I needed to learn to mourn the death of part of myself. Who I was for most of my life, who I pretended to be because of that sex organ hanging between my legs. It was most of what I knew and it was how I related to the world. Out of that emerged who I always knew myself to be inside; the person I am now. There was always a part of who I am now that seemed dead inside me. It’s an odd thing, nearing forty years old and just trying to figure yourself out. Sometimes it all feels a bit too much to deal with.