On prior form it may take a couple weeks to see how the second laser session pans out, but even 48 hours later I can see some funny results like a clean circle in the midst of a darker area on my chin, leaving a sort of crust around the fringe. I can assemble the story easily here; where she put down the laser, lost her place, moved on.

The face thing, it’s striking for me. It’s not just the decades of intense dysphoria around the hair, or the general sense of moving on in the transition, though all of that is important. It’s that taking action to repair this damage also represents a sort of qualitative shift in my body autonomy. I have of course taken many steps for myself, most significantly getting on HRT some 15 months ago. But there’s a directness here that feels different.

HRT, I took mostly for the mental, emotional, health benefits. I knew that physical changes were possible, some were even probable, but I wasn’t planning that far ahead; didn’t dare to hope; didn’t fully know what to think, even. And I knew that I was old; knew not to expect anything. This whole process is one step at a time; focus on the moment, and accept what may come.

The intervention sure has brought some changes, gee whiz, but that’s been less an active process on my end than my body doing its thing, responding in the way it feels best to the basic attention that I’m finally giving it. The consequences to my just taking care of myself are removed enough to be almost incidental. Even the dramatic, permanent changes are just kinda things that happened on their own, because they wanted to inevitably happen. All I did was hold the door open.

Even my boobs, which are so very eager to exist, I didn’t know to anticipate or put any kind of thought into. They’ve now become so central to my identity—this sort of symbol of my freedom and awakening, this clear irreversible change that my body decided it wanted to make, when allowed to make that choice; this indicator of who I really am. But like everything else, they were just a side effect. I didn’t even know what to want, and my body made its own decisions. All these biological changes are just me, growing, healing. What happens is what must happen.

The face, though—yes it’s also a kind of medical care, also about repairing damage. But by comparison, this is a direct, conscious operation. I’ve made a choice to actively change my body. Superficial as it may be, this also is irreversible. That’s the point. There’s no undoing this action, no going back. And yet, here I am. Doing it.

When this procedure is done, no one will ever hold that control over me again. Already after two sessions I’ve ruined this unwanted part of me that I’d so long been told I had no right to touch—and the only way out is through. There’s no salvaging this. I might as well finish burning it off now. Finally I have taken control of my life, drawn my own boundaries. This body is my own. It’s a part of me. I’m a real person. I get to say what happens to me now, same as anyone else.

To that end, since last August, maybe September, I’ve been dancing around the question of piercings. We know this. I’ve talked about it. I never understood the practice before; why people would do such a thing. But as soon as I began to wake up, and realize that I was real, my head came full of all these questions, all this potential. Who was I? What was appropriate? What did I have the right to do with myself? And why would I want that?

Turns out it’s about making a claim on yourself. One of many ways, but an ancient, relatively harmless, and extremely normalized one. With that, suddenly it make a kind of sense—so I kind of put a pin in it (as it were), realizing that while I was doing this reclaiming, that was a sudden option. A novel one, possibly an exciting one. On the edge of becoming a fascination.

Since then my mind has kept going back, so it feels less a possibility than an inevitability I’ll get at least my ears pierced, and probably sooner than later. It’s just a matter of when. The concept is starting to thrill me. This time, this choice, it’s not even about healing. I’m not doing necessary maintenance. There is no medical need to poke holes in my ears. For once, this claim is 100% elective. This time it’s about me. It’s about what I want for myself. About who I am. About being allowed, allowing myself, to make that kind of a decision. For maybe the first time in my life.

After that second laser session, this kind of euphoria swirled in my head for about 24 hours. The fact that I came back, that the first session wasn’t a fluke—I was committed to this thing. I was really doing it. I had this kind of a power over my life. Over my own body. On the evidence of this experience, I have the ability to enact change, to make decisions, to cause things happen to me. So the next day, I looked into that tattoo parlor that my therapist had recommended me.

From the look of things, this is actually one of the most renowned shops in the area; almost universal praise—and yes they do piercings, of course. She told me of their professionalism, how they’re the go-to for all the queers, etc., and from the look of things, yeah, on both counts. It’s always a kick when local places rock a big “LGBT+ Friendly” tag front and center. Which shouldn’t be a surprise here on the basis of what I was told. I just didn’t realize what a big deal this place seems to be, for its particular field.

No prices online, but how much can a simple piercing be? Nothing fancy. At least to start. I still need to resolve a few things in my brain, puzzle out a few weird angles that still bother me. But there it is, when I’m ready. Sometime this summer, maybe?

Step by step, it’s like—it’s not that I’m getting myself back. I never had myself before. I always existed for someone else’s benefit. (Or their burden, depending on how they felt at the time.) This whole concept of autonomy, I’m figuring it out from nothing. It’s so new to be, and so strange and kind of surreal. What kind of dream logic is this? How can this be possible? But I’m getting over this terror of failing to keep myself mint-in-box, at the risk of being discarded as worthless. Finally breaking that seal, you know.

Nobody owns me now. I’m all on my own. I guess I’m theoretically an adult, whatever that means. So this whole process, it’s not like it’s random rebellion or anything. I mean yeah I have the hormones of a teenage girl, and my body is going through all these wild changes. But this isn’t just a reaction against crappy circumstances. This is me, learning to make decisions about myself. And goddamn, such a simple thing is such a wild reorientation of my whole relationship to life. To start to accept that I can, and have the right to, make these decisions.

It’s almost too much, you know. This floodgate. This realization of what it means to be my own person, living for my own sake rather than exclusively for someone else. To choose who I want to be, what is right for my health, not for someone else’s comfort. To follow the things that I enjoy. To understand that I have the right to enjoy things, to want things for myself. That I can just do things that make me happy in some way. That happiness is a thing worth looking into at all. That I don’t have to apologize for any of this.

Each one of these decisions I make, to another person they might be mundane. But to me they’re these mind-shattering pivot points, that challenge every bit of toxic, abusive, neglectful garbage that’s been put on me for my entire life. And each one makes the next choice a little easier. If I want it, then yes, I can do that too.

Does Azure even want earrings? Well. Maybe. I mean. Yes? I think she might. They can be pretty. We are starting to enjoy our jewelry, and this is unexplored turf. Our ears are shaped a little strangely, and I’m still not sure the best way to handle things. There are some considerations, a few things that give me pause. But the point is, this is our decision to make. No one else gets a word in. Ever.

For all the seething and spittle I’ve absorbed about how stupid and irresponsible it is, that I have taken so unfortunately to heart, this is a perfectly normal thing, that people do all the time. And it’s not that big a deal, cosmically speaking. It will never make the world explode. It will never hurt another person. I am a real person. I get to make choices. And this is a choice.

We can explore things. We can figure out life. We can figure out us.

I just want to be me, whoever that is. I just want to be her. We just want to be alive. We’ve never been allowed that before. And now we’re starting to get it. It’s becoming clearer why people put so much value in living. It’s different when you actually want to be here.

So. One thing at a time. I’ve got so much garbage I’m dealing with, right now. And I’m not even fully vaxxed yet. And the year is still young.

But I’m starting to get a grip. Bit by bit.

Just let me be alive.