3/3/21 — on being yourself, changing your mind, and hrt
On the evening of the third of March 2021 – a lucky date; 3rd day of the 3rd month and 2+1 from the year add up to 3 as well – a family friend who’s a nurse came over to our house and taught me how to give myself an intramuscular shot of testosterone. It came in a little pink packet that stored five tiny glass vials with a thick, oily liquid inside each one. I was beyond excited, rushing to my room as soon as it was done to tell all my friends about how I just got my first t-shot and record a little video to keep track of the changes that would happen over the next months and years. And I would repeat this ritual every two weeks – assemble the syringe, draw the medication, change the needle to a thinner one, check for any air bubbles, disinfect my skin, stab myself (which became harder and more anxiety-inducing as time went on, but more on that later), and slowly inject it into my thigh. And trust me, it went slowly. But let’s go back a few years to the time before I started hrt. ...
