This past year as been a horrid one. Being on lockdown for more than 400 days really messed with my OCD and my schizophrenia. But being "trapped" also let me really think about who I am when I am not trying to conform to other people's ideals.
I have been open about being schizophrenic. That was actually the easy part. Coming out as Pansexual was harder. But what I learned while having a lot of time for introspection is that I am not Pansexual, I am Asexual. I never really enjoyed sex of any kind, although I pretended I did to make my now-ex fiancé happy. This is why I was not upset when he slept around. It took the pressure off so I didn't have to fake it. And I acted like I thought any big-busted woman should act by wearing low-cut shirts and tight tops. My DDDs were a part of me that both men and lesbian or bi-sexual women thought of as sexy and I went with it.
Underneath it all, I was very unhappy. The 90s were a hard part of my life. I was hiding my mental illness and I was only out as bi-sexual at the time because that was most acceptable. In private I was cutting, mostly on my legs where it wouldn't be seen, but also on my breasts because I hated them. I hated the attention they got and I hated that those big blobs of fat on my chest attracted sexual attention. But I hid all of this. I was just learning that there was such thing as bi-sexual. Trans and genderqueer and such were foreign to me.
When I moved from Los Angeles to Southern Utah, a lot of the pressure came off. I had no pressure to date or find any kind of sexual partner. In fact, my last date was in 1998. I loved that I didn't fit in to the LDS pigeonhole and so I had a good reason not to find a boyfriend or girlfriend.
As the 2000s went by, I still flaunted my cleavage because again, if you got it, flaunt it. That was the norm. I still did some cutting, but at least I didn't have anyone touching my breasts, which I have always hated. Slowly I tried changing my wardrobe to more gender neutral: jeans and a T-shirt. Unfortunately, it gets into the 110s during the summer here and the tank tops and shorts I wear to keep cool are too revealing for me to be really comfortable. But I try to ignore it. I ended up getting a complete hysterectomy a few years back and that was wonderful thing for me. I was closer to being asexual and agender.
Then came 2020, the year of the lockdown. I did a lot of reading and a lot of research. I found out about the term gender dysphoria and how insurance has been known to cover top surgery (in my case a double mastectomy) if it can be proven to be medically necessary. Oh, I was elated. Could I actually get rid of my breasts? That would be wonderful.
My primary physician referred me to a local plastic surgeon who is an expert in breast reconstruction. I actually had to wait 8 months for the consult because everything was backlogged. During that time I did more research and more self examination and confirmed to myself that this was what I wanted.
The appointment came and the doctor was wonderful. He was polite. He used the name and pronouns I wanted and his staff was courteous and professional. He gave me some options, including prepaying at a discount or having my psychiatrist write a letter to support my surgery and it would be added to my file as part of the insurance claim. He made me feel so comfortable.
I had some things to think about, but it didn't take me long to decide to go with this surgeon, even if it meant waiting another year to get a surgery date. I am going with the simple mastectomy, which is a total removal, including no nipples. As for the insurance, if it doesn't cover it, I can appeal. And if I end up making payments on it the rest of my life, it will be worth it.
So, what does all this mean? This means I know who I am now.
I am Transgender. No, I am not transitioning from female to male. I am transitioning from female to non-gender. I am neutral, neither male nor female. Some days I want to look pretty and wear a dress. Other days I want to look masculine and wear a muscle shirt and jeans. I cannot wait for my breasts to be gone so that I can wear masculine clothing more comfortably.
I am not he/him. I am not she/her. I am they/them. My name is not Kathryn or Kate, it is Ryn. And I am finally getting a body that matches the real me.
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