Failure

Today’s post will have me being quite honest about what I think of myself, and so will sound rather arrogant and entitled. Heck, it’ll probably be a bit arrogant and entitled. Sorry in advance, I suppose? Let me say ahead of time that I’m aware all the positive things about myself don’t make me better than anyone else, and that I don’t think I’m worth more than any other human (save like, Hitler cause you know, at least I’m not literally Hitler).

Anywho. Today at work I started crying and I felt furious thinking about my current situation. Sure, I moved out of my parents’ house a couple of years before people in my society are expected to, and I’m renting out part of a beautiful apartment in a nice neighbourhood. Some would say I have my life figured out a bit.

Always There

While I was growing up, I was very insecure.

Do you see the way I’ve managed to imply I don’t have insecurities anymore? So clever. Not true, naturally. I still feel insecure about tons of things, but I’m better equipped to deal with them and not let them define me.

Back when I was a teenager though, all those fears and doubts really ruled my life. The biggest one was how afraid I secretly was that people didn’t want to be around me, and that I would have to be alone. (That was another fear of mine, of course; having to be alone with myself and all my fears.)

It meant I was very, very clingy. Really disgustingly so. I remember I had this friend I kept trying to have huge fights with because she dared to have her own life, and it meant we only had four 2-hour long Skype calls a week, rather than seven. It wasn’t just to start shit; it honestly bothered me so, so much that she wasn’t as terrified of being alone as I was.

Juicy Gossip

Do you want to talk about me? Whisper? Pass on some juicy gossip?
Let me tell you all about me, give you plenty to talk about.

Let’s start with the more obvious things, the more tame gossip. This is a bit like chewing gum you’ve had for a few minutes; it’s not new, but it’s still fresh enough that it’s still nice. I’m transgender. I’m a woman with a dick. Gasp. Shock. Oh, no!

End of days, cats and dogs living together, etc.

That’s over with. Let’s keep going.

Weighed Down

I’ve been thinking of pre-transition me this week.

Writing Sunday’s post on how I didn’t feel alive before coming out made me remember what it was really like to live pretending to be someone I was not. Sure, it was sad. Yeah, it was lonely. However, I think I’d started to forget how draining it was.

It wasn’t just the constant reminders of the lie I was living, though those were difficult enough. I remember how even something as small as having to look at the little male icon on the bathroom door could leave me close to tears on a bad day.
What made those days bad was more than being in a difficult situation, it was also keeping myself secret all the time.