No Answers, Only Questions

The past month has flown by in a flash.

Suddenly, it’s getting darker earlier and the leaves are turning and falling. I’m also still trying to find an accommodation with myself.

There are days I feel the woman within. On the other days, she’s gone somewhere – where, I don’t know. I bounce back and forth between overcompensating on the masculine when I feel unsure of what I’m doing and trying to find a comfortable genderqueer/feminine male repose but most are of a discomfort that causes me to fidget and second-guess myself.

Looking within, there are no answers, only more questions, most beginning with Why, and several contradict each other.

Why does transition seem silly? Why do I ache so when contemplating dressing the way I’d like to dress? Why can’t I just be happy with who I am? Why do these feelings wax and wane? Why didn’t I transition when I was younger? Why am I afraid?

It is a rabbit-warren of questions that burrow into me, hollowing me out. I see the folly of transition for transition’s sake and accept that I would never be that which I seek to be – only a facsimile of it. But even a question looms over that: better a faded reproduction of something distinct than a bas-relief of indistinction to be interpreted for life like a piece of abstract modern art?

Questions, questions, questions while the leaves fall.


About cistotrans

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