Back in my heady days of Man-hood I used to wake up in the morning feeling mostly like I did the night before, which was about the same as I had woken up the day before…..and the week before….etc. But since I started cutting the T out of my diet 4 years ago and making the switch over to estrogen…i wake up every morning and have about a 25% chance of rain flowing from my eyes that day…over a cause that that was generated by a butterfly on Mars.
There are about 42 different things that make me cry and they change all the time.
- Injustices in the world
- Drama in my family
- Feeling like I can’t communicate with my parents
- My failures in life
- My lack of direction
- Lol cats
You’ve probably cried over many a similar topic. Although I’m not sure it’s necessarily the topic in particular that I cry about, the topic is more like a trigger….for what I have no idea and I guess I’ll be figuring it out for the rest of my life.
Sometimes I have to go straight to the paper towels because they can handle more tears and snot and It’s harder to blow a hole in the center of them. I wish they made tissues out of that super absorbent, NASA grade shit so I wouldn’t have to kill 3 trees every time emotions poured out my face.
Were there injustices in the world to cry about before I came out of the closet? Yes. Before I got my vagina? Yes. Yes.
Why didn’t I cry every day back then?
Why wasn’t I a ball of goo every time a wave of nostalgia or emotion flowed over me…or a wave of regret or intense love plowed through me back when I was a man? Why now?
Cue the hormones; Estrogen enter stage right….Testosterone exit stage left.
Before my vagina (BV), I used to take a lot of anti-androgens to block all my testosterone….which was great! Estrogen ruled the land. All was rad. But there was always a pharmaceutical battle going on in my blood. Anti-androgins slaughtering a gazillion testosterones a day and their corpses clogging up my veins and bogging down my resources. And my nuts keep churning it out like the goddamn little factories they are and the only real way to stop the fighting…the civil war if you will…is to cut them off at the root. Literally.
Now…after the shock and awe of total crotch replacement…and the haze of ‘holy fucking shit’ has worn off. I’m finding a strange peace inside my blood that has never existed. The fighting in my brain stopped. It’s like that scene out of The Lord Of the Rings where they kill the main bad guy and all his minions evaporate into dust and everyone’s kind of standing around like……huuhhh? Uhhhh…what happened?
Long live the Queen!
My surgeon (Dr. Jess Ting) dropped some serious skills on me with that surgery. In 20 years they’ll be able to turn a trans woman’s gonads into ovaries and they’ll be able to have natural born children…actually more like in 5 years. Mark my words.
Although I sincerely doubt they’ll ever figure out why estrogen makes us cry so much…or maybe it’s just the lack of all that testosterone?
But is crying such a bad thing? Isn’t it more cathartic and therapeutic than almost everything. How good do you feel after you pour it out? 7th natural wonder? 8th?
One of the most painful things that has happened in my life was a year after I came out, two of my 3 brothers (and their wives) decided that female Morgan was a piss poor example of a human being for their children to see sucking down the same air as them…and for whatever reasons they had…and in whatever manner I took it…they asked me to kindly not show up for holidays. Don’t worry, it’s only for a few years they intonated….until I got better. Got better at what…being alive? More like….until THEY got better. My love for them and their wives…and their children…turned to malice and spite…and was turning into hatred as my thoughts and insecurities bounced around my head. I wished a thousand tornadoes on them and a wall of ice to smash their house and for their kids to never have friends and to grow big warts on their face and to….WOW….wow….easy tiger…Yoda’s having a fucking heart attack right now.
Emotional defense mechanisms are about as easy to spot as Waldo in a crowd.
It’s a fuck load easier to just cry it out.
I cried every morning for a year and now i only cry every other morning about it. Why? First of all…its not like im actually trying to cry…it just happens. Second, I didn’t really see either of these brothers that much anyway and I didn’t really see their kids that much either, maybe a few times a year…tops. So I cry every day because of it?
Yes. Because it hurts. It hurts on many different levels and crying helps me understand the complexities. It helps me evacuate the poisons. If only men knew that a good cry does for women what rubbing a quick one out in the bathroom does for them.
“Sweet Jesus Morgan….get a fucking hold of yourself”….says my inner boy….my inner man that reminds me how to be tough…how to be resilient. I know he’s right…but I’m right too. It’s not about being right…I just can’t figure out how he could possibly take all that honey and put it into a bottle while all my honey is exploded all over the hive.
And that just makes me cry more because I think about my inner girl…who sat in a dark hole for 38 years with no food or water and only got to see the sunlight a few times a year. Fuck you inner boy! The inner girl is now in charge and we’re going to cry whenever the fuck we want for as long as we want and it doesn’t matter what i’m crying about. But he doesn’t hear me anymore….he’s gone. I kicked him out and he kicked the can.
But I look back at that man….and my memories makes me feel so much for him….how much emotion he had to take and handle for both of us. How much internal pain he held with such composure. How little he buckled when all his entire being wanted to do was crumble into a zillion salty, brittle tears. Take the pain, make a little brick out of it…add it to the structure….strengthen the base. Be strong. Be a man. Be brave. Be tough god dammit. He did it all for me tho. He loved me.
I didn’t know I needed him so much. He was my protector, my shining armor, my shield against humanity, against pain and hurt and saved me from drowning in my own emotions. I could place the weight of my world on his shoulders and he wouldn’t even flinch….he’d just take it with a smile and lightly lay a hand on my cheek. God damn I loved that man.
But now he’s gone. He’s like a distant memory of some boy I used to know who died too young and now all I have are pictures to vaguely remind me of him and the fading memories. We had the same smile and laugh and we loved a lot of the same things. But his unique purpose in life was to get me where I am today….without him.
And for that I am eternally grateful. He was a good man. He took care of me. I didn’t realize how much I loved him and how much he loved me. I didn’t realize how much I needed him. Sometimes I really miss him. And sometimes my heart hurts and I cry for him. R.I.P. male Morgan.
Emotions are as delicate as a sledgehammer made out of hollow glass. They’re confusing and contradict each other and turn on and off like water faucets in a busy bathroom. I used to have this shit in my body called testosterone that was tough and wouldn’t bother wash his hands in the bathroom….he wouldn’t bother with the faucets turning on and off….he didn’t need all that emotion…it was for the birds.
Now I am a bird.
Men and woman find that dynamic within each other. We supply each other with the strength and the softness that we are both missing at the moment. I don’t want to bottle all my emotion up anymore…my god it would kill me!! But it is nice to have had a man so very close to my side to help hold it for me and handle it and work me through it. Men have a magic formula inside of them that lets them take the brunt of the blow without withering like the last flower in December.
Not to undermine the strength of women either. It’s just different.
Women sometimes get upset with their man because he doesn’t FEEEEL emotion the same way as they do.
Don’t let yourself get upset by it…the dynamic is there for a reason. Let him and his testosterone help you, let him hold onto some of that baggage for you. He won’t bleed as much, it won’t tear him apart, it won’t knock him over or make him drown in tears or stagger to his knees…or freeze up like a deer getting mowed down by the headlights of life.
Ask him nicely. Tell him its important. But before you drench him…tell him that he doesn’t have to respond…to please just listen. Hold his cheeks in both hands…look into his eyes…and cry your truth out. It doesn’t matter if you don’t understand why or how. He probably doesn’t understand either. But he’ll hold you and he’ll love you and he’ll feel important as he soothes you…and he is important…the most important…right behind you. He’ll get you to the other side, take your hand and help you get out of the boat.
Don’t forget to get out of the boat tho….he’s not going to wait on the bank all day with his hand gently outstretched for yours. However much patience you think you have….he has less.
Also, be careful how much you put him though and how often. Dealing with crying, emotional females is NEVER on a man’s To-Do list. But they will squeeze it in. If they truly love you they will help you carry your burden and be the friend and shoulder you need.
If a man shrinks up like a sphincter after a shit when you try to talk about your feelings…it’s a good sign he has fatigue. Maybe call a friend?
Other times they will hold you because they just want to fuck you. Which works….sometimes….hopefully enough of the time. And honestly, sometimes this is the best way to fly…who doesn’t appreciate a good, hard fuck after a nice cry?
They’ll also hold you because he simply doesn’t get it. He doesn’t know why you can’t just ‘shake it off’ or ‘buck up’ or ‘get over it’ or just ‘figure it out.’ He’s never had to deal with this before on his own…he doesn’t have these little ‘set backs’ all the time. WTF woman?!?!?! Get the fuck over it. OK…fine….jesus…ok. There. Better now?
Hopefully I will be able to find somebody at some point…to share a bit of the world with me….and to share my tears and feelings and love and bliss with and who can balance me with a bit of his manhood. And to help be that pillar of testosterone that I used to supply for myself. Not that I can’t be strong on my own as a woman, I am. It’s just that a man’s strength can be very different and I like it when it’s complimentary to mine.
And he needs to be more than just a lover…somebody with a lot more mad science and chemistry. His molecular structure has got to wiggle through time in just the right dance with mine.
Fit together like a gelatin puzzle.