It sucks. Neither of them will be in my life anymore. The endings came about very differently for the 2 of them though.

The first friendship to die ended shortly after my blood clot diagnosis. Once again, I was in a place where I was unable to be there for someone else. I tried. As much as I could try without sacrificing myself. They probably don’t even feel like I tried at all, or nearly enough. From their perspective, that’s probably a fair take on things.

I’m not going to defend myself. I chose to end the friendship definitively – but I really think it had ended without me saying anything. They had disappeared from my Facebook, and it seemed like they had cut me out of their life. I didn’t blame them at all for that. We were toxic for each other at this point. I firmly believe ending it was for the best. What I hate about that, though, was I had promised to always be there.

Promises like that are meaningless though. It’s like promising to love someone forever. They sound good, and are meant to make people feel good, but they are meaningless. Situations change, and sometimes it’s better to break the promise than to endure a broken or hurtful situation.

The second friendship ended tonight. Or more likely several weeks ago. In my attempt to communicate and eliminate awkwardness, I wound up causing hurt, confusion, and resentment. It wasn’t going to recover from that.

I don’t take full blame for either of these friendships ending, but the lioness share is mine I believe.

To both people I humbly apologize for hurting you. I still have love for both of you.

Peace and long life.

Yours,
Jessica

Edit 2020 – Interestingly enough, both these people are back in my life. In healthy ways. Life is funny.

Even if the ‘James’ everyone knew was a fiction, it was a fiction based on the inner workings of me. Not a reflection, but a bit of a filter, and a twisting – like a camouflage. For all intents and purposes, that part of me is gone. It’s still around at work, but at all other times, it does not exist anymore.

For Teresa, this is especially hard on her. That ‘James’ was the person she fell in love with, physically as well as emotionally. Now that ‘he’ is gone, her love hasn’t diminished, but there is still the loss to deal with. It’s the loss of an idea – an image – an expectation. It’s very similar, she tells me, to her grieving process during our infertility.

She deals with it well, but when she sees reminders of the old me, it can be painful. I try to limit her exposure to that. The worst times are when I’m heading to work – obviously at this time I’m dressed as ‘James’. I do little things to break up the old visual though – I wear nail polish, shave daily (used to shave weekly), and wear bandanas that hide my very male looking scalp.

For me, there is loss also. Obviously what I’ve gained far exceeds that loss for me. But I’ll miss parts of that façade. There’s also the very real loss of male privilege. I watched a video where they talked about it, and hadn’t even thought of it until then. I have, since then, noticed it. I used to be able to walk down a sidewalk and people would move for me. As Jess, that simply does not happen, it is me that is expected to move, even as a 6’5″ woman. That’s just the most obvious example, but it’s a noticeable change that I see almost every day now.

I’m sure my parents are going through a loss as well. I also know that they have gained as much and more with the new me. The change in myself emotionally is still very evident, and I don’t think it’s going away. They may have raised me from boy to man, but I did learn many many things from them that are not gender dependant. And what they did teach me about being male served me in better protecting myself. (now I just have to unlearn some of that *smirk*)

Friends, likewise, are also going to have various levels of grieving. Ranging from none at all, to a point where it becomes hard to accept the new me. I had coffee recently with my first ever friend. I think I’ve known him since I was maybe 4 years old. We hadn’t seen each other in close to 25 years, and yet it was so easy talking to him again after that time. He seemed to accept the new me without question. True, the time apart, probably made that easier.

I have another friend who is not ready to see the real me. He may not ever be ready. This is a kind of loss I will likely have to deal with as well. One that will be much harder for me. He, self admittedly, doesn’t take changes in friends very well. And there’s not much bigger a change than what I’m going through.

Other friends seem to have accepted the new me, and have coped or are coping with the loss of the old me in their own ways. The same with all my other family members.

Now if I could just lose all my body hair, I’d be very happy.

– Jess