Once at 20 I bought some women’s clothes, makeup, and a wig...the first time post-pubescence Emmy tried to surface.

So I went home, got dressed, and you know what I did?

I sat on the couch and watched TV, euphorically.

I just... *existed*

Then I threw it all in the dumpster.

The cool part is that the most PRESSING thing I wanted to do in that bliss was...nothing. Just relax and exist. I was *doing* all the other times, never relaxed, not *existing.*

For that hour, I just existed while my soul rested. Validating in hindsight, but also disappointing.

But after that hour, scary memories started coming. So I went back in the bathroom shamefully to derobe. When I looked in the mirror I saw [deadname], fell to the floor in a hour-long panic attack, then dumpster purged. That fear sent me deeper into denial for 17 more years.