Today I had an appointment with a therapist who specializes in writing letters for transgender persons so that they can access a script for hormones- goal #87.

The only bad thing about this experience is that I’m reminded that not everyone has access to such a therapist. Someone who goes by ICATH standards, someone who is relatively affordable, someone who says things like “I don’t believe in being a gatekeeper in all this” and who wont deny letters to non-binary/gender variant people. It’s a fucking outrage and a crime that this isn’t the norm. I felt at home, I felt like she was on my side, I didn’t have to lie or defend myself, and she even recommended doctors. (I’m sure they’ll be less affordable, but I’ll have to figure that out.)

Everything went well. Better than I could have imagined. It’s actually happening. I left in a daze and had to go for a walk. The neighborhood was unfamiliar so I wandered a bit. It was getting dark. I passed by the huge glass panes of a dance studio. It was all lit up inside. There were two men in suits clumsily waltzing across the wooden floor, laughing. I started to cry.