Surgical Strike

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Now that the prospect of surgery has taken on some definition, I can’t help but give consideration to what exactly is going to change. And of course, the real world implications which are attached.

I am entirely blessed not to have felt dysphoria and to have largely come through my transition, thus far, relatively unscathed. But I’d be crazy not to entirely consider the possibility that I might miss my special little guy.

After all, we’ve enjoyed a fairly long time in each other’s company. We’ve laughed. We’ve cried. We shared our first loves. And when times were hard, sometimes we’ve just held each other. And yet here we are, divorce papers almost in the post. It’ll be a clean break, there’s no kids to fight over and we will soon never see each other again.

If I seem flippant, that’s just my defence mechanisms roaring into overdrive. I am fully aware of the enormity of what I’m going to do. And it’s probably mindbogglingly difficult for many of you to understand. I just need to. Best explanation I have to hand. Only one really.

But then it’s going to be all about adjustment. And I will need to learn to manage my expectations with the reality. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t ever scared. I’m really not at all gung ho about my life. This is no different for me. It’s a considered decision that’s taken a long time to build up to. I’m absolutely ready but I’m also sensible enough to be apprehensive. However, I’m very much looking forward to a new life too. But there is always the tiny possibility that any time I hear “Just The Two Of Us” in the future, I’ll have a small, fond tear in my eye for an absent little friend.

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