There is certainly a place that is special my memory for first times. The very first time we wore femme clothing out to the globe – much too twee and soft a silhouette I told a friend, on a sofa bed, facing away from each other in the dark, barely above a whisper in case they were asleep, or wanted to pretend to be for me in hindsight, but sans my modern knowledge of frockery; the first time.
An instant is held within my neck too, the bob of the choke, for the time that is first my parents I became trans, worries that clouds your wholeness being exposed. By this time around, I’d understood for years in those first cold, wet minutes, but the world looked different than it did today, and the words I wanted to use seemed the domain of late night dial-up forums and daytime soaps that I wasn’t what the doctors proclaimed me.
I became avoidant, terrified. We composed it all straight down in a precocious e-mail the amount of a college essay and delivered it in to the unknown, not able to store this truth by myself anymore.