I adore mi esposo so much. There is not an inch of this beautiful soul that I would ever look at with so much as a simple 'ew' entering my brain.
True. I don't like body hair. True. I've kissed a bio-male with a moustache and that gets an 'ew'. More like an 'ow'! Don't like it. Never thought I'd have to give it a second chance in my lifetime.
As for the picture that remains a psychological poison in my brain, that person who has a bushy moustache that looks like they have a dead squirrel on their upper lip? The fuzzy mass gets the 'ew' vote! However, I don't think that I would categorize them as disgusting.
The act the person is performing is something that disturbed me greatly, and has played a large part in my fears.
But disgusting? No.
I had to dissect my thoughts about this journey and look at each little piece of the pain to figure out where I've gone wrong. Is there a place in my heart that would allow my love to feel I would think this way?
I really think that my sweety has jumped to 'worst case', but now I really feel that I need to look at every entry I've written to 'you', my imaginary friend. I really need to see if there's somewhere that would confirm my love's thoughts.
We can get pretty apathetic when we're in the throws of pain. We can definitely say things that we don't mean when we're not heard properly, or when we haven't found the correct way to communicate our feelings.
My love didn't paint a picture of my 'worst case', my own dark artistry did this.
Could it be that this is where my love has gone because of my tears or is it Papi's own personal fear? I really hope it's Papi's exclusive dingy hole of despair. If it is I who actively put mi esposo there, I will never forgive myself.
Off I go to do some forensic reading.