November 22, 2020

What Hurts the Most…

What hurts the most was being so close
And havin’ so much to say
And watchin’ you walk away
…” – Rascal Flatts

I was surprised when she told me that she had talked to her Dad and his wife about me being trans.

I had actually told her not to bother telling anyone. She carried so much stress related to having to tell people in her circle about me that I couldn’t handle causing her this anguish anymore.

Her Dad had replied, “As long as you are happy.”

On the face of it this would appear that this was a positive development. After all, she was worried about her Dad’s reaction in particular.

I wonder what she looked like at that exact moment because I know she isn’t happy…at all.

Gender Dysphoria varies in its severity for each individual who experiences it.

I have it bad.

So when this tire fire started to burn it was easy to be kind of wrapped up in my own world. Concerned about avoiding mirrors and deciding what little things I could do to affirm my gender that day that wouldn’t give me away. I couldn’t think beyond life in the closet.

One day I actually realized that maybe I didn’t need to be in the closet anymore.

I might need to try to live. Maybe I can do this.

…and of course reality sets in. You will lose your job, your friends, maybe some family and (most certainly) your girlfriend.

Losing my girlfriend sounded the worst of all.

For the first time in my life I knew true love.

I never expected her to stay. In fact, I broke up with her rather than come out to her. In my mind her acceptance would be an utter and complete impossibility.

Then, to my surprise, it wasn’t.

She said she did accept me. She said she loved me and just needed to get her head around it all.

She treated me so wonderfully for a few months.

Her support alone made me think that maybe I could actually have the courage to transition.

After all, it was the spectre of losing her love that felt the worst. Surely I could navigate the rest somehow.

Then I sensed a change in her.

I had finally found some clothes that fit and looked okay.

I took picture after picture as I changed outfits. I shared them in real-time with a friend and my girlfriend. I was in heaven but I noticed that my friend was very supportive and my girlfriend was more reserved and, at times, critical.

This made me feel sad. I could feel her squirming as she received the pics while she worked.

My euphoria. Her nightmare.

I sent the last few pics to my friend only and stopped the fashion show after that.

I was hurt. The moment lost.

I had been trying really hard to learn some basic makeup for days. My face looked orange and blotchy. Admittedly I had seen worse but this was a big disappointment as I had decided to present female during my Zoom-meeting counselling appointment the next morning. I felt deflated.

πŸ˜• Orange. The color of disappointment – Alli

The next morning I gave it another try. Fifteen minutes later and by some unknown magic I looked good. No idea how I pulled it off. I quickly got dressed and narrowly squeaked into my counselling session on time.

Makeup by me the very next day. Suddenly I was much better at this. No filter either. – Alli

This felt great. My confidence was soaring.

I decided that today was the day I was going out in public for the first time.

Afterwards a couple of people mentioned how scary that must have been.

Nope. I was pure fire. Fucking fearless.

The whole morning was amazing. I interacted with people and by some miracle got to actually feel what it was like to pass.

I shared my pics and feelings with my girlfriend. She said supportive things but I sensed a disturbance within her.

Dressing up, going out in public. These things made it all feel real to her.

She confided in me that the social justice warrior in her maybe had her jumping to support me when, in fact, she hadn’t given herself time to process what was actually happening.

I can understand this but at the same time it was heartbreaking. It was only her support that made me think transition was possible. Now that support was gone…or dwindling.

Oddly enough I thought seeing me out as my authentic self and not looking entirely unattractive might have brought her some comfort. The results, surprisingly, exceeded my expectations drastically…

… yet I could only feel her fear.

I remember telling my therapist that I just didn’t see us making it past the New Year. I gestured with both palms of my hands as if to illustrate two ships narrowly avoiding collision at sea. “Like somehow we were so close and just miss each other.”

I feared I may be pushing my fears into the situation but part of me couldn’t let this maybe-premonition go.

She’ll be gone before the end of December.

We had what I thought was a meaningful conversation about core values.

“I’m just afraid I’m holding you back.” She said.

“We are both holding each other back. Me from transition and you from being with the guy you want to be with (not me)” I replied.

She looked like she felt sorry for me.

A day or two after we had a fight because I felt she didn’t really hear or care about a thing I had said during aforementioned core values conversation.

I got really depressed. I didn’t even respond to messages for over a day. This made her mad. She came over to tell me how mad she was.

I told her that I wanted to die.

She walked out and went home.

Go ahead. Kill yourself. See if I care.

I recently rejoined Facebook in the hopes of connecting a bit with friends (I have very few).

One of my friends on Facebook is preparing for divorce as her wife has decided for good that she can’t be a lesbian. I feel very sad for her as my relationship is doomed for the same reason.

I can see she’s trying to keep herself busy and distracted as she posts an ask-me-anything post. Her friends ask her questions about being trans.

I see her soon-to-be-ex wife ask a question too and reply, gleeful in the exchange as she is energized be reentering the dating pool while my friend dies inside. This exchange seemed wildly tone-deaf to me.

Then I see my girlfriend ask two thoughtful questions.

I crumbled.

It’s hard enough to see your own girlfriend constantly showing up in your list of suggested friends but maybe a bit worse still when she can exchange with your trans friends online and not you.

She refuses to connect with me on Facebook. Just like she won’t be seen with me in public.

I wish we could have gone out just once. I would have killed to be myself with her, to even just hold hands as we walk along the river…

Two days prior, I had said that I could come over to visit “any night this week”.

She said she’d check in with her ex and get back to me. I didn’t hear from her about this for three days.

She cancels a work shift to visit her sister but seems to make no room to have me visit.

So this makes me sad…to feel her slipping away. To be a spectator in this tragic play. I scream soundlessley, unable to alter this script…

I can’t go home and just sit there alone. As my work day ends, I text her to say I’m going home to check out. My anti-depressant, two or three tabs of Seroquel and I’m out till the following morning.

“Oh I was going to invite you over.”

Then before I can even respond she completely blows me off and writes off any chance of communication till the following day.

Not even a token “Hey come over and we can cuddle.” Nothing. Zero. It hurt…a lot.

Again she leaves me alone to crumble. She wouldn’t leave any friend this way.

I can see what a burden I have become to her. It crushes me.

I thought she loved me and yet during my two brightest moments she left the metaphorical party early.

During my two darkest moments she abandoned me completely.

“I love you.” She says. πŸ˜”πŸ’”

“It’s not about love. It’s about sexual orientation.” She said.

I hate this.

I haven’t even transitioned yet. I can count how many times I’ve presented female on both hands and still have a few fingers left over.

I can see how my actual transition could change things but instead of loving me now (like she says she does) I have to bear witness as she methodically withdraws from me because she fears the end herself. Thus speaking it into existence…

She messaged me this afternoon. Lashing out somewhat. Reducing me to this ultra-needy, depressed, nothing of a person.

How can she not see?

Imagine what it’s like. To have someone who declares that they absolutely love you and that you are their “forever person”.

Then things change and you can say something to try to communicate that you’re worried about the relationship ending and that it causes you some distress.

Somehow this is weakness and instead of any reason for hope, a kind word or any comfort, just a blank stare and nothing more from the beautiful face where somebody who loved you used to be.

I’m somehow less that I freely express my emotions.

I am somehow less that I speak my love for her openly.

I am less because I hurt as I feel the love of my life withdraw from me.

So I told her she’s free.

Free from the embarrassment.

Free from the fear.

Free from the tremendous burden I have somehow become.

Free from this love that I have for her.

Free from the guilt of whatever happens to me…

She sent me a message that said we both need to work on ourselves. A carbon copy of one she sent the last time I crumbled.

I say we’ve been together four-and-a-half years. We should be finding ways to be closer together not further apart.

She says I can’t rush her to figure out whether she can be with me or not.

As if this is a one-sided affair. I have concerns of my own about her.

She thinks I’m weak. Just because I lay myself bare. For her alone I am vulnerable.

I am strong enough to let her go when I know I am not cared for though.

That fire still burns. I’m nobody’s bitch.

Tonight she is having a tough time at work. Dealing with our relationship ending and the never ending drama that is her family-life.

She said some mean-ish things to me. Reduced me to less than a person. A grotesque, sad thing not worthy of her love or acceptance.

I just wish I could reach out and hold her. So she could be reminded that I care for her deeply.

I wish I could be there for her tonight. I am robbed of that moment. She should be putting the day behind her as she sinks into my arms.

Instead I sit and stare off into space wondering how cruel fate is that I should lose her, such that my comfort is unwanted, unwelcome.

Maybe worse yet that I have come to doubt the love I thought I had.

All color from my memories of her begins to fade.

I grasp desperately into the dark as the last vestiges of her beautiful light recedes from me…

It kills me that I was unlovable. Uncared for. Not worth the risk.

I was someone’s forever person. πŸ˜”πŸ’•


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