Three months on T

Testosterone driven savages, that’s what you all are!

Hasty words, spoken by one of my characters who let her emotions get away with her, and consequently came quite close to paying the price for those rash words. Words that convey a stubborn prejudice about men. But how much of this prejudice holds true?

Speaking just for myself, I can safely say that I haven’t turned into a savage, lust-driven beast. And frankly, I never thought I would. Savagery, I think, has more to do with genes and environment – and in that order – than with hormones. (Please note that this is a personal conviction, based on my own observations. It’s not based on science, so feel free to disagree. I won’t shoot you.)

Three months on T I’m still the same person I was before.

There are changes in the way I feel and handle my emotions, but the emotions themselves are the same. I get annoyed or angry more easily, which suits me just fine. I express my anger and move on. Easy come, easy go.

Anger before T was a nasty thing. Is was a nagging, festering monster inside of my head. An ugly beast that took up residence and would stay for weeks, or even months on end and never leave me alone for long. It was also something that I had to keep locked up inside at all costs because of its toxic nature.

Now, anger is no more than that: just anger. Get it out and over with. No longer is it able to creep into my head and make my life hell. It’s in my body and wants out. Since I can’t go about smashing people’s faces and words aren’t always enough to get rid of the adrenaline coursing through my veins, I exercise. I wear myself out and when I finally crash on the couch, panting and sweating, I feel good about myself.

Anger used to be a mortal enemy. Now it’s my friend.

Other than that, there’s an amazing kind of calm that’s come over me. Before T, there were these tidal waves of emotion which, I thought, just belonged to life. Turns out they only belonged to life because of the female hormones playing havoc with my mind.

On T I experience a level of inner peace I never even knew existed. I used to be in charge of my emotions. And it was a full time job too. Now, my emotions don’t need babysitting any longer. They finally learnt how to behave.

My appetite has changed. I still like and dislike the same foods I did before. I also don’t necessarily eat more – or at least I don’t think so – but I do eat differently.

I used to be a chocoholic. These days, though I still enjoy the taste of choclate, I don’t crave it the way I used to. So now I’ve got bits and pieces of chocolate in a drawer here and a cupboard there, untouched. Remarkable!

I was a sucker for fruits, veggies and biscuits, and never cared much about meat or other protein-rich foods. Now my body seems to scream out for protein-laden foods and even though I still like fruits and veggies, my appetite for biscuits has decreased enormously. I still eat them when I get deliriously hungry, but now it’s usually just to give my  body the fuel it needs to be able to get up and make some real food.

My body is changing, and I think that’s what accounts for my changed appetite too. Women have more fat, men have more muscle. So it stands to reason that my body wants more proteins to build muscle, whereas it doesn’t need as many carbs to turn into fat anymore.

Not that I used to have a lot of fat to start with, but still, there was enough of it to be able to bring children into this world. Now, my belly is flat. Finally. I used to hate that small, but unmistakable rounding of my belly – which was the more conspicuous exactly because I was so thin.

My waist is gradually disappearing, and about time, too.

My hips are reverting back to their pre-pregnancies flat and angular shape. Which of course means I’m forever hauling up my trousers, and may need to buy new ones soon(ish) but seeing that I’m spending more and more time in my wheelchair, I don’t feel the immediate urge to spend money on trousers yet.

Other than that and the voice change, I don’t think I’ve noticed any obvious changes. People still read me as female and my voice drop isn’t significant enough yet for people to recognise me as male when I’m on the phone. It pisses me off, but there’s no helping that. At least I don’t feel shy to tell them, “It’s sir,” anymore.



About Dansinger

Poet, writer, aspiring minimalist
This entry was posted in FTM, transgender, transition and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to Three months on T

  1. Pingback: The Soap Opera – androgendernaut

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