Being both Frankenstein (he/him) and The Monster (they/them)

I am transitioning, Male To Female. I am not rushing it. I am steadily moving from one pole of the circus tent to the other pole, moving along the high wire; Perhaps I'm seeking some place in between; perhaps to a point mostly closer to the femme side. You could say my goal is to be nongender, or gender non-conforming (GNC), or trans-femme.

The pigeon holes are not helpful when we use them to force people into pre-determined boxes, but they are useful to communicate concepts and categories, and to provide a word to convey a situation. (As Whorf says, you can't discuss something, you can't even think about something, unless you have a word about it).

I am being brave. I am frightened. I am scared of the mob turning on me, I am scared of violence that might be done to me, I am scared of the remote little town I live in with too many guns and too many Trump loyalists. I am scared of messing up my kid's heads. I am scared of dying without being myself.

I will be on Hormone Replacement Therapy for two years, next month. I remove my body hair from the ears down. I have skirts, blouses, ballet flats for shoes because my woman's shoe size is 15.

I have told my nuclear family in general terms. I have told a dozen close friends.

I don't present femme in my little town too often. I will dress and then travel to a nearby mid-size or larger city. I will go to LGBTQ+ events. I do present in girl-mode in town, but I try to minimize it.

I am developing new secondary sex characteristics, which is to say: little boobies are growing, and what was once my manhood is shrinking.

I don't believe I have lost my perspective, and my evidence is this: I am fuck-all ugly in girl-mode. It's gruesome and grotesque, and I am sure of it. It feels so good. I'm not dressing for anybody else, I am dressing for me and I find satisfaction in it. I am greatful to people who show me kindness in girl-mode.

But of course, nobody ever thinks they've lost perspective. We habituate and rationalise.

I believe I look like Frankenstein's Monster, parts and styles constructed out of odd bits, roughly stitched together, moving in a stumbling stiff way. I am constructed, not organic. I am performative. I do not understand the world I have made for myself. People are afraid of me, and I of them.

And yet I am also Dr. Frankenstein, planning the work, choosing the pieces, making it up as I go along. Just like the Doctor, I can't let the townspeople know. Colleagues suspect I am interfering with what God has done, and I am playing with things I should not approach.

I am both the Doctor and the Monster. I can do nothing other than this.