Dear Friend,
Why didn’t you tell me?
I thought we were true best friends, the platonic equivalent of soul mates. I thought I was one of the few people that you trusted with your secrets. We kept so much from your family, less-close friends, and/or school authorities: your atheism, sorta-lesbianism, true feelings about the religious society you grew up in and still pretended to be part of. Your medical condition. All the rules you broke. The pet rats and mice we hid under the bed. Your piercings and unusual hair coloring, which you removed/cut when you went home for break. Your true, rebellious self that most people were not allowed to see.
Even after you transferred to another school, we’ve kept in touch. You’ve come over for the weekend many times. We’ve come over to your apartment to see your new pets. We took the rats and mice back home and gave them a permenant place in our house. We’ve called each other, asked for advice or commiseration or to share the news. Last night, I saw you in person for the first time since Thanksgiving.
So why the freck did you not tell me you were HAVING A SEX-CHANGE???
Would you have told me, if I hadn’t asked what the matter was with your voice? Or would you have said nothing until one day I ran into you with a beard and no breasts? (Or until your voice changed enough that I could tell something was different even over the phone?) Was I supposed to figure out you were unhappy as a female from your talk about how you admired a certain non-gendered author? You said a lot of things about the GBLTetc community, and your friends and interests thereof. Was it the male psuedonym you sometimes used online? I’ve known plenty of people using made-up names for all reasons. “Because I am going to legally change my name to this at some point” would not be my first guess, or second or third. I personally figured you were using that name because you admired a famous gay guy called that. In any case, you’ve known me for two years.You know that I generally don’t pick up on hints unless you make them explicit.
You said you’d already been taking hormones for a while when you came over for Thanksgiving. You said you just didn’t find the right time to bring it up in front of my family. Okay, then don’t tell my family, just tell me when we’re alone. Or call me afterwards, say “I’ve been taking hormone shots and at some point soon I’m going to be living as a male.” Better yet, JUST TELL ME THAT YOU’RE THINKING ABOUT CHANGING OVER when you make the decision.
I’m having a hard time even thinking about all this, because of the pronoun issues. I simply cannot think of you as “him”, and you don’t want to be called “her”, and it’s hard enough to feel natural using “ze” and “hir” in a conversation, let alone in my mind. If you’d given me more time to come to terms with you not exactly being a girl, maybe I would have found some solution. Or I could have called you “her” while gradually getting used to the idea that at some point you were going to transfer to “him”. But I got it all dumped on my head at once last night. Every time I tried to think of you, my train of thought derails over the pronouns. I find myself re-living the shock and confusion, and worrying about how I’m supposed to deal with not exactly being able to use the third person about someone who is so much a part of my life. It gives me a headache.
And I feel angry. I didn’t didn’t notice it at first. It was drowned out by the aforementioned shock, confusion, and practical worry. I would have said something to you at the time otherwise. But as today’s gone by, I’ve realized that I am mad at you for not trusting me with such an important secret. I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell me?
Your ex-roommate, Malleus