Part Two: Intrusive Thoughts

Opening the Black Box

I’ve been up for hours now, and it feels like I’ve both been awake for an eternity and that I never actually finished waking up at all. I’m sitting in the mesh seat of my computer chair, warm summer light spilling in through the window to my left. We’ve got the window open, and there’s a park nearby. Children are at play, laughing, the sky is a bright, glorious blue, and the weather is more mild and lovely than a mid-July day has any right to be. It’s an almost comically perfect day.

I really don’t register any of it. Really, I’m not even processing the things on my screen. I’ve been wandering from website to website–my usual haunts, Kotaku, Facebook, some Magic: the Gathering streamer, and I realize after a couple of hours that I’ve been going in a circle, hitting the same websites and passing glazed, uncomprehending eyes over the same articles over and over and over. I very pointedly do not visit Reddit, even though it’s been one of my main haunts for most of a decade.. Mae’s comic looms in the back of my mind. She said they can help you on Reddit.

Transtranstranstranstrans

The idea thrums at the back of my mind in time to my hammering heart. It hasn’t slowed a bit since last night. Since the fucking comic.

I cannot possibly be trans! I shout at myself in answer. The thought vanishes, blown away like a leaf in a hurricane.

B–’s at her computer too, and I manage to notice that she keeps glancing over at me. Her mouth is drawn more and more, her brow more and more furrowed with each glance. She knows something’s wrong. Badly wrong. I take another deep breath, stand, and go to the bathroom. I do my thing, and force myself to hold my gaze in the mirror–always a challenge. My face is weird in ways I can’t really articulate, but that’s normal. What’s not normal is that it’s ashen, hunted, my eyes unfocused and blinking at odd intervals. I look like death warmed over.

I go back to my computer and start up Hades. Something–anything–to hold my attention. To get this death-mask off my face so B– won’t worry.

I give up two hours and a dozen stupid deaths later. I can’t stay focused on the gameplay. I stand. B– stands.

“Hey,” she says, catching me in arms strong from roller derby and weightlifting. Her hair, blue and growing out now, brushes my nose the way it always does. It’s a hard sell to see a berber in a global pandemic.

“Hey,” I say. We stand there, ostensibly holding each other. In reality, she’s holding me, tethering me to the ground in the middle of this… whatever it is.

Transtranstranstranstrans

No! Stop it! I’m not! I shout back inside. Nothing. Nothing. I feel like I’m about to be carried away, and I’m terrified. I fight to control my breathing, to regulate it, to use it to keep my heartbeat in check.

It doesn’t work. Not a bit.

We part, and she looks at me. Her worry is plain on her face, but she doesn’t say anything. I don’t say anything. I walk out of the office, my fingertips caught in B—’s, and she trails after me.

She makes us lunch. I sit and stare at my phone, pretending to be distracted. I don’t even bother to unlock the screen. I eat. I don’t know what it is that I eat even as I eat it. The plate leaves, and I mumble my thanks.

“Are you okay?” she asks me, her hand slipping onto my shoulder.I rouse, starling a sliver, almost like I’m waking from a dream.

“I didn’t sleep very well. Didn’t fall asleep until like one in the morning,” I say. It’s not a lie. I don’t lie to her, ever. It’s not really the truth, though. She doesn’t say anything. I don’t say anything. She stands there, patient, looking down at me. I know she knows I’m not telling her the whole truth.

Time passes. I don’t know how much. I find myself sitting on the couch, Netflix streaming a cartoon. I don’t know what I’m even watching. B—’s paying attention to it, though, and that’s the best thing I could hope for. I zone out again.

Transtranstranstranstrans

Stop it! I beg in feeble silence. Nothing. No difference.

I feel like I’m floating in space, blind and tumbling. There’s no up or down, no left or right. Only a terrible forward momentum towards–what? I don’t know. I’ve never felt so disconnected from my body before. It’s the strangest, worst feeling. Not that I ever felt particularly connected to it, but still. Degrees of difference matter.

I stand, and realize it’s late afternoon. I mumble something about the bathroom and shut myself in. There’s an automatic blood pressure cuff in the top left drawer from when my dad got sick. I turn on the fan, sit on the toilet, and slip the cuff on. I press a button and close my eyes, controlling my breathing. I fight to slow my heart rate. The cuff beeps. I twist and look at the display.

136 beats per minute. As far as my heart is concerned, I’ve been running a marathon since 10:00 last night. I wonder what time it is now.

I put the cuff back into its box and flush the toilet.

Transtranstranstranstrans

Trans people know! They always knew! I silently shout at myself. Mae’s comic towers in the back of my mind, laughing at the claim. That fucking comic. It’s rung me like a struck gong, and I vibrate with its ideas.

I wash my hands and leave the bathroom. B— watches me as I leave.

“Hey,” she says. Oh, God, she’s terrified. It’s her eyes—they’re never that watery, pinched look unless she’s really, truly scared.

“Hey,” I say, and try to muster a smile. “It’s nice out. I’m gonna go for a walk.” Her expression deepens. I realize with a sinking heart that I must’ve mangled the smile.

“Let me get my shoes on,” she says. “I’ll go with you.” I’m already shaking my head before she diminishes speaking.

“I think I need a bit of alone time to clear my head,” I say. She pauses. I know this is the red flag to end all red flags. I don’t insist on solo walks unless I’m completely overwhelmed with emotion.  Not like it’s a secret, anyway. But I need a few minutes of privacy. I don’t want to scare her even more. She doesn’t know about my heart rate. I’m going to keep it that way. I’m going to solve this. Somehow.

She eases back into the couch, and I fetch my shoes. It takes too long to tie them, and I find myself hesitating, instinctively grasping for any excuse I can find to not do this, to not speak any part of my distress aloud. But… but my heart has been racing nonstop for almost 24 hours now. That’s not good. That’s not safe. I need to ask what to do.

Transtranstranstranstransyouknowwhatyouneedtodoyouknowyouknowyouknow

I don’t try to shout back at it this time. I’ve already learned better.

“Be safe,” she says as I open the front door, and now I really know how worried she is. She doesn’t tell me to be safe unless she’s actually afraid for my safety.

“I will,” I say, and mean it. I shut the door and walk briskly down the sidewalk, warm afternoon sunlight splashing down on me. It’s glorious.

I absolutely do not care.

As soon as I pass out of sight of my home, I pull out my phone and call my mom. She’s a nurse. She’ll know what to do about my heart rate.

Ring. Ring. My stomach clenches, and I’m terrified to speak even the smallest piece of this out loud. I won’t tell her why my heart is racing, only that it is. Ring. Ring. I should hang up. I shouldn’t do this.

Voicemail.

I tap the screen, ending the call. I pause, standing still for a moment. I tap the screen, and call her again. I don’t call twice in a row. Ever. She’ll know it’s an emergency now.

Voicemail.

“Hey, mom,” I say, trying to force cheerfulness into my voice. “Got a weird medical question for you. Call me back, okay?” My voice was wavering. I can hear it. I hang up as quickly as I can. I start walking again, uphill now, hoping the exertion will help. It doesn’t. After a while, I pull my phone out again and take a bigger risk. I can’t wait.

My brother’s a nurse too, only I haven’t asked his medical advice since Dad was sick. He’ll know something is up if I call him. I call him anyway. I need answers.

Voicemail. I laugh humorlessly to myself as the automated message plays. This really is beyond belief. I leave him the same voicemail I left for mom. I think, maybe, my voice quavers less this time.

My feet take me home. I take a deep breath before I open the door even as I know it won’t calm me.

“Hey,” B– says when I step inside. “Good walk?” she asks, and I think she does an admirable job of keeping her tone upbeat. God, I wish I could lie to her.

“Ehh,” I say honestly. “Not really.”

“Oh?” she asks. “Any reason why?”

Transtranstranstranstrans

I shrug, and sit down on the couch next to her. She takes my hand in her strong, soft one. I don’t resist, and she holds it there for a time. Without asking, she pushes play on the remote, and I find that Old Guard starts playing. We’ve been looking forward to watching this movie for a week–just hadn’t sat down to do it yet. I love movies with kickass women for main characters-—prefer them to almost any other. I try to not think about this fact.

The movie washes over me. I miss more than half of the dialogue. My phone never rings.

B— is all smiles at the end of the movie, but the happiness drains when she glances over at my surely-still-ashen face. I am alone, adrift. My heart screams, my head screams, and I am alone, helpless. I feel like the flesh is being sandblasted off of my soul. Every part of my insides are screaming now.

I can’t do this alone. I can’t.

I stand and walk to the kitchen. B— follows. I lean over the sink and stand there, head bowed, trying desperately to find a way out. I need her help, and to get it I need to explain. Only, I know what happens so often–too often, part of me screams. She’ll leave. Nobody wants this. Nobody could want me if I’m–

I kill the thought, bringing every ounce of my will down on it and somehow, somehow it’s enough.

I know immediately that I won’t be able to do it again.

I turn, still steadying myself on the sink, and face my wife. The love of my life. My partner for over sixteen years. My best friend. I can see her bracing herself emotionally for whatever’s about to come. My mouth slips open, just a bit.

“I–” I try to say, but I can’t, I can’t make this thing real by saying it aloud. B– waits patiently, concerned but ready. She can always wait me out. I take a deep breath, and find it coming out in a scared, thin little laugh as I finally let the words inside me, (the truth), the fear, (the truth), the plea for help (thetruththetruththetruth) spill out.

“I’m having intrusive thoughts of being trans.” I shake my head. “Stupid, right?” The words hang.

I brace, and wait for the response that will end my marriage.

It’ll be hard to find her an apartment safely when this all comes crashing down, but I can’t keep this secret. Not from her. Not with her looking like that. I can’t do this to her… and I can’t do it alone.

“Okay,” she says. I look up slowly.

“Okay?” I ask. She steps forward and gathers me into her arms, pulling me tight.

“Okay,” she says, and I start crying, thin little sniffles of terror/relief. “We’ll figure this out.”

“Okay,” I say, and cling to her.

Time passes. I have no idea how much.

“Have you told M–?” she asks. My therapist, who I’ve stopped seeing in the last few months. She’s brilliant, better than every other therapist I’ve ever had in my life rolled into one. I shake my head against B–’s cheek. “Text her,” B– instructs me. I pull away and take my phone out. The message is short and frank. I’m having intrusive thoughts. My heart has been racing for a full day. I ask her if she can do an emergency appointment, as soon as possible. I send the message.

I hesitate. I send another. It says The intrusive thoughts are about being trans.

Barely a minute passes. My notification chimes, the crystal sound from Final Fantasy Tactics. 11:00 on Thursday. I am grateful to a degree I cannot describe that she got back to me right away. I confirm the appointment.

“Thursday,” I say to B–. She nods and holds me, and I cry some more.

Dinner happens. I’m barely cognizant of it.

I take two sleeping pills at 9:00 and go to bed.

Whamwhamwhamwhamwham.

My heart still hasn’t slowed. 

Transtranstranstranstrans.

The idea, this terrifying, impossible idea screams inside me. I can’t hide from it, I can’t quiet it… but I’m not alone anymore.

Somehow, I fall into an absolute, dreamless sleep.

Continued in Part 3.

Afterword

I won’t be telling this story day by day from here on, except where important things happen.