It’s done. I sacked him.
Our latest – and our last – appointment was on July 4. Of course I could have just phoned the gender clinic and cancel everything, but I wanted him to know he’d screwed up. I wanted him to learn from it. And I might have been feeling a tad bit vengeful. Or even more than just a little, but let’s not get sidetracked.
I wrote him a letter. I spent a few evenings perfecting it. Confession: I wanted to kill him with my words. I wanted to burn his soul. Or at the very least hurt him. Profoundly. But I’m a kind and peaceful person, so I won’t resort to bodily violence. That’s beneath me.
No really, I don’t get angry easily. Usually, I really am a friendly and easygoing person. But once I get angry, beware. My anger is cold and cruel, and frightful to behold. I won’t punch my opponent in the face or kick him in the balls. Words are my weapon of choice, and I know how to wield it. My words truly are like deadly venom if I wish to obliterate my antagonist’s ego.
There’s one small problem though. I suck at talking. I get lost for words, I fumble, I forget what I was going to say, my thoughts wander off without me. I ramble. Or I fall silent. I don’t have that problem when I write. Paper is patient. My hard drive too. So I write.
In my letter I told him exactly where he’d screwed up and how and why. Four pages in total. Written in fluent Sarcasm, my language of choice when I have a bone to pick with a short-sighted dog.
He didn’t enjoy reading my letter. Neither did he enjoy the discussion that followed. I didn’t mean for him to enjoy either, so that was good.
What was not good, was how it made me feel. I hate confrontations. I hate strong emotions. They wear me out. I simply can’t seem to get the adrenaline out of my system and continue to feel riled up for hours on end. No fun.
At least I won’t have to see that blundering dolt again. He will arrange for me to get an appointment with one of his senior colleagues, but I won’t commit myself to anything until after that appointment. I’m still not sure that I want to keep going to that particular gender clinic.
Meanwhile I emailed the two psychological practices I mentioned in one of my earlier posts and heard back from one of these. This psychologist told me where to find the endocrinologists he works with, but also said he couldn’t refer me going on a diagnosis of a foreign gender therapist. He would however, be happy to take me on as his client.
I’m going to see my GP again and discuss my options with her. She might refer me to one of these endocrinologists, but she’ll probably feel better about referring me to this psychologist. I’m OK with both options, though obviously I’d prefer a direct referral to an endocrinologist.
My female body is driving me crazy.