The same…

Everything is pretty much the same. My relationship, my friends, my work, my life.

But the burden is gone.

Everything is so different, and I have to learn a lot of things.

I have to learn about myself.

And I have to learn from my friends.

And I have to learn about my interests.

And I now have to learn how to enjoy my life.

Everything is quite the same, but when the point of view changes, everything becomes different.

Everything deserves a second thought.

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Different…

It has happened to me a couple of times now.

I was talking to friends about this feeling I’m having these days. It’s like I feel I am now a different person from this guy I was. It’s like I am building an emotional wall between he and me.

When I think of him, I see how sad he was. I can feel his anxiety, his unability to be happy. I can feel how his mind was not able to focus, how many times he sighed of repressed pain, of the weight of life.

I see how brave he was. He always tried to get his place in life. He fought for a job, he always tried to do his best, and sometimes he did, and sometimes he just couldn’t.

I see what a nice person he was, and how he just wanted to be loved, and how many times he just failed at it.

When I look back, I sometimes can’t repress myself and cry. He wasn’t able to appreciate himself then. I’m just learning to do it. And I do appreciate him a lot. Now I know that.

I know I have to overcome this feeling.

It’s not so different. It’s just me. I did all those things. It’s funny that I can be proud of him, when I think of him as a different person. But it was me all the time. And somehow it feels weird. Because I am just me, small, unimportant, just one tiny person. But I fought, and I did those great things, and I was, I am this person.

And everything is so different, while everything remains the same. I have the same job he did. I think as he did. I find funny the same things he did. I eat as he did. I love the things he loved. I sing the songs he sang. But the burden is gone.

I don’t think I can ever overcome this feeling. I can’t just look back, and keep staring into it. It is too much for me. I don’t want to ever have to be that strong, never again. I wouldn’t be able to do it.

I know we’re the same person, and I know I have to fully acknowledge that I once carried that weight. But for the moment, I’ll just feel like he was an incredible guy.

Strength…

Please don’t take me wrong. I don’t like victimism. And I don’t like being the victim.

I don’t think the world has anything against me. Nor do I think that my life has been that hard. I realise that lots of people everyday are going through harder times than I ever will.

But sometimes hard is hard. And when you feel fear, it doesn’t help you concentrate on your work, or remember things.

It is hard to remain focused when you have this fear of being left alone, this fear of losing all you’ve got. It is hard to be creative when you have this fear of being rejected by your loved ones, when you’re scared of losing your job because you know you’re not performing well, and even though you try to do it better, you just can’t, because you just want to cry. When you’re doing your best, and this is not enough.

I know that my colleagues have had to bear a lot with me because of that, and I feel my good share of guilt because of this. I feel I am in a great debt with them. And I know it’s been a lot of time, because these things take time.

I know that sometimes we are the ones who make our prophecies true. And not being able of doing your work because you’re afraid of not being able to do your work is a perfect example of this.

I don’t expect to be understood.

But now I’m strong again. I have conquered my fears. Now I’m focused, and relaxed. And I don’t plan on doing great things. I will just do things, and some will be great. My best achievements are yet to come. I feel capable of doing things again, and I just want to work hard every day, as I’ve always done.

So, please. If you’re going to tell me that my performance was poor, if you’re just going to tell me how bad I was last year, and how much did I screw up that project, just do me a favour. I already happen to know that. So please, please, please… just shut the fuck up and let me do my work.

Fighting myself…

Yesterday I went to the hairdresser.

Since I had my hair long, I had it always fuzzy. There was no way for it to look good.

Yesterday they told me not to brush it, because my hair was naturally very curly, and I was just breaking the curls. That is why it always looked fuzzy. I just needed to give my hair a rest, let it dry without touching it, without brushing it anymore, and it would arrange itself alone. Everything comes into place.

I guess it is the same for me, at a larger scale. I just have to stop fighting myself, and everything comes into place.

I know it sounds obvious, maybe just a stupid metaphor. But I’ve been fighting with myself every day, one way or another. I’ve been always fighting my mind, trying to accept what my body was programmed to do. And now I’m doing the exactly opposite. I’m changing the way my body works, trying to accept my mind. And this just seems easier, and every part of my mind is coming into place.

There will be compromise. Some parts of my life, my mind and my body I’ll have to adjust, and some parts I’ll just have to leave alone. Whatever it is easier. I’m learning to listen to myself, and thus I’m learning to accept some parts of me, and to focus only in fighting those parts of me I can deal with.

And if there is something you can never fight against, that is your hair.

Belonging…

When the time comes, I want to be a very, very old woman. Wrinkled and worn, with white hair all over my head, and a lot of stories to tell.

I never really thought about this before. Sometimes I thought about how I was going to be when I grew older. I never felt very good about it. If I didn’t like myself then, when I imagined how was I going to be as an elder man it was worse. I thought of myself tired of living, glad of having a good family and maybe children, but essentially I was unhappy. Spent. Broken. So I didn’t think much about it. I just lived the day and didn’t look at the days to come.

I mean, it wasn’t everything that bad. But I saw it as the last years of a life that was never mine.

Now I know I’ll never have that kind of family. Even though there was a possibility of preserving some sperm, we decided not to do it, because we’re not exactly that young, and it would be risky for my girlfriend to get pregnant in a not-so-near future. Maybe some day we will adopt, but that’s not clear yet.

But now I have a different kind of family.

I have my loving girlfriend, who is the person I love most in the world. And with her I want to grow old, wrapped in her arms.

And I have you, my friends. Some of you I’ve known for years. Some of you I’ve just met. But you’re the most loving family I could wish for.

I love you all, guys. You make me feel like I belong to the best family in the world.

And I want to grow old with you.

From a different prism…

I feel the water in my skin.

I feel how it runs down over my skin, cooling it, refreshing it. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt. My swollen nipples hurt, and the water calms them down. I see the reflection of myself on the window just in front of me. There are small breasts where my pectorals used to be. And the fresh water runs between them.

I feel my skin get goosebumps with the contact of my clothes. I’ve never been this sensitive before. I love it. My skin feels no longer numb. It is soft. I just lie on the bed, sliding my fingertips over my arms. It calms me down. I can be like this for hours.

I see things. I can feel how that girl who walks towards me in the street looks at the boy that walks with her. How she smiles, how can’t she take her eyes off him. The expression in her face. The tiny bit in her lip. The look of desire. I feel like I can figure out, I can imagine what happens in other people’s minds.

I don’t feel sexual urge anymore. I just feel lust. First one thought that lights up some synapses in my brain. Then, it triggers another. And another. And like a river, they join together, and I feel a running stream of lust that makes me feel like cuddling up in my girlfriend’s lap, makes me feel like being touched.

I close my eyes, relaxed. I start to dream. I can see my face. It’s beautiful, soft, round… I can see my big greenish eyes. I’m happy.

The world has become a new, beautiful and pleasant place to be. Everything is now a new experience, seen from a slightly different prism.

Closets…

Some people tell me that sometimes I come out to people too abruptly. Well, I guess I’ve done that with some people.

I don’t see why coming out should be something dramatic. Maybe sometimes it can happen in a funny way. Yesterday I was GTalking with a friend I hadn’t talked to for quite a long time, and I revealed him my little secret. It went like this:

– And how are you?
– Pretty well, I guess. Same job, same girlfriend, same city. Just that I’m changing sex.
– Yeah, sure, to alien, right?
– Actually, I’m being serious.

In the end, I had to show this guy a picture, because he wouldn’t believe me. But everything went okay, and we had some laughs.

Other times I was much more serious, more dramatic, because I didn’t know how the people would react. But I guess I’m learning to do it in a way it doesn’t seem too important. It’s just a little detail about me that’s changing. Otherwise, I’m quite the same person.

It’s not that I’m that comfortable with everyone. I am very cautious, very suspicious with new acquaintances. Sometimes I ponder telling some people, and consider if I’m expecting to see that person again, or if it is worth the risk of telling.

There is something that is different when you’re transexual and you’re coming out. You are somehow forced to come out. Your appearance changes will give you away, so coming out is just intrinsic to the fact of being transexual. Or at least, on a bigger degree than, say, being gay, for instance.

Don’t take me wrong, of course it is hard to come out. Always. And you have to be very careful about who you tell. Doesn’t matter if you’re gay, or transexual, or an atheist. And I’m not saying that gay people don’t need to come out. This is a very crucial thing, being open with the people that matter to you.

When you’re transexual, it’s just you’ll have to be open with a lot of people you wouldn’t be otherwise. You don’t have the choice. You don’t need to actually tell anything. People will just see you changing. And this means family and friends, but also colleagues, neighbours, maybe people you see in the underground, or who you cross on the street.

I know that lots of people will know, some dear, some just near (sorry). And that for some years it will be unavoidable. The other option is just disappearing, and I can’t do this all the time, with everyone. Maybe in the future, when my looks are definitive, we will move to another place, and nobody will know us. And then we will be just two girls who live together, and we will be back in the closet, at least for lots of people around.

I guess you’re never done coming out. But sometimes it is not a task that bitter, and some great surprises are to be found in the way.