How does it feel like…

This is another rant. If you don’t want to hear me complain, please go somewhere else.

I’ve been asked recently why I am not happy yet. Some people tell me they’re worried because they thought transitioning would make me happy. I’ve achieved a lot of progress, I should be happy by now, trying to enjoy my life as much as I can.

I should be positive, not negative.

The unexpected thing is… I’m trying to enjoy my life!

I’m feeling better than ever. I can concentrate, and I feel smart again. I am not bothered by that male libido I had, so I can focus on sex when I want to (and I can’t stress how much easier this does make the whole transition process). I look good, and I like how clothes fit me.

The truth is, it is not that easy to be happy. At least, for me.

I’ve grown up without anything I could like. I didn’t have my body. I couldn’t wear clothes that I liked. I couldn’t attract the women I liked, only some heterosexual women who wanted quick compromise and lots of kids, and their men to be manly men.

The only thing I could do was study. And then, work.

Now I’m achieving things. I’m almost granted authorisation for changing my documentation. I can wear whatever I like. And people don’t tell me that I should behave more like men did, and people congratulate me for this.

People say I’m doing great because I can get my ID card with my own name. People say I’m doing great because I can go to a shop and grab a dress. Really.

And I feel belittled. I don’t feel happy about this any more. Because these are things I should have been able to do every fucking day of my life. I’m just claiming back the same rights everyone has, and I didn’t.

I say this, and people get defensive: Not all the people can do what they want in life. Ok, granted. But me neither. I have to work, I have to pay rent and bills, I have responsibilities and duties. I don’t want anything but the same as everybody else.

And I complain, because it is unfair. Because these things are not achievements, they’re just extra efforts to put me at the same level as everyone else.

Ok, yes, but there are blind people, for instance. Or people with disabilities, who have to do some extra effort to achieve the same. Okay, that is true.

The problem is, I’m not disabled. I’m a fully functional person with all my senses and abilities working. I’m not ill. I’ve got just the same possibilities than any healthy person in my environment.

My problem is not me. My problem are the social structures in which I’ve been raised. My problem is that, by putting me in an environment in which I had to bear a wrong tag (many wrong tags, actually), by educating me according to those wrong tags, by telling me I had to act according to those, I couldn’t live. My problem is nothing but this load of crap called society.

So, please, don’t tell me I’m achieving great things. I’m not. I’m just getting what is mine, what is granted to everybody else but people like me.

And don’t tell me I have to accept that I was born with a problem. No, I’m afraid I have no problem. The problem is this ship that doesn’t accept all passengers as they are.

So please, please, if you’re just going to ask me why do I feel bitter, please don’t.

If you’re going to tell me that I should be grateful, don’t.

And if you’re going to tell me why I can’t be happy, please don’t. And think a bit.

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This is about me…

Warning: This is a rant. It is not going to be a pleasant post. It’s not going to be about how well it’s going my transition, and how happy I am. So if you don’t feel like reading my complaints, please don’t read on.

Transition sucks. Especially at this point. And I’m not happy.

Yes, I know I’m making lots of progress. I’m really close to be able to change my documents, and I’m really close to have my SRS. But I’m not happy, and I’m not hopeful.

I’m sad.

And I’m sad because I feel my body has stopped changing. My breasts grew a bit, but they don’t hurt now, they don’t feel swollen anymore. My ass is certainly a bit rounder, but my hips won’t grow, they won’t become wider. And my hair seems to be stuck. Some new hair grew, but not enough to cover my temples.

I’m not saying I am horrible. I look good. I look much better that I did at the beginning, or even before. I feel better with my body than I’ve ever felt before. What I’m saying is, when I get home and I remove all the padding I wear, in the bra and rear, I look at myself in the mirror and what I see is a man’s body.

I see a man because I don’t have hips. I see a man because I see broad shoulders. I see a man because my breasts could be taken for pectoral muscles. I see a man because I see a penis.

I’m afraid. I started my transition at this point because this was the only moment in my life I could dare to do it. I had the right environment, I had savings, I had a job in which I could dare to do it. I was, at last, living on my own. And I could take this decision.

Also I started because it felt right. I didn’t have the chance not to grow as a man. I didn’t have the chance to stop my puberty. And what I saw around, the transexual women I saw, in the media, were not role models for me. I didn’t want to become like them. I just wanted to be a woman. Because of this, because of my own fears, because of my self-rejection as a lesbian transexual woman, I didn’t step up then.

When I started this, it was my last chance to do it. It was my last chance to try to be something close to happy in my life.

And now I see that my body is a man’s body, still. I still will be patient, and let hormones do their work. But my hopes aren’t no longer high. I know that I’m going to have lots of surgery to have a body in which I can feel comfortable. I will have to put implants in my tits and in my buttocks. I’m already scheduled for my SRS. Hormones only work fine during puberty, and mine is a long time past.

It’s okay, I will save more money, and I will look for the best surgeons I can afford. I’m not defeated. I’ll have a body I’m comfortable in. A body that looks as it is, without paddings or tricks. I don’t care about the money, and I don’t care about the pain.

I know my transition is the path I should walk. I don’t regret anything. But right now my transition leads to a barren tree which can yield no fruit. I feel hopeless. And I feel alone, because I can’t talk about this to anybody without having to listen to lots of comments about how I should learn to accept myself, about beauty models, and about women having different bodies, and all that things.

I feel tired, and I feel alone. I feel tired because transition is not easy. It’s a lot of effort. And yes, it has paid so far, but I’d love it to be over, so I can just rest, and enjoy. And I feel alone because I can’t speak about it without the comments of my not trying hard enough to accept myself. I’m trying. But it’s so hard when the only thing you really long for in this life is being someone I can like.

Yes, the only thing I really wish for is being a woman, who looks like a woman, who feels like a woman.

And I still have a man’s body. And I feel I’m stuck in my male body, and that the only chance to change it is long gone. And I’m trying to accept myself, and people ask me why am I not happy yet. And they tell me that I ask for too much and that I should accept what I got. Well, if I could do that in the first place, I wouldn’t have started transitioning.

I just want to have this body all the time, not just when I put on all the padding to go out. Because here inside, at home, when I’m alone, I’m still stuck with my male body.