Self-esteem…

Two months since I last wrote here.

I’ve been down. I am still down. Probably I’ve been down all my life, since I was a child. Back then I felt sad, different, inferior, weak. I felt uncomfortable, scared of other people. I felt safe with adults, because they would not attack me, or berate me (at least, too much). With equals, children, adolescents, as I was growing up, I always felt in danger, or at least, uncomfortable.

But this was my normality. I’ve never *ever* felt any different from this.

Now I’m trying to get up. Not like every other time I’ve tried to get up, by bashing myself, by repeating to myself that I must not break; that I must move on, like a horse under the strokes of a whip. I’ve finally identified that I’m depressed, and I’ve looked for help, to address this specific problem. I’m also reading David D. Burns “Feeling Good”, which I’ve been told it’s a nice book to get tools and methods to try to fix your depression.

I’m not aiming too high. I’m not aiming for happiness, for instance. I’m just looking to be “not depressed”. I can feel sad, and I will feel sad, but not in a pathological way.

Burns’ book says this is achieved by changing the way you think about things. Thoughts, distorted thoughts, are the way we interpret reality. Reality just *is*. We don’t have much power to change it. But we perceive reality, and our brain understands it, abstracts it into thoughts. And these thoughts sometimes hurt us, and cause us pain.

These thoughts are just simplifications, abstractions. Because they’re just that, they are flawed. They are distorted, because they don’t reflect the whole reality. Just a part of it. And sometimes, they’re only the parts of reality that make us despair.

I know I’ve had a difficult life, so far. One of the most disturbing, harming thoughts I’ve always had about it is that I should have started my transition much, much earlier. If I had done that, I would have had a happier life, I would be now a more adult person, instead of being like an adolescent now, and I would not have got into much of the trouble I’m now in. It’s easier to straighten a sapling that it is to fix a grown oak tree.

But I’ve, I am trying to stop bashing me for that. It was not my fault. I’m trying to learn this. My life was the way it was. But how I think about it is up to me.

I never had any chances of something different. All the messages I got at all times were telling me that I was flawed, weak, that I cried too much for a boy. I was taught from everywhere that gay people were wrong, and that transexual people were odd, strange, and ultimately deranged. I didn’t know what I was, especially when I started being concerned about my adolescence, about sex, about the things that drove me. I didn’t know anybody who was gay. I didn’t know any gay people until I was 15, and this person was seen as wrong, as bad, because he just came out and divorced his wife when he couldn’t stand living a life that wasn’t his.

The worst part was that I was told that I was lucky, because I had an open, tolerant family, and I could talk about sexuality, about ethics with them. I’ve wished so many times to be *just* gay, it would have been so easy…

But my family was not that open. Transexuals were seen as pitiable, and sex had to be restrained, saved for something else. For a higher goal. Not procreation, they were not like that. But sex had to be preserved for a meaningful, loving and lifelong relationship. Sex, for the sake of sex, was wrong, was lowly, was dehumanizing.

And sex had to be natural. Fetishes were weird. And people who had sex with too many people were, at least, irresponsible, and immature.

I had no alternatives. This was the “open” approach. And I had to feel lucky because I had people who were “open”.

I was too scared to move. I felt deeply wrong, being what I was: A bisexual transexual woman who was deeply kinky and fetishist, and who felt that could be involved with more than one partner at the time. I had everything set in place in my head, I was already defined, but I just felt that everything I was, in my most intimate core, was wrong and sick.

Wow, it would have been so easy being *just* gay…

Years later I met wonderful people. I met transexuals, and I saw they were just like me. I met bisexuals, who can love the very nature of people, and not get stuck in their genders, and I just love them. I met kinky people, who taught me what “respectful” means. I met polyamorous people, who showed me that love doesn’t just have to be restricted to one person to be “proper” love.

I just discovered then that I was not wrong. And as soon as I learnt that, I was able to move on.

It never was my fault to be like I am. I just had the bad luck to be born in an environment that made me thing I was flawed. I knew I had to go away from all of that, so I did as soon as I could.

I’ve always felt bad about studying this career that I didn’t like as much as others. I did that because I was told I could get more money doing this. I knew then I would need money. I labelled myself as a greedy person. Now I’m learning I’m not, I just knew, or felt, I would be needing a lot of money just to be secure, and to be able to become the person I am. I don’t feel guilty any more about having fought so hard to finish these studies that didn’t make me feel fulfilled. I just reached my goal – to be self-sufficient.

I never got any satisfying sex with people. Until recently, I’ve always felt inferior, damaged because of that. But you can’t have satisfying sex, unless you’re just being what you are. You can’t feel good if you’re just trying to please someone else, and trying to hide what you really are. Well, that is not my fault either. I’m not inferior, or worse at sex. It is not my fault, either. I’m not boring, or damaged, or bad. I’m just different. Maybe someday I will be able to be just myself at sex, and then maybe sex will be wonderful.

I feel this is going to be difficult, because people usually will tag me as weird. I will be in their eyes as a circus freak. I may feel a disappointment for heterosexual men who are worried that their masculinity will be damaged if they sleep with a person who was born male. I may feel a deception for lesbian women who feel tricked into believing I was just a girl. I don’t care. There will, there are people who will like me as I am. I have a friend who is just in my situation, and she feels bad because the only people who find her attractive are bisexuals. Well, I say, God bless bisexuals. I wouldn’t feel any bad if all of my partners in what remains of my life were bisexuals. I’m lucky for that. It’s a nice filter, actually.

All my life I’ve tried to comply to the standards of people who weren’t remotely like me. I’ve struggled so that people who didn’t like what I was liked me. And I’ve done that because I grew up in a world in which everybody was like that.

Now I realise I couldn’t have done better, and that I’m responsible for quite much of what I’ve got.

I didn’t lose my job, but that is because even when I’ve been feeling anxiety and depression, I’ve shown I cared about my work.

I didn’t lose my friends. I feel lucky for having the friends I have. But in the end, I’ve chosen them. I’ve chosen to get closer to people that was a bit more like me, and I’ve left behind lots of people I got close to just because they were there in the first place, and I needed so that I could have a beer with somebody. It’s quite much like other transexual people experience. When they open up, lots of people reject them, but they find new, better friends who accept them. I just did the same, but I chose who I filtered myself.

At the moment I’ve lost most of my family. I mean, I’ve given up on them. Only my parents, my brother, and a couple of relatives are in the know. Maybe when the rest of them know about me, maybe then they’ll give up on me. Or not. I don’t care much about this.

I am what I am. My transition has not been much different, or easier than anybody else, I guess. I did it when I felt I could. And this doesn’t make me a coward. I’ve fought hard, and the only thing I regret was to deny myself my own value, in trying to satisfy lots of people who didn’t deserve that, people I grew up around, and who taught me that I was wrong, and that I had to abide by their rules.

I am what I am, I like what I am, and I don’t have to feel guilty for that. I don’t have to please anybody, I just have to enjoy being with people who enjoys being with me. I don’t have to prove anything, because I’ve done always the best I could, and I don’t deserve being judged just because I couldn’t do better.

I just have to experience my life, the rest of it, from now on. I have the right of doing that. No less, no more. I have the right of being myself, and to feel that I, my feelings, my tastes, my inclinations, are perfectly fine. And I have the right to dismiss anyone who doesn’t agree with that.

My own value is not to be questioned, not even by me. And this feels good to know.

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Chess…

Last night was quite a restless night for me.

One of the big sources of anxiety for me these days is looking into the past. This feeling that I wasn’t playing my cards for my own sake, but for someone else. But I’m coming to terms with this, and I’m beginning to feel much better with myself.

There is another thing that causes me some discomfort, and this is the future. I’m starting to cope too with this one, and I’m beginning to feel better about it, but still I have some work to do here.

So, the future is unknown. We can lay some plans out, but we’ll never know how they will result. I’m still thinking, hoping, expecting, foreseeing possibilities as if I was playing chess, and I wanted to play all the game at once.

There are so many variables. My body, that’s still developing. My friends, who are the best and I want them to be with me for a long, long time. My girlfriend, who is making such a big effort adapting to this person who it turned out I was, so different to the person she first met. And me, my own mind, with a lot of different feelings and emotions and hopes and dreams.

And I want it all to happen now. I want all my worries, all my dreams, all my insecurities to resolve by themselves right now, because I’d like so much to see me so happy in the future.

But it needs time. And I have my turn to play, and the world has its turn then. And only this way is this game played. I can think ahead about everything that worries me. And I have this feeling that I’m in a rush, because of all that time that I had to spend preparing just the beginning of my own life, but that won’t make the world move faster.

Impatient, they already told me I was that.

Last night I thought I had time. Plenty of it, probably. It just took a couple of years and a lifetime of wishing and thinking and planning to start moving the wheels of this machine. And then it has just taken some months to change my life, and to prove to myself that I can do it right.

I hope I have still some years ahead, some decades probably. And that’s plenty of time to find how all these stories that are now beginning go on.

Lights out…

Today I’ve had an uneasy sleep.

In my mind, I was in the past, seven, eight years ago, when I lived in other city. I remembered how I went out, trying to find new places I could enjoy. There was this gothic club I only went to three times. It was the birthday of a friend’s coworker, and we went to that place. I was amazed when I first was there.

I returned there a couple of times only. I didn’t want to go alone. It felt so sad. And when I returned there, with friends, I felt so out of place, but so belonging there. My friends didn’t want to stay long, because they were looking for meat, and they wouldn’t stop complaining the whole night.

Whenever I could go to places I liked, my friends wouldn’t want to go there. They just wanted those stupid, mainstream, heteronormative places in which guys try desperately to hit on girls. A lot of nights I was the first one to go back home, and they all thought that something happened to me.

So it was not that I didn’t dare to do what I wanted. I tried, but it was so goddamn difficult. I tried to dress up and look nice, but I felt like I was wearing a costume always. Now it feels so different, because it’s just me, it’s my personality, not a costume anymore.

I tried to find people, but I didn’t know how to do it. I tried a couple of dating sites, but the experiences were horrible. I guess that even if I had found the right site, it would have been the same, because I was not me.

Every time I had a nice night, it was without my usual friends. I remember one gay pride night I went out with some gay friends of a friend. In the end, we were three people: This handsome, muscular gay guy, and a small, cute lesbian girl. And me and my lots of doubts, fears and unspoken thoughts. And we talked a lot. God, I guess they got bored of me at some point. I remember talking for hours about which actress was hotter with the lesbian girl, and it was so fun. It felt like connecting. And I remember I did verbalize then that I felt like I was trapped in a man’s body. I did express this in some other occasions, but I never thought I was sure of until now.

That night we talked about a crush I had on a girl those days. I had this fear, I’ve always had this fear of being in love with a girl who was a lesbian. It was not like I was a man and could think well, her loss or whatever men think. It was like I felt it could be great, but I had this prison, this restraint that would prevent me from being even spotted. I guess this was how Quasimodo felt.

However, even with the sad feelings, that night was great. But I still didn’t know if I belonged there.

I guess I’ve done all my life what actors do when they’re preparing a character. They try to get inside the character. They think the gestures, the clothing, the poses. They say, well, this guy wouldn’t say something like this. So this is what I did. I was taught that I was a heterosexual, cisgender guy. A pretty normal guy. The common guy next door. So I felt strange whenever I thought on doing something that didn’t go with that character. I felt like my character wouldn’t say, wouldn’t do something like that.

Every day I come to realise that I’ve done what I could do. Always. And it is a big relief. Still, it feels sad, but sadness is okay. I’ve always done my best, moving in the dark, without any lighthouses to help bring me home. I’ve always looked for what I liked, and I’ve had a glance at many other things. And I haven’t tried to change my character too much, because it was that, a character. I didn’t know how to do it, and I didn’t feel like it was going to be any better. If it works (more or less), don’t touch it, as they say.

And without any lights I’ve come home, and now I can do whatever I like. Now I’m not playing a character anymore.

Sexy…

I was probably sixteen or so.

I was still at high school, and I hadn’t had yet internet access. In fact, I don’t really know if the internet had been *cough*, *cough* already invented…

In those days my imagination had already developed a lot of strange desires. And I had a taste for historical clothes, especially from the late 15th and 16th century. I guess I’ve always had a desire for covering my body as much as possible.

So I was returning home from school, and I was thinking stuff. And I thought of a suit which gave no hint of the person inside, kind of a strange armour suit that you didn’t need to remove in order to have sex. Inside the suit there could be a man or a woman, and nobody could tell.

And I thought of a place in which everybody wore those suits.

I found it an extremely sexy thought…

Stop whining…

I’ve been looking back to my past for some days, and I’ve been feeling quite down.

I guess it is because I’ve been looking from a wrong perspective.

When I look back I can’t help but see that I was sad. It brings me down. So I don’t want to examine anymore the things I lived when I was a teenager, or when I went to the university. I already lived that. I know who I was. Reliving it, going all over again doesn’t add anything more to me.

Plus, it could have been much worse.

Sometimes I feel like I have missed my adolescence. That first love TV make us believe it is so perfect. Meeting a girl, falling in love, and learning that she feels the same for me.

Bullshit.

I imagine how it would have been if I were a cis woman. Well, probably I’d been isolated. It’s not that I am trans, I am also gay, and I didn’t feel I had a safe circle to go open. I might have been in the closet for a long time.

And I might have fallen in love with some girl, but the chances are that she would probably be straight, or worse, just wanting to experience something and then move on.

And look where I am now. I’m a transexual woman, I’ve fully accepted myself. I’m probably bisexual, lesbian for sure, and fucking happy with it. I can admit that there are some men that make me tender, and who might turn me on. I’ve learned that we like people, not genders, because genders don’t fucking exist. And I’m fucking okay with that. In fact, I love it.

I’m having a really easy transition. Yeah, I know this sounds difficult to understand, but it is true. Even though I’ve started a bit old, I’m good looking, since I was a bit androgynous to start with. I have no problem finding clothes because I’m not that wide. But I’m tall enough to look hot. And this is being fucking lucky. This is rolling a fucking die, and getting a six.

Sure, I’ve waited a long time, but I’ve also evaluated my environment. I’ve waited until I felt safe with my friends, with my colleagues. But then, I’ve got almost no negative responses. And, yeah, that is being fucking lucky.

I’m learning a lot, but then again, I’m fucking lucky to have the best friends, the best sisters who have talked a lot with me, and made me thought. I feel loved, and I feel invincible when I feel so much love. I’m so fucking lucky…

So, let’s stop whining.

Yes, most of my life has pretty much sucked. Just like many other peoples’ lives. Not worse, nor better. When it sucks, it sucks. I won’t ever be able to understand the pain others have felt, but I’m lucky that I’ve suffered my own share of it; and I’m lucky to have realised that it was not all my fault. When I couldn’t focus in my work these past years, I felt it was my fault, because I could have worked harder. When I had to suffer a lot to get my degree, I thought it was my fault, because I could have studied more.

We stupid humans have a tendency to think that the good things we have are exclusively because of our merits, and so we think that people who have problems is because of their mistakes. Virtue and sin both have their rewards, and if we’re unhappy, it’s only ourselves to blame.

I can’t deny that sometimes it is true, that sometimes we manage to screw up our lives really bad. But most of the time it is a fucking lottery, from the moment we are born. And when things go wrong, because we are born in a closet, or because our parents tell us we’re stupid for no reason, it’s really hard to look up, because we’re deep in our own dung. And people will tell us that we’re not happy because we’re not trying hard enough, that we’re unhappy because of our own faults.

But life is a lottery. We get some good things, and we get some bad things. I got good parents. I got some good qualities (let’s say, some good stats!). And I got a big difficulty to overcome. Just one. And I’m coping with it. I’ve make a nice lot of mistakes. And I tried very hard not to harm anybody. And sometimes, when I wasn’t as good as I felt I could be, it was not completely my fault.

All in all, I see now that have no regrets about my life.

So I’m going to stop whining, because I’m so fucking lucky…

Overthinking…

I was still thinking about the guy I was. And I guess I have understood a couple of things.

This guy is not me. This guy I was in the past doesn’t exist, and never existed. Only I existed all the time. But I didn’t know that.

See, when I look to the past these days, I can’t help but feel really uneasy. I feel like I was brainwashed. I was told from an early age that I was a boy. I had a boy name. The clothes my parents put me on were boys clothes. Everybody saw me as a boy. And I almost believed it.

And then I realised I had been brainwashed, because I was not a boy. I wasn’t happy as a boy. And I realised I was captive, like in a cult, or in a prison, in which I had to behave in a certain way. And I was expected to behave that way.

This is how I feel about my past. And I hate it with all my heart.

I didn’t have my adolescence. I never had friends who could understand me. I fell in love a couple of times, very very hard, and it hurt a lot. I had all these dreams about being a lesbian girl. I missed all of that. Probably all of that is overrated, but I had the right to have it, right?

And I didn’t grow up. I just transformed into a monster. And had to go out with boys, and try to hang out with girls as a boy, and it was frustrating, and I felt stupid, and I felt bad because I tried to comply with all these stupid male clich├ęs about how to pick up girls, and how to look good, and how to behave.

And thus, I never matured. In some aspects of my life, I’ve remained an adolescent up to my thirties. And in some other aspects I’m still a teenage girl.

I just wish I had had a normal life, as a normal lesbian girl.

I just wish I could wash all that shit away from me.

I want at least those 25 years, from my early adolescence until now, back. And I kwow that is impossible. So, at least, I wish for the hormones to work quickly, and to be effective.

I can’t have my past. Let me at least have my future.

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.