It finally happened.
I beamed as I saw that the trans flag emoji was finally available on my mobile phone.
Buoyed somewhat by another productive counselling session, I may have been overreacting somewhat but nevertheless, I was excited to see this addition to the less meaningful assortment of emojis that were available.
With every new phone update I hoped to see the trans flag finally wedged in its rightful place between the Pride flag and the Jolly Roger (pirate flag).
How the fuck did the Jolly Roger get there before the trans flag?
Did pirates have to riot at their own version of Stonewall? Are pirates some marginalized community that needed this representation just to normalize being a pirate?
Microsoft and Google had to weigh in to get the trans flag added. Guess one flag seemed natural for inclusion and one didn’t. +1 for the pirate lobby.
These little moments of joy are so few-and-far-between and so fleeting.
Reality sets in quickly. My life is a nightmare.
In between considering the merits of Ranitidine and Sodium Nitrate vs Rohypnol and Carbon Monoxide I noticed something odd…despite wishing I was dead most days there is a mysterious part of me that pushes forward despite the hopelessness.
I feel no hope for myself or the future. None.
…and yet something pushes me forward. I book electrolysis, I book a tattoo appointment, I make arrangements to see the doctor to adjust my medication, I get my ears pierced and somehow get up every morning to drag myself into a job I hate. Why?
What is this thing that keeps me going despite myself?
I have had multiple therapists. Each one had valuable insight but I never felt we ever got quite to the crux of the matter.
My new therapist has been great. She really seems to get me. Through speaking with her I have come to realize that most of my struggle and the resultant feelings of hopelessness are more to do with me than the world outside.
Sure, I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. I can’t fully transition right now.
My job isn’t suitable for ongoing employment. Their diversity and inclusion policies non-existent.
My girlfriend isn’t ready. She still has (totally legit) anxiety about me and the possible fallout as she tells friends and family about me (eventually).
I am the worst of all of this.
So I’m squeezed between a rock and a couple of hard places.
My life isn’t ready unless I want to throw it all away. I am ready though.
Or am I?
This particular meme resonates with me. It’s unfortunate that my girlfriend sees the death of the person she knew in it.
I see my truth. My “man suit” has protected me for so long.
I no longer have any need for it at all and yet it clings to me – or I to it. I can’t let it go. It has become poisonous and is slowly killing me.
I so desperately want to be me. Why then can’t I let go?
I cling to the man-suit as though my life somehow depended on it. In fact, my life depends on severing all connections to this absurd costume that no longer serves me. .
Fear. I have lived in fear since my earliest memories. I still do. Life without the man-suit is a terrifying prospect. I may lose everything.
…and so what?
I have regained my soul.
This beautiful tragedy that is me. So much emotional pain. So much hopelessness…
Gender dysphoria is a nightmare for me. I like to say I’d do anything to make it go away.
But this is a lie I tell myself. I would never go back. All I have lost and will possibly lose is meaningless.
So why is it so hard to let go? So many things in my life won’t budge for me. This is one thing I should be able to change. It shouldn’t be so hard but it is.
The biggest act of love I could possibly bestow upon myself, and I can’t do it.
One thing I have come to understand though is that this mysterious force, this emergency reserve battery that pushes me forward when I have nothing left, isn’t a mystery at all.
This force is me. I am what pushes me forward and won’t give up.
Everything that holds me back is fear and it keeps me clinging to what is killing me.
A beautiful tragedy.