Getting to Be a Person

Sometimes I refer to my pre-transition self as a ‘shallow husk’ or ‘not really a person’, among other disparaging terms. The reason for that is partly misplaced resentment at having had to be them, living in the closet, partly justified anger at how weirdly sexist I was back then, but mostly it’s the fact that well, it’s true.

Before I came out, I was the equivalent of oatmeal. I was… there. There wasn’t much to like or dislike about me (apart from the clinginess and misogyny), because there wasn’t much to me. I had things I liked, but that was about as deep as I went. I didn’t have meaningful connections with any other person, and I didn’t have much of a personality. Continue reading



Love is weird.

I don’t mean in the typical pop song way. I mean more widely. What’s love, anyways? We use the word to describe what we feel towards family, or close friends, or partners, but I can tell you those are all very different feelings. Except… also not? Like I said, weird.

On one hand, the affection and protectiveness I feel for my little brother is not anything like the admiration I feel for my best friend, and how excited I feel learning more about her, even after all this time being friends. However, thinking of both of them brings a similar smile to my face, and I’ve found I feel the same about their flaws. That is, I couldn’t care less about them. Sure, I can see in what ways they’re not perfect, but it just doesn’t annoy me in the slightest. At times, I’ve even found myself feeling closer to someone after learning about those things. It’s like, I can acknowledge that it’s not a great thing about them, but I still love them more for it somehow.

Beyond that, I’ve found love, particularly romantic love, to be such an iffy term. I hear people talking about what REAL love is and what it isn’t, but… who gets to choose what the word ‘love’ means, really? It’s somewhat like describing the colour blue to another person. It’s an old philosophical idea to illustrate how impossible it is to know for sure what it’s like to be someone else. Continue reading

Coming Out

I remember being at a friend’s birthday party about three or four years ago, when I saw some facebook post about National Coming Out day in the US. I felt a familiar weight of hopelesness weigh down my heart and make the rest of the day feel like slow torture.
It felt incredibly cruel for the world to rub in the fact that some people got to be themselves, and actually had a chance at happiness, while I had to live a miserable existence in which no one knew who I was.

When I left for home that night, I felt as if I didn’t have a future, and life would always be awful.
Things have changed quite a bit since then. Continue reading

Motivation, and also Making a New Friend

Some days I don’t know why I write this blog.

I understand the reasons I started it, to give me a place to write down my emotions and to practice my writing. However, sometimes I just feel so, so tired I barely have enough emotional energy to make some popcorn and sit in bed watching TV.

Like today. I’m feeling a lot of things today. I thought writing about them would help, but I don’t even feel up to that. I know some people read these posts, and I’m really grateful to you guys. I just don’t know that many of the posts I write are worth reading.

I suppose it doesn’t matter. What I’ve always heard about developing your talent is that it means making a lot of shit, and that it’s a necessary step in the process. You have to keep it up even when you know it’s not something you yourself would choose to spend time on reading.
Except it does matter, because some of you actually think of this blog as a worthwhile place to spend a few minutes on once or twice a week. Surely I should write something for you, at least?

I should.

Let’s compromise. I will write something honest and real that I am feeling right now and that I think matters, but I won’t write a thousand words like I usually aim to do; I’ll write up until the point I feel comfortable with. Continue reading