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adrienmundiI hate the idea of "balance" sometimes. I hate that it seems to appeal to someone else's idea of what is right, true or good, that it often invokes (at times, explicitly) zero sum construction. I want to recreate the world/myself anew, but feel chained to ideas and ostensible "realities" to which I do not subscribe.
I'm talking about my body issues. It's been just over two months sans estrogen. There have been changes, some positive, some decidedly unpleasant. I liked the way most of my body felt on estrogen. My arms and legs were slightly fuller; the lines flowed better, particularly in my legs. My chest was less skeletal, less skin stretched tightly over bone; I was much less personally acquainted with my sternum, for example. My breasts, of course, were better; fuller, larger, and satisfying more my inner sense of self. My skin, even: it felt right in ways that are hard to put into words, but carried a lot of meaning.
But sex things are decidedly better off the estrogen. It bothers me, a lot, that this is true. It makes me worry that all the biodeterminists are at least partly right, and I hate that both personally and ideologically. My sense of self is reinforced from this period of endocrinological experimentation, and consists unquestionably of combinations of things that do not appear to be intended to be combined. It's a painful gap that I don't know how to reconcile, but it's important, very important, that I try. There is no information available for what I'm trying to actualize; all the data, medical or personal anecdote, that I can find is about either/or, male or female, and that does me no good.
There are ways I hate the way reality seems to be constructed. This is very much one of those ways. It's personal, hurtful, and frightening.
I'm talking about my body issues. It's been just over two months sans estrogen. There have been changes, some positive, some decidedly unpleasant. I liked the way most of my body felt on estrogen. My arms and legs were slightly fuller; the lines flowed better, particularly in my legs. My chest was less skeletal, less skin stretched tightly over bone; I was much less personally acquainted with my sternum, for example. My breasts, of course, were better; fuller, larger, and satisfying more my inner sense of self. My skin, even: it felt right in ways that are hard to put into words, but carried a lot of meaning.
But sex things are decidedly better off the estrogen. It bothers me, a lot, that this is true. It makes me worry that all the biodeterminists are at least partly right, and I hate that both personally and ideologically. My sense of self is reinforced from this period of endocrinological experimentation, and consists unquestionably of combinations of things that do not appear to be intended to be combined. It's a painful gap that I don't know how to reconcile, but it's important, very important, that I try. There is no information available for what I'm trying to actualize; all the data, medical or personal anecdote, that I can find is about either/or, male or female, and that does me no good.
There are ways I hate the way reality seems to be constructed. This is very much one of those ways. It's personal, hurtful, and frightening.
