Venting

I’m so frustrated, I just want to scream.

Why is it so hard to just be?

Yes, I get that my body shape doesn’t match what my head thinks it should be. Yes, I get there are certain completely unalterable things about my body that will likely always other me. Yes, I get that people think I’m crazy, or having a mid-life crisis, or have romanticized ideas about being female.

Yes, I get how painful this is for my wife. Yes, I get that everything I do to try and find myself makes her want to lose me. Yes, yes, yes. I understand.

You think I want this life? You think I want to turn everything upside down and risk family, friends, and employment because I’m not strong enough to play with the cards I was dealt? You think I look forward to hammer, saw, and knife bluntly and delicately applied to my body for an unknowable outcome?

Do you have any idea how much mental energy I have exerted trying to find some other way? Do you have any idea how many times I’ve tried to just ignore it? Do you have any idea how much I wish I wasn’t like this? Do you have any idea how much guilt and shame I’ve felt over the years? Do you have any idea of the deep emotional pain that comes from the longing? Do you have any idea how confusing this is for me?

Of course I want to be happy. Of course I don’t want to hurt other people. Of course I wish things were different. Of course I wish I was satisfied the way I am.

And I see the looks. And I hear the comments. And I experience the fear. And I experience the anger. And I experience the hate. And I sense the attraction.

It sucks. It sucks, it sucks, it sucks. It. Fucking. Sucks.

Shirts that don’t fit. Shoes that don’t fit. Pants that don’t fit. Shirts I want to wear, but can’t. Shoes I want to wear, but can’t. Pants I want to fit, but can’t.

I want to look pretty. I want to feel attractive. I want to be sexy. I want to feel comfortable. I want to not stand out. I want to be noticed. I want to be mysterious. I want to be known. I want to be desired. I want to be loved. I want to be taken care of. I want to take care of others. I want to love. I want to feel excited. I want to feel bored.

At my best moments, none of it matters. At my worst moments, life is hopeless.

Loneliness. Rejection. Abuse. Anger. Hate. Revulsion. Who choses that? Who willfully, knowingly choses that?

Because the pain inside has become too much. Because being hollow is no way to live. Because being a stranger to myself means I’m missing my best friend. Because it becomes just too hard to go on.

So my internal pain turns into external pain from others. So the internal angst becomes external angst projected onto me. So my internal crushed hopes and dreams become the external crushed hopes and dreams of others.

No, it’s not fair. Not for anyone involved.

But, over the horizon, I can see the sunrise peeking. I can see a world with less pain. I can see a world with more happiness. I can see a world with more peace. I can see a world where I don’t have to hide. I can see a world where I can just be me.

Just. Be. Me.

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About cistotrans

A Seattle-area trans woman seeking a happy spot to stay at along the path of transition.
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