I've been spending the last couple of weeks getting over the shock of knowing I'll be this way for a while longer, while the word "forever" echoes in my head.
Nothing's changed. Being a girl isn't any worse or better for me than it was before. I don't feel depressed, I don't feel relieved, I'm just... going on. Is this good? I don't know. But it is what it is.
But I got a good boost of reassurance on Sunday, which was Father's day. I don't spend a ton of time with the family... keeping myself a bit independent while under their roof has helped keep me sane. I get up after my parents have gone to work, I get home when they're going off to bed, mostly because I hang out after work with the girls/guys. On the weekends I usually do my own thing, with the occasional exception.
Father's Day was a big deal to me, though, because even if they don't know who I really am, I wanted to prove how important they've become to me, both parents. So I made special arrangements to show off my cooking skills, which was the one thing my real dad and I really had in common. So I did a whole steak dinner for the family, and put Mae in charge of the side dishes (which didn't go so well in the end, but good for her for trying.)
It felt good, just to hang out in our backyard, the four of us, later joined by Ken and his fiancee, who was quick to point out how surprising it was that I was suddenly such an avid chef. We sat around after dinner and everyone told stories, although I was still silent... most of what I know about Tori's life is from her diaries, so there's not a lot of material that's worth sharing. Still, it was great to hear these sweet candid moments of family togetherness.
It wasn't until the next morning that I really started thinking about my own dad. I got up that morning and couldn't get the guy out of my head, and suddenly I was filled with this deep, intense shame. What would he think, if he knew the truth about his youngest son? That instead of getting his life together and moving to England for his career, he was living as a girl in Philadelphia? That at that moment on Monday morning, he was slipping on a pair of panties and clasping a bra... brushing his long dark hair, putting on a pair of tight shorts and a top that revealed his cleavage, his middrift... that his son was now somebody's daughter, and didn't mind it so much?
I don't think he'd understand that I didn't want this, but that I don't hate it either. Maybe he'd think less of me for giving in, for enjoying it at all, but I don't care anymore. I'm through with that attitude. It's something I could never explain to him, but finally, I like where I am.