Bread and Purple Flowers Too

Purple Flower

One of the purple flowers that lines the street outside my apartment.

I have recently been contemplating an unexpected state of affairs. It started on May 13th when my doctor doubled my estrogen prescription, but first it might help to understand what I experienced when I first started taking estrogen back in October. Along with increased emotional sensitivity and ineffable changes to my perceptions I experienced euphoria. However, it was not long before I felt myself return to my usual depressed state. So when I started taking more estrogen on the 13th I was hoping to effect changes I would see in the long-term—increased breast growth, for example. It did seem that the estrogen had lifted my spirits, but this time the feeling was brief and not so pronounced, and it soon became a memory tucked away in the attic of my brain. However, after some days had passed I started noticing differences. One was that flowers captivated me like never before. Throughout most of my life I cared about no flowers besides red roses and carnations, but suddenly the purple flowers that line my street made my turn my head like they were Amber Heard. This change, while welcome, was nothing compared to the change in my emotional experience. It was not the euphoria I experienced in October, but my mood was noticeably elevated independent of external influences. Before it was as though I was hearing a continuous series of dissonant sounds that was always present, no matter how favorable the circumstances were. Now a symphony has replaced the dissonant sounds, and the harmony has soothed me even when I am at my lowest. I feel as though for the first time in my life I know contentment.

It will be a rare post in which I substitute discussion of my delight over purple flowers with my usual rage over social injustice. For one thing I think long-time readers would think my blog had been hijacked. More importantly, my happiness is all the more reason for me to fight the oppression of trans women. I should not have had to wait thirty-three years punctuated by self-injury and hospitalization for depression to experience what most cis women will know their whole lives. What’s more, for various reasons many trans girls and women who would benefit from hormone therapy have not yet started receiving it. Maybe they live in fundagelical Christian homes, where their parents hope to “pray away” their daughters’ gender identities instead of giving their children the respect they deserve; maybe they are locked away in one of the vast majority of US states that deny trans prisoners hormone therapy; maybe economic circumstances prevent them from buying what ought to be freely available; or maybe transphobic feminists have convinced them that they are infiltrators or worse, if they transition. Whatever the obstacles are, we cannot smash them too soon. Every woman deserves to have the emotional stability that I have now.

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