I feel like I’m relaxing into myself.
Dark hairs spread down my thighs and up my stomach.
I like the patterns they create.
Stubble under my chin.
A voice less harsh. Two semitones lower.
I feel extremes of emotion less intensely.
There is no rage.
There is a sex drive but it is controllable, normal, everyday.
There is no real regret at leaving behind my supposed female fertility. Just the sadness that has always been there. Sadness at lack of male fertility.
I am in, still, the battle of the 8 to 5.
The feeling of slavery.
Restrictions on expression.
Willing for a way to get out but unable to find it.
Needing to move on.
But acknowledging that the job and routine tempers my depression.
Considering relationships, realistically. Being open to relationships.
Feeling confident. Worrying less on the surface.
But still having nightmares that stem from anxiety and leave me shaken for days. Likely work and finance related.
Tomorrow is a half seven to five.
And I am still very wary of being hurt, pondering options, dipping hairy toes into the water.
Turning people into sensitive werewolves since 1983.
I even find my neck and jawline acne comforting.
Going through puberty as an adult. I think it’s kind of interesting.
But it’s far too late and I need to sleep.