Pink Slip


After weeks of fretting, sweating, and imagining pink slips (and not of the kind as above, nice though it would be to be able to rock one convincingly…), I am finally completely out to all of the managers at my workplace. Every one of them was respectful and sympathetic, so again I have no juicy tales of hatecrime and discrimination to share. My main worry now is that this blog is going to become a dull litany of good news, punctured by occasional bouts of self-pity as I lament my barely-perceptible progress to a feminine form. The IPL so far does not appear to have dislodged much if any facial hair, my breast growth has stalled at painful buds (neither pretty nor a whole lot of fun to deal with), my face is gaunt, my lips are thin… you get the idea.

So I am out in the workplace, and people are being respectful, but I fear I am just imposing on them a game of “let’s pretend”. I still long to make it easier for them (and for myself) to believe the reality of it. The physical body is a narrow and oppressive prison cell, and the distant hope of parole often seems both impossible and scary, not that I have any ambitions to be a “lifer”. Freedom of any sort is better.

At any rate, there is little point in trying to quiet the obsession now. I am only a week away from my first meeting with a psychiatrist,and the first I have ever had in my life. Most friends tell me not to worry: my case is good, I am educated and articulate, I am practically living as a woman already, and I have no mental health issues (that I know of), other than my gender dysphoria. Some tell me to be myself, others tell me to exaggerate. Being such a rotten actress, I will opt for the former… I only hope it will be enough.

Even if it goes well, I am certainly under no illusions that help will be quick. Proud though I am of the NHS as a national institution, speed is rarely its strong point. I see myself self-medicating with real hormones and testosterone blockers in the near future, so another visit to the GP will soon be in order, to make sure I know how to medicate safely. I would recommend that to anyone, by the way. Hormones and t-blockers are so readily obtainable online, and not even illegally, that doctors should be prepared to help patients such as myself in whom patience is not much in evidence…

And if the consultation doesn’t go well? If they shatter my slowly evolving fairytale and tell Anthony the frog to bugger off and man up, and forget all about Princess Eleanor? Unlikely they will be quite that blunt (or colourful), but still… I see no going back, even if I have to live out my whole life as a totally incongruous male-bodied entity called Eleanor. Not a pretty prospect…

Wish me luck, pray for me, cast magic spells… whatever moves your universe. The next plot twist in my tale is round the corner, and I can’t say I’m not afraid.

6 thoughts on “Pink Slip

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    1. I am hoping that this will mainly be an inspiring story, but it is very frightening to think that the psychiatrist could draw a line under it. I’m probably being unnecessarily pessimistic, but is daunting having that one person holding so much power over me. Thank you for the feedback, and keep your fingers crossed for me… 🙂

      Liked by 2 people

    1. It’s been all positive surprises so far, so I am assuming this is all a huge test of faith and will work out in the end, all pessimism aside. 🙂 That statement would probably be considered blasphemy in certain Christian circles, but if God disapproves of what I am doing, so far I am encountering a conspicous absence of signs…

      Liked by 1 person

      1. i think that God looks down upon you with soo much love and smiles as he witnesses what a wonderful brave and lovely lady you are!

        Liked by 1 person

  1. Bless you. I doubt the religious fundamentalists hovering about my depot would agree, but I would much rather live in a universe run by the God you just described than theirs… 🙂 xxx


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