Yes, I know it is still 2016, and as pleased as I am to jump on board with John Oliver’s fuck 2016 mantra (2016: the year that will not be spoken of in future U.S. history classes or rewritten for propaganda classes in the Trump Indoctrination and Internment Camps for the UnAmerican), we all still have the rest of December to get through.

And as exhausted as I am about diving into being transgender and what that all means, it seems impossible to look at the past year as anything other than from Yay-White-People-Eatfest 2015 to 2016, or Year One of Accepting I Am Transgender.

So, for me, my 2016 ended last week, and I’ve got about a month reprieve until the real fear and reality of the next four years set in.   

I’ve tried and tried to figure out how to put the last twelve months into words, and I find myself only coming across as an unworthy chawbacon. It’s been indescribable, and I’ve lost count of how many attempts I’ve made at trying to wrap it all up. What I’ve settled with isn’t great, but it’s the best I’ve got. So, here’s what kind of year it has been:

It’s been 2016.      

It’s been a crying during Zootopia, listening to Shakira, and writing bad poetry kind of year.

It’s been shades of grey and bad haircuts and funky socks.

It’s been writing and writing, trying to figure it all, while clearly showing that I’ve still got issues to work out and am not over ended relationships.

It’s been crying in the shower and laughing in the rain.

It’s been nostalgic pocket monster escapism.

It’s been New York weeks and L.A nights.

It’s been Lavender Blossoms and London Fogs.

Things and Cards.

Game nights and fires.

High times and low times.

It’s been new friends and new adventures, hiking and camping and outings.

It’s been a fun, frustrating, and beyond words new job.

It’s been panicked-filled moments of oh, shit, this is my life now.

It’s been awe-filled moments of oh, shit, this is my life now.

It’s been isolation and loneliness and sadness and disappointment.

It’s been still waiting to hear back if I have skin cancer.

It’s been so unknown and frightening.

But, I’ve made it through.

I made it through a year that I didn’t think I’d live to see.

It’s been unreally real.

And, I am slowly coming to terms with who I am and what that means for my future. I see myself in an entirely new light. I’m disappointed with who I was and how my actions have affected others. And, I have as long as I have left to make up for past mistakes.

It’s a slow coping with understanding, acceptance, and moving the hell forward.

Am I there, yet? Nope. Not by a longshot. But, I am working on it. The hurt, anger/rage, and disappointment lens I wear when peering back at fragments of my old world has slowly shifted. It’s now a more understanding: I get it. I am sorry you feel that way. And, I feel sorry for you.

On a good day, I’m at an awkward peace with it all.

Is today a good day?

. . . Nope. Today is an on the verge of tears at work kind of day.

But, on a good day, I can grin and look forward to whatever future is ahead.

Is it where I wanted to be in a year’s time?

No.

Maybe.

I’m honestly not sure.  

But, it’s a start.

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