Evan Urquhart

"What's Vanessa's birthday again?" he asked. And later, "Has Vanessa used this medication before? Does she need instructions on how to do the injections?"

I'll tell you, it was weird. I've hated the name Vanessa since I was a kid- ever since I understood what a strongly female coded name it was. But a part of me wanted to say "I'M Vanessa! It's ME. It's MY prescription."

It's part of transitioning late, this feeling of an uncomfortable break from my past self. Did Vanessa live one life, and am I living another? Or do we share an unbroken experience? Depending on the time and day, both things can feel true.

I sometimes like to make this joke about Vanessa: She is a troubled woman from my past whose dark secrets I can never quite forget. But, that's not really right, is it?

Alternatively, I could just own Vanessa completely. She and I are now and always were one person, her life is mine. But then I remember that I spent most of that time feeling detached, like an outside observer of my own life.

I didn't own that life as mine then. so it feels revisionist to claim it now. But Vanessa wasn't another person. There's no independent Vanessian existence that was ended by my transition.

Perhaps the truest thing is to say that, by transitioning, I've taken the stance that Vanessa was never real. Or that I wish she'd never existed. Because, if I had it to do over, I'd have transitioned younger. As young as I possibly could.