The Human I Am.

I have a lot of posts to get through, and a lot of them are fairly serious and not as whimsical as my Trek-related posts. But I'll get to them later.

Six days ago, a good friend of mine got cleared to go to Tavistock Clinic in London. It's where the trans* kids get sent before they're 18, where I believe they go somewhere across the road to Charring Cross. It's really near the station, too, which is cool.

There is only one clinic because that way doctors can't disagree over treatment, and it helps everything run smoother. Because of that, the waiting list is very long. Four months, more or less.

That said, he has it set, and is making progress. And he's my age, only older by a month or so. And I'm somewhere between elation, because god knows he deserves this as much as anyone, and self-discontent because I haven't got to a point where I'm willing to do that and risk everything.

I want to. It crosses my mind consistently, but my family is holding me back.

They do not agree with my name choice, or the very idea that I might actually change it. They see it as disrespectful towards them, because they chose my name for me, and raised me on it, and what's wrong with it anyway? (I maintain that nothing is wrong. It's a brilliant name, and one I'm somewhat sad to leave behind. But it has never been my name. Also it's very difficult for me to pronounce in Swedish, which isn't good.)

But the truth is, I haven't started actually speaking to the NHS about it because I'm scared. There's a big difference between transitioning by choice, on my own, and speaking to adults about starting treatment. Treatment suggests something is wrong. I know there is, of course. I've known there was something wrong for a long time, but this makes it properly real.

Gender dysphoria is now recognised as a legitimate medical disorder to be treated by doctors, but 'disorder' sounds wrong. It is, as it suggests, order gone wrong. I've been placed in the wrong biology, and that's fucked me up, but it doesn't help that it sounds like there's something actually wrong with me as a human being.

It's absurd, really, that I'm so worried. It's already real, I'm changing my name in two weeks, at Pride, and there's not much else I can do on my own. But I'm more scared of this, of getting started on something like this, than I have been over anything else.

I'm fine with having a therapist, with going to new places to find help, but I'm going to be psychoanalysed by two professionals, they're going to ask me questions to work out if I'm insane or not. They're going to try to work out if I'm serious about transitioning. I'm only just 17. It's only going to take two years or so once it gets going, and then I'll be filling myself with testosterone every week or two, and I'll start actually changing in my appearance.

That's bloody confusing in itself. It's only in the last four months that I've come to any sort of acceptance of this body as it is. I only just managed to shake the habit of only showering in the dark. I know all of that is down to Moony showing me that she'll never see me as anything but male, no matter what. I couldn't do this without her.

She promised to come to Tavistock with me whenever I need to, regardless of when it is. I don't know if I could go alone, and she rightfully says this is our battle, so we'll have to handle it on our own. We're the only people it's going to actually affect.

I guess I'm just a little shocked that someone I know is actually getting somewhere. It's at times like this that I remember how many people across the country feel like me, but we all feel alone despite that fact. Everyone has different ways of handling it, different ways to live with being trans* and overcome dysphoria, if they ever get it. I only get it towards my facial structure and my hips, since I got my binder. And my voice, sometimes. But other people get it much worse.

It's such unmarked territory, and it's easy to feel isolated and lost. That's kind of why I started this blog. I wanted to stop that. And all the page views I see each time I check make me think that maybe, somewhere, someone is feeling a bit better about themselves, or like they're not alone.

Moony has work most of this week, and my bloody grandparents are staying tomorrow night, sleeping downstairs. That means they'll be up when I get up for school, which is horrible. I'm going to have to put up with hearing how much I look like my mum, maybe comments about my clothing choice, my hair (not sure they approve of the 'mess is good' theory), and name calling.

In short, I'm in for a tough week. I just hope I make it through. Moony will be here in 12 days. I can do this.

I'm going to ask for Kevin to send an letter to my GP, to ask about getting the analysis thing. Over The Rainbow might be coming to my school next year to broaden everyone's understanding of LGBT stuff, which is what I've been asking for since Easter. It would be fantastic to see the people who make me feel so sure of myself in a location that I feel needs more explanation of who I am. As I've always said, there's no point asking to be accepted it the people I'm asking aren't sure what they're accepting.

It was Rupert Graves' birthday today. He's 50. I celebrated by watching Different For Girls, which is a lovely film about him and his mate who transitioned to living full time as a woman with hormone treatment and surgery. It helped my slight dysphoria and I got to watch someone I have much affection for. Since Moony went to bed, I had to do something to keep my mind occupied.