Yesterday was the start of my third attempt to transition in “the appropriate way”. By that I mean going through the official process instead of turning up every stone to find a willing surgeon and endocrinologist. Those are very rare where I live, and even if I did find them, my insurance wouldn´t cover anything.
So I took the train to Woerden. Which is about an hour and a half from here. The day before I had been fighting like a madman to overcome my dysphoria. By that I mean tolerate my chest to the level where I could take the tape off and give my skin some space to heal. The whole experience was awful and I was exhausted.
I tend to stay home when exhausted, especially when my brain goes into snooze mode, a condition somewhere between being conscious and being unconscious. Usually being in that mode the levels of anxiety will be higher and the risk of becoming suicidal more real. But after three years you can image I kind of prefer not to wait.
Thankfully the train wasn´t too crowded. I even managed to sit in the social area instead of on the balcony for a while. I took some calming medication and I did a bunch of stretches and release exercises in an attempt to drive away some of the fog in my head. When I arrived in Woerden I tried to figure out how and where to walk.
The place was a kind of center with multiple healthcare organisations in it. Nobody answered when I rang the bell, but I managed to get in and walked around wondering where the therapy department was at. A woman came walking out of one of the rooms and I asked her if she knew. “Well that´s me”, she said.
Read the second part of my endeavor in Part II.