Two years ago this week I came out as trans*, both to myself and to my wife, whom I told immediately after I was sure that I at very least had a distinct female component. Initially, I thought I wouldn't (or couldn't) fully transition and was against taking HRT due to fear of the unknown. I had become extremely depressed, and was spending most days then crying in a fetal position with teddy bears. For the first time ever, I began wearing women's items. I still had a beard though, and didn't want to come out to anyone. I hated being transgender to the point of no longer caring whether I lived or died. It was like the end of the world to me. I was built like a linebacker, losing my already long hair rapidly, and experiencing very unpleasant testosterone spikes. I started to drink hard alcohol like it was water.
Two years ago tomorrow was when I hit rock bottom. I drank that night with reckless abandon, secretly hoping again that I wouldn't wake up the next day. I ended up bleeding profusely from a gash on my forehead from falling down hard in my bathroom and was rushed to the ER for the second time in 2 1/2 weeks.
I came out to the ER doctor early that morning as I explained what happened, who turned out to be a plastic surgeon that had many trans* patients over the years (MTF and FTM top surgery in Beverly Hills). He was the one who told me that it was imperative that I see a therapist right away. It took me almost a month to make that call, but I'm so glad that I did.
Because of them, I am here today.
