Therapy by day, emotional wreck at night

"Losing your mind for the sake of your heart" -- Feist

I'm starting to see a pattern.

I had my weekly therapy today. I love these sessions. Who wouldn't love the opportunity to talk about yourself for an hour, to give your psyche a good scrubbing? I always leave feeling great.

But within another hour, it hits me. The raw feelings start creeping in. The utter hopelessness of this whole transgender business, the fear of appearing ridiculous, the upcoming hurt to be applied liberally to myself and everyone I care about.

Two weeks ago, the night after my weekly session, I was reading an article on the Lynn Conway site about transgenderism. I came to a sentence about feeling ugly and ludicrous in male social attire. And I broke down and sobbed for twenty minutes. Then I had to wait a week to discuss it, after the raw nerve had become cold analysis.

I don't know if I have the courage or fortitude to go where my heart wants me to. I certainly don't have the financial wherewithal. Desperate times call for desperation, right? I've got that in spades. I reek of it.

So, I spent the rest of my day today teetering between wanting to cry and trying not to cry. Maybe it's self-pity, maybe it's melancholy turned up to eleven. Maybe I need a whole Zoloft, not a half. I think my therapy will have made a quantum leap when I can have the breakdown during the session, not six-and-a-half days before my next appointment.