I didn't know how long I had been laying here. It was quiet, so quiet, there wasn't even a sound. I didn't hear myself breath. I didn't hear my heartbeat. I didn't even hear myself think. I was in a vacuum. This was beyond what it felt like to be in the womb. There was nothing. Not only was there no noise, but there were no touch as well. I was unaware of my body. Was I lying straight? Was I tucked in the fetal position? I had become completely disassociated with my shell.

I just was.

I just was.

I just was.

I existed. Formless, nameless, with substance but without being. I was me. I knew who I was. I know who I am. I didn't need a body to define who I was. I didn't need the past to define who I was. I didn't need the world around me to define who I was. I am me. I am not a name. I am not what others expect of me. I am not the clothes in my closet. I am not the information on my driver's license. I am not who I portray in reality, the facade that I let most the world to see. I am not some online personality that exist only for mere carnal pleasures. I simply am myself and the only thing I need to conform to is the self that is me.

It is when I choose to portray a lie that conflict occurs.

The past is the past.

I cannot change that. I cannot undo what I have done. I cannot undo what has been done to me. I cannot take away the lies I have told. I cannot remove the masks that I have worn. It is over. The past is done and cannot be rewritten. The past is but a memory.

I am not my past.

I am not my past.

My past is not me.

The past may have molded me, but the past is not me.

The past may have influenced me, but I decide how much.

In the past I have played my role, I have won my Oscars. Now is the time for the next film, for the next scene, for the next part.

Now is the time for no part at all.

Now is the time to remove the costumes.

Now is the time to remove the makeup.

Now is the time to drop the phoney dialect, the false inflections, the scripted lines.

Now is the time to remove myself from the fantasy world called reality and live in the truth.

Now is the time to be me.

Now is the time to be.

Now is the time.

Time has no meaning here. I just lay in whatever position I am in. I know something is happening around me, but, in the darkness, I cannot be entirely sure of what. The liquid is being drained, but I don't know from where. I am no longer completely submerged in it. I know longer feel the pins and needles, nor the throbs, nor the lightning strikes around and through my skull. I suppose my time here is done. I still can't see my body. It doesn't matter, my body does not define me.

It took maybe an hour, maybe a day, for the liquid to drain completely around me. I still breathed through the oxygen tube though. Who knows how airtight this chamber was. Then, finally, it happened. I heard the chamber being unlatched and I could see it opening.

The light was blinding and I had to shield my eyes. I could make shapes around me. I am sure one was the doctor and the other was the nurse. They helped me to sit up as I was having difficulty. I was guided out of the tube, but my legs felt uncommonly weak, as if I were unable to support my own weight.

I was immediately wrapped in a robe. I couldn't tell you what color, my eyes still were blinded as they got reacquainted with light. I could tell you that the robe was incredibly soft and fuzzy. If I were going to be cold, it would have knocked the chill right out of the air.

I was led to stand in a certain part of the room as my strength came back to me.

“How do you feel?” the doctor asked as he checked my pulse.

I took an inventory of what senses I still had of me. “I feel good,” I told him as soon as I was sure of the answer.

“Wonderful,” the doctor said. “Come, follow me.”

My eyesight returned sufficiently enough where I could see most of my surroundings. I wanted to see what the treatment had done to me, but I restrained myself. I was sure that would come in time. I took a quick peek downward as we walked through a corridor, but the robe was tightly around me and U couldn't see a thing.

I was lead into a small examining room. On one wall there was a huge mirror.

“No need to be shy,” the doctor said with a sort of whimsy in his voice.

I stood in front of the mirror and looked my reflection in the eyes. I had such beautiful eyes. They were as blue as a cloudless midday sky. They were the eyes that I have always known, except now they had a certain look of serenity in them. I stared at my own eyes for a while. I was looking for the fear and the doubt in them, but that was gone.

I could have looked at my eyes for hours, but curiosity got the best of me. I took in a little more of my face. My lashes looked a little bit fuller, but there was not much difference in the shape of my face. My eyebrows were trimmed in a new way that drew attention away from my forehead and back to those pretty eyes of mine. In fact the face was the one I was use to seeing. Nothing was changed, except for the look of peace and the lack of tension. I looked neither more masculine, nor more feminine than I did when I first arrived at this place except for a few minor cosmetic details. The eyebrows were different and not only was there no five o'clock shadow, it looked like facial hair never once graced my lips or chin.

I expanded my view. My hair was no longer than I arrived, nor in any kind of female style. It looked a little fuller and the color was a tad lighter, but that was the only minor differences that I could determine. With all the activity around my scalp, I was expecting more. I pouted.

I caught the reflection of the pout and I looked so darn cute, I couldn't help myself. I never saw that look on my face before, but it was so natural, so me. I saw myself as I was and I let out a giggle.

Oh, the giggle felt so good. It was light and soft and free. It was a giggle that came from me, from within, without any attempt of concealing myself to the world. I smiled at my reflection. I looked exactly as I looked when I first walked into the clinic, but, for the first time in a while, I liked what I saw.

The doctor stood off to the side as I examined myself. The smug look on his face told me that he viewed today's session as a success.

I was about to remove the robe, to see what other changes had been made and I suddenly paused. I paused not because I was self conscious about revealing my nude form, but because I wondered where that self consciousness had gone off to. I was me, I didn't need to fear revealing that to the world around me. I slid the robe off my shoulders and allowed it to fall to the floor.

I was surprised by what I saw. Or, to be more exact, by what I didn't see. My chest was still as flat as it was when I came in. The only difference was that I was devoid of chest hair. In fact, outside of the top of my head, I didn't have hair anywhere else on my body. Part of me was disappointed that I didn't have breast, but a small voice inside of me, a new voice that was strong and supportive, said “what does that really matter.”

I took a further inventory. Yes, they were still there between my legs. I guess I read too many stories on Big Closet where the hero is transformed into the heroine and then life goes on. I suppose it would've been nice to have been changed, but wouldn't that have been too easy. Besides, putting on one exterior instead of another would be like only changing facades.

The doctor stood behind me, put his hand on my shoulder, and stared at my reflection with me. “How do you feel?” He asked tenderly.

“I feel whole,” I said for the lack of the words to describe being completely at easy. “I feel like I am me.”

“And who are you?”

“I am Grace Nelson, and that is all that matters.”

Author's note: Here is a prime example of a story that was getting away from me, and, in a sense, did get away from me. I had more scenes planned, I even had more planned for this chapter. But, I think I like where it ended. I like that declaration at the end. In my initial plans for this piece, the cure was going to be Greg deciding to be the man he was born to be. But it didn't work out that way. Then the plan was to do two endings; ones where Greg chooses to be male and another where he chooses to be Grace, but that seemed cheap. Even in this chapter. There was suppose to be a choice between a fine suit and a red dress, but I decided to cut that out and leave it where it was. Like I said, initially this was suppose to be a stand alone with the original ending because I thought that I had to look at the option that the "cure" to me being trans might not be SRS and hormones, but being comfortable with having a penis and being a dude. Perhaps this piece says more about me than I realize. The scenes I cut out where Greg dressing in drag as part of a hazing ritual and being ridiculed for passing too well and Greg going on cam en fem. I thought the action was getting a bit too redundant for what I wanted this piece to be. I hope it was enjoyable. I am going to try to get my brain back and write other things. I have a few stories in mind. One is a romance, one is the forth book of the Jenny series, one is a middle school piece, and one is a non-tg work. I also might try to do some erotica, I don't know. Right now my brain isn't working like it has in the past. I don't know if that is from lack of sleep, stress or hormones. But here is to hoping my creative voice comes back. Or, maybe people would prefer if it didn't. Either way, I will still be Katie.