Intimacy and Neurological Disconnect

Not to beat on my own lackadaisical wah drum, but I stopped being intimate with other people for some time before I started hormone therapy in December of 2008. Since my first dabblings in nitty-gritty-ville when I was 18, I’d been be intimate, albeit uncomfortably. With each passing year living female-bodied, that “uncomfortable” escalated to “extremely uncomfortable” and then to “gah! no more! enough!”. The whole shindig became way too depressing as the sensory signals from the deep recesses of my noggin screeched louder and louder, “Disconnect! Disconnect!”

It got to the point that even imagining intimacy made my stomach turn with anxiety (and still does). Just knowing that being touched made my body impossible to ignore would trigger a whole slew of mopey. Every time I met someone and tried, thinking that I could handle it, I couldn’t. What would start out as something simple would be overtaken by the neurological disconnect, and my body would just entirely shut down. I’d subsequently feel vulnerable, embarrassed and ashamed - and then would spiral into feeling awful for weeks.

Before going to my first therapy session I’d decided to be abstinent for the most part, rather than having to deal with the health risks and expense of transition. But that also made me sad - so, therapy it was.

The thing is, even though I’ve reveled in the changes that have come from hormone therapy thus far, I still haven’t been able to move past this particular aspect of my social reality without surgery.

If there’s even the prospect of potential intimacy, I’ve noticed that I distance like crazy and avoid it at all costs.

Without it I am at least able to focus on all of the soothing changes happening to my body overall - to just, neurologically connect to the level that I can currently for the first time in my entire life and to bask in it. Throughout, I’ve done my best to push the idea of physical intimacy out of my mind.

Until I set an actual date for my top surgery appointment.

With only $1,555 left to save up, the reality that my surgery is actually going to happen hasn’t set in. And I doubt it will until weeks or months after healing. I’m so.excited to know that it’s actually going to happen. The neurological benefits are just, unimaginable right now. My brain map will fit the landscape. And, from there, I will be able to work on the residual anxiety associated with intimacy and my confidence will inevitably increase through the fusion.

I can’t stop thinking about it. And to imagine what it will feel like to finally, actually experience physical intimacy without being haunted by a neurological disconnect.


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