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Dec. 8th, 2003 06:52 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
ysabel.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
transCrossposted from my journal. Context: I'm in Thailand, two weeks post-op (I am intersexual and M2F transsexual) and realizing that my reaction is way more profound than I expected it to be. I really expected surgery to be the icing on the cake compared to, say, the effect hormones had on me, and it's not working like that.
Let me share an analogy with you. A parable, if you will.
Once, I lived in a basement. It was a very spacious, well furnished basement, but it had no windows, and my only source of light was a single electric bulb and sometimes the occasional candle. I could probably have managed for a long time in that basement, but the lack of any source of natural or full-spectrum light was slowly doing very bad things to my brain chemistry.
Then, one day, I had some ceiling floods installed, some with soft light bulbs and one or two with grow-bulbs for some plants. The difference was profound. My whole world could be lit up! I could actually see the wonderful furnishings in my basement, and do many things that were so hard to do by the one electric bulb, or by candlelight.
But the lack of real light was still doing bad things to my brain chemistry.
I also realized that there were boards nailed up around the walls in places. I couldn't figure out what that was all about at first, and so I ignored them for a while. Eventually I decided they needed to come down, and lo and behold, I had windows! They were basement windows, but I had real natural light! It took a little getting used to the fact that I could no longer easily decide when it was light and when it was dark -- it took me a while to do things like figure out curtains so that I could pick and choose. I also came to realize that I could open these windows, and breathe the outside air. I could let the night breeze into my basement, and I came to realize that it was a little musty down there. But I had several kinds of light now, and clean air, and the basement was really large and warm in the winter and cool in the summer and I had all sorts of wonderful things to do there. I was really fairly content at that point for many years.
But I knew, then, that I could go outside. Outside was a little scary -- it might rain, or snow, or hail, or I might accidentally lock myself out, or for all I knew wild animals might be waiting on the other side of the door to devour me. I knew that the devouring bit was pretty unlikely, but there was so much unknown outside that door and my world in the basement had been so expanded that it wasn't worth the risk or the cost for a long time.
For years, Amy talked to me about the outside and what sorts of amazing things might be there. She coached me in figuring out how to pick the lock on my door, and reassured me that no wild animals were waiting outside to attack me. Joel was a little more direct, if a lot less comforting -- he spent some time studying the lock and had a key made for it, and handed it to Amy, and said, "Just give this to her." I didn't want to take the key, at first; I was sure that it could be used for other, more important things. Several people tried to get it through my head that there wasn't anything more important.
Finally, I did use the key and walked outside. It's a little overcast out here, and a little rainy right this second, and I have my doubts that I'll ever see a really clear, sunny day, but my god it's so huge out here, and so bright, and there are so many colors and things to see! It's so overwhelmingly amazing that I cry every time I think about it.
I have a lot to do here before I'm comfortable again. It's still a little scary out here. But I'm here now, and there weren't any wild animals waiting on the other side of the door to attack me. They're probably out there somewhere, but outside is so big that I think I'll be able to see them coming and avoid it. Even with the cloudy nights, the night sky is indescribably beautiful, and I expect to see the sun peeking out any day now.
I was crying at Amy yesterday and trying to explain why, and this analogy popped into my head. It's not perfect, but I think it captures the profound difference I'm going through at the moment. And maybe explains why I'm crying again a little even as I write it down.
Let me share an analogy with you. A parable, if you will.
Once, I lived in a basement. It was a very spacious, well furnished basement, but it had no windows, and my only source of light was a single electric bulb and sometimes the occasional candle. I could probably have managed for a long time in that basement, but the lack of any source of natural or full-spectrum light was slowly doing very bad things to my brain chemistry.
Then, one day, I had some ceiling floods installed, some with soft light bulbs and one or two with grow-bulbs for some plants. The difference was profound. My whole world could be lit up! I could actually see the wonderful furnishings in my basement, and do many things that were so hard to do by the one electric bulb, or by candlelight.
But the lack of real light was still doing bad things to my brain chemistry.
I also realized that there were boards nailed up around the walls in places. I couldn't figure out what that was all about at first, and so I ignored them for a while. Eventually I decided they needed to come down, and lo and behold, I had windows! They were basement windows, but I had real natural light! It took a little getting used to the fact that I could no longer easily decide when it was light and when it was dark -- it took me a while to do things like figure out curtains so that I could pick and choose. I also came to realize that I could open these windows, and breathe the outside air. I could let the night breeze into my basement, and I came to realize that it was a little musty down there. But I had several kinds of light now, and clean air, and the basement was really large and warm in the winter and cool in the summer and I had all sorts of wonderful things to do there. I was really fairly content at that point for many years.
But I knew, then, that I could go outside. Outside was a little scary -- it might rain, or snow, or hail, or I might accidentally lock myself out, or for all I knew wild animals might be waiting on the other side of the door to devour me. I knew that the devouring bit was pretty unlikely, but there was so much unknown outside that door and my world in the basement had been so expanded that it wasn't worth the risk or the cost for a long time.
For years, Amy talked to me about the outside and what sorts of amazing things might be there. She coached me in figuring out how to pick the lock on my door, and reassured me that no wild animals were waiting outside to attack me. Joel was a little more direct, if a lot less comforting -- he spent some time studying the lock and had a key made for it, and handed it to Amy, and said, "Just give this to her." I didn't want to take the key, at first; I was sure that it could be used for other, more important things. Several people tried to get it through my head that there wasn't anything more important.
Finally, I did use the key and walked outside. It's a little overcast out here, and a little rainy right this second, and I have my doubts that I'll ever see a really clear, sunny day, but my god it's so huge out here, and so bright, and there are so many colors and things to see! It's so overwhelmingly amazing that I cry every time I think about it.
I have a lot to do here before I'm comfortable again. It's still a little scary out here. But I'm here now, and there weren't any wild animals waiting on the other side of the door to attack me. They're probably out there somewhere, but outside is so big that I think I'll be able to see them coming and avoid it. Even with the cloudy nights, the night sky is indescribably beautiful, and I expect to see the sun peeking out any day now.
I was crying at Amy yesterday and trying to explain why, and this analogy popped into my head. It's not perfect, but I think it captures the profound difference I'm going through at the moment. And maybe explains why I'm crying again a little even as I write it down.
