Jaclyn Torres

Living Outside the Binary

You thumbed through the news as you waited for waffles to microwave. It was January 21st, 2025.
 
You read that President Trump signed an executive action to recognize two sexes:
 
Male and Female.
 
The microwave rang three times.
 
You read the executive action will require documentation to include birth sex, not gender.
 
Last month, you received your updated license with the X gender marker. You planned to update your passport gender marker too.
 
Male or Female.
 
Two months ago, you sat across from a social security employee to change your last name after your divorce. You never thought to change the sex marker. You never thought it would matter.
 
The microwave rang again.
 
You waited for the steam to subside and slid the waffles onto the counter. Even with strawberry jam, you couldn’t force yourself to eat your breakfast.
 
Male or Female.
 
You walked into the bathroom to rub testosterone gel on your quads. You pushed the pump but nothing happened. You were waiting for your doctor to authorize the HRT and push it through to insurance. You slammed the empty bottle onto the counter. You had a vial of testosterone in the cabinet, but the thought of injections and sizable bottom growth left you dysphoric. On a day important that you felt confident in your body, you couldn’t add the one element that boosted your authenticity.
 
You seethed as you drove to your work training. You listened to sad indie music as you idled in rush hour traffic.
 
At the first break in the day, you read the official executive action. You shared your frustration with a few queer coworkers. They sympathized, but they were cisgender females. Their documentation was intact.
 
Male or Female.
 
You thought about the F on your social security card. You thought about the F on your birth certificate. Neither felt right. But an M felt out of place. You hated the binary. You hated that you now had to choose.
 
Male or Female.
 
You drove by the library on the way home from the training. You almost ran inside to print documentation paperwork, but you had no energy.
 
You had no fight.
 
Not that night.
 
You returned to your apartment. The smell of waffles lingered in the air. You plopped onto the couch, your nonbinary silhouette illuminated by moonlight.
 
Male or Female.
 
Your stomach growled and you walked to the fridge to heat up leftovers. As you dove into your plate, you smiled. For the first time that day. You focused on your basic needs for survival. That’s all you could do.