Oh Where Have You Been Charming Billie

Before transition, I frequently isolated myself. There were a lot of reasons for that. I didn’t like the life I was forced to live and I was ashamed of my obese appearance and habits. I walled off the world whenever I could. I had no social life and apart from my children, no close relationships. One or two were closer than others, but no one, no one knew my heart. I promised myself that if I ever transitioned, I would tear down the walls and get a life.

But old habits die hard and so I seek comfortable surroundings when confronted with life’s truths, trials and trouble. There are no happy endings, just happy moments; moments that are all too fleeting and endlessly stalked by the next failure, the next betrayal or the next disappointment. Delight is smothered by the shadow of something waiting to destroy my joy, break my resolve and send me running for sanctuary.

Thus I have spent a lot of time this year in an alternate world. I do what must be done in this world then travel to another place where time doesn’t matter, deadlines don’t exist and dealing with the ugliness can always wait one more day. I drop my purse and computer bag on the couch. I walk by days of dirty dishes, weeks of dirty laundry, unopened mail and overflowing trash cans. I ignore the flashing light on the phone, the looming health issues and a solid start on the food plan. I rush to the portal, jack-in and in moments I am gone.

In this alternate world I am a forensic archeologist using my scientific talents to solve murders and resist my attraction to the FBI agent I work with. I am a brilliant structural engineer breaking my innocent brother out of prison. I am a quirky New York Police Detective solving major cases. I am a recovered coma victim that with one touch can see your future or something in your past. I am young genius who discovers how to stabilize the "Einstein-Rosen-Podolsky bridge” so I can “slide” to alternate Earths. I am anything I want to be, can do anything I need to do and sooner or later, I always triumph.

In the morning I awake having traveled back sometime in the night. I am tired and groggy and smashed to pieces. I sigh deeply, “Shit.” The tears well up. Through the haze I see the remnants of last night’s journey; the consequences piled atop the crushing weight of all those other tasks left undone. I want to go back, but I can’t. I cry as fear lays over me as surely as my blanket. A thousand ticks tocked last night, little bits of my life redeemable only in this world, worthless where I’ve been, thrown away; bits taken from a finite reservoir whose depth is known to no one. And so each morning goes, wondering if the road will end before the journey does.

I have to pee. I kick off the blanket and wrench myself out of bed. In the bathroom I stand only inches from the mirror. The tears have washed my eyes to a brilliant blue and my cheeks are rosy red. I rub the sleep from my eyes and just stare. “You have great skin; I’ll give you that much girl.”

Hope’s a funny thing.

Take Care,
Billie