Shadows Dancing to Flame
I've found it increasingly difficult to write, draw, or do just about anything other than consume media. It's not that media consumption is vile and horrible -- although my choices for consumption are, how we shall say, "questionable" -- but it's not the same as creating. There were times in my youth where the drive to create something were so great nothing else seemed interesting. Not high school, not college, nothing but the moment where I was free to create.
Perhaps I had more passion than sense back then.
Today it's difficult enough to merely work up the self-esteem to attempt anything, let alone the energy to sustain it. I couldn't tell you why if I wanted. My job can be mentally and physically demanding. Keeping up with writing course material or procedure documentation or interface design leaves my writing and artistic talents drained. There's very little left to do anything that won't be encoded, packaged, and sold by the hour.
If work's not enough, there's the growing possibility of SRS. I've been amassing funds for quite some time, and I'm almost to the minimum cash level required. By April, I could have the $7500 required to lock in a surgery date. The prices go up $900 in May. I would like to set the acutal date 6 months or more out. That will give me enough time to put together the cash for additional procedures, hotel costs, and plane tickets. Thankfully, the cost won't all be mine.
My Dad has offered to pay for a plane ticket for someone to accompany me. At first he (rather nervously) offered to go with me. To his relief I already had someone else in mind -- my Aunt Kathy. The choice is more than obvious: She's a nurse, adventuresome, and works with trans patients at one of the biggest clinics in Minnesota. It wasn't until last month that I finally asked if she would accompany me. Her face lit up with shock and excitement; it was as if I were a game show host who had just proclaimed, "a new car!" I suppose it's not everyday your niece offers you an all-expenses paid trip to another country...
The pieces all seem to be falling into place. I've contacted a surgeon, I have a traveling companion, and nearly have the minimum cash required. My therapist claims she will write me The Letter as soon as next month. After that, it's all systems go save for one.
For those who have seen me, you realize I'm not a small person. I'm nearly 6 feet tall, and thickly built. On average people guess my weight at 180 to 200lbs. The last time I was weighed, I was 290. No one can explain to me why. Fat or muscle does not seem to explain it. I have, however, never broken a single bone. I walked away from a 30mph nose dive on to concrete. I've had my entire weight land on a single finger -- it didn't break. My wrists measure 7" in diameter with nothing but skin and bone about them. Some say that "big boned" is a joke; they haven't met me yet.
The surgeon I've chosen requires a maximum weight of 230lbs for someone of my height. I haven't a clue how I'll lose 60lbs by then. Even with an increased exercise regimen and a strict diet, it sounds nearly impossible. Nevetheless, I'm going to try. Otherwise this will all be for naught.
It wouldn't be accurate to claim that only work and SRS anxiety is keeping my creativity at bay. The last 4 months have been difficult emotionally. It left me with a strong need to disconnect myself from my online existance if not disappear completely. I've strongly contemplated leaving LJ permanently. It's a move I'm unsure will do more good than harm. Such losses, however, are often acceptable if not necessary in my mind.
For the moment I've decided to court a psychological sense of distance if nothing else.
