I never usually stay in touch with ex-girlfriends but, in the case of this one, I was always prepared to make an exception. We shared a house together and planned to spend the rest of our lives together. It didn’t work out, but I still hoped we could be friends because she’s awesome. Anyway, I saw her a couple of days ago.
So I’ve just got back from my third appointment at Nottingham Gender Clinic – and it’s the best possible news. The experts there agree I have gender dysphora and, subject to my blood tests being OK, have agreed to prescribe estrogen. *Punches air*
It’s time to move on. Annie and I have not been getting on too well of late, putting it mildly. But instead of getting bitter and full of rage, I’m going to reflect on a few positives from the whole relationship and its aftermath.
I began writing this post many months ago (I didn’t get past the headline) and I still don’t really have a definitive answer about whether I’m really non-binary or whether I’m kidding myself. Hopefully writing this will give me some clarity.
Well, the celebrations are over. Less than six weeks after getting engaged, I’m single again. And I’ve just had to bury my cat.
A little update a few hours ahead of my second gender clinic appointment. Deed Poll – signed. Sperm – frozen (twice). Finasteride – prescribed. Time spent en femme in Birmingham and Sheffield – hours and hours. So much done but still so much to do!
I wrote on here a few weeks back how happy I was that Annie’s mum had invited me to her local hen night, her hen weekend in Leeds and her wedding – with a place on the top table, no less. Now it seems she’s not the trans ally I thought she was.