Have I Found the Missing Piece?

Looking back on a previous post, I recalled how I often felt there was something missing. Despite climbing out of the giant black hole in my mind, I was still discontent. I had said that I felt there was a piece of me missing that got swept under the couch.

About a year ago, I had a profound revelation. After watching countless hours of  youtube videos about packers, STPs, trans men’s experiences, out of “curiosity,” one video finally got through to me. Somehow I started watching “How to Know if You Are Trans” videos, even though I hadn’t actively considered that for myself. . .yet. I answered yes to most questions, and processed what that meant.

“Oh f*** I might be trans.”

I felt my mind go blank and my body felt empty, then my soul had been sucked back in. My eyes felt hyper focused but also unable to focus on anything. My brain felt frozen in time. I swear my bed had suddenly been replaced with a tiny boat on a stormy ocean. Despite the stereotype, I felt like the room was spinning; The rug had been yanked from underneath me and would never be put back the same.

I realized I was holding my breath and gasped. Suddenly my brain thawed out and now was running faster than it ever had. A time-lapse of my life from the beginning started to play at max speed. I felt as if I was going to fall over, but there was nothing to hold on to, I was there for the ride. Every single instance that I was uncomfortable being a girl, or wish I could take my shirt off like the guys, or dress up as a boy character for Halloween, had made sense.

Thousands of pieces to the puzzle that make up me were shaken up and reassembled in a matter of seconds, but this time every piece was there. This time, all of the pieces were connected. It all just made sense. I hate to be cliche, but I legitimately felt as if I had found the key. Everything in my past, looked though with this new lens, could be unlocked as to why I felt so uncomfortable and conflicted in so many situations.

That night I watched top surgery videos and HRT videos, how other trans men got their letters. I scoured websites for my health insurance’s policy for trans people, and if they would cover hormones and surgery and how much it would cost. I was ravenous for information and couldn’t get enough, I felt that I could have started to transition right then.

The next morning I was in shell shock. I couldn’t help but lay in my bed stuck in a mental loop of processing what I just discovered. I thought about everything and nothing. I hadn’t realized how long I was laying on my bed and staring at the wall until my roommate asked if everything was ok. Then I realized how I looked from an outside perspective: I looked like I had seen a ghost.

After the revelation, I immediately went into a questioning stage. Thats all I could think about for months. I wasn’t sure if I was actually trans or if I was faking it. I even went to a therapist and told her these feelings. Then I decided that I would stop thinking about trans things and ignore any dysphoria I was “creating” for myself because I couldn’t possibly be trans. Then it all came back, and I haven’t stopped dwelling on this information I had uncovered.

To this day I have been scouring my past pictures, journals, and memories, for any clue, and fact, that definitively proves that I am in fact a trans man. Anything that I find never feels like enough evidence. I am still questioning. I still feel like I’m faking it. Despite the discomfort I feel when walking into the women’s bathroom, or when someone calls me a “strong woman,”or uses female pronouns, no matter what I find, it never feels like enough.

Every blog I read and video I watch I tell myself that I must be trans and that I just need to accept it, because deep down, I know I am. After all this time questioning and taking simple steps to test how I feel being read as more masculine, I have never felt more confident and like myself. For some reason, my mind simply cannot latch on to the fact that I am trans.

I am a man.

I need to simply state this fact. Every time my brain repels it I need to repeat it. I know this is true. Even though it is scary and I am still unsure, this statement is more true than if I were to say I am a woman.

I wish I could go back to that life altering moment when I first understood I was trans, before the denial set in. I was so sure of myself. Now I am stuck bargaining, blaming it on my body-image, accounting it to simply being a tom-boy.

I am stuck in the middle of wanting to accept being trans but also looking for reasons that I am not. I hope there will be a day I laugh about how naive I was and how much happier transitioning made me. But for now, I just need to accept this piece of me I have discovered, and accept that it is a part of me that belongs.

its been a while

since I’ve posted.

Coming back and reading my past thoughts is eye opening. I have changed so much in the past months, but yet I’m still the same. I used to feel everything so deeply. I used to walk crouched over, like my secrets weighed hundreds of pounds.

I have forgotten that weight.

I revel in this fact. Every night through tear soaked sheets I would beg to be happy and not such a mess. I hated every second of my existence; feeling broken, like someone shattered me in to a million pieces only to be put back together haphazardly with tape. I felt so raw and only wanted to feel whole again.

There’s less mascara smeared on my pillowcase now. The dishes don’t pile up. This is the “happiest” I’ve been in a while. But how could I call this happy when it feels as if there’s a giant hole bored into my chest, like I’m missing something. A huge part of me fell off at the train station and I should be relieved.

Whoever put my broken pieces back together seemed to forget the piece that slid under the couch.

Theres always something missing. I hate the juxtaposition of my states: either drowning in my breath or contently plotting along. Theres no driving force, no passion. Everyday passes and the motions are too familiar, too static. Emotions do not drive my decisions, but I’m considered to be happy. Something must be wrong because I’d rather feel everything with hurricane force instead of this strange middle ground.

Hopefully the dust bunnies are keeping the forgotten piece company.

today’s the day i

come out.

Do it now. Everyone’s here, the mood is light. There couldn’t be a better situation.

I step out of my body and view the room. I sit in the corner, as usual, hidden behind layers of someone I once was. Behind the tense body is the corner, I see a girl waging a war within, battling to dig up courage. Courage to speak the truth. Courage to finally live the life pictured in mind.

The rest of the room laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners. I can never understand how they seem so at peace when every second of my life feels as if I’m going to stumble, say the wrong thing, or worse, let everyone know who I am. No. They can’t know. They’ll look at me differently. But I am different and I love it. But- no I can’t, not today at least. Tomorrow.

Everyday I say tomorrow, but tomorrow never comes.

Today, I have never had a better opportunity. My housemate walked into my room and I was standing just inside my closet, despite the stereotype, deciding which flannel to wear today. I’m not kidding. She didn’t see me and walk out for a second. I stepped out to hold the maroon flannel against myself in the mirror. She walked back in, stopped and seemed to question how I appeared out of nowhere. “Wait, were you always in here? I was confused why the light was on but no one was in here,” she stated. I replied without thinking, “Yeah, I was hiding in the closet.” The second the words left my mouth I realized what I said. Then I saw the flannel. I almost bursted out laughing. My housemate paused a second too. I could feel both of our brains processing the words just spoken. Sometimes I think my friends must know, must see the signs. Well if this wasn’t the biggest flashing rainbow then I don’t know what is. But then, I saw the opportunity I gave myself. It’s perfect, the atmosphere is light, her mind was still groggy from sleep, and it would be memorable. But I’d have to speak now–she spoke first. “What?” The moment was gone. My mouth moved to stammer something less gay, “Uh, I was in the closet.” Smooth. “I was, uh, looking at my clothes. That’s why you didn’t see me,” I finally reported. She didn’t seem to question this one, “Oh ok. That flannels really cute by the way.” Then she left. I stood for a second in the actual closet and thought about the closet where my mind resides.

An hour later I’m still laughing at myself but glad I didn’t come out. When I do, I want to be able to describe the conflict I’ve been feeling, how I feel now and how I want them to treat the situation. Today I learned that I don’t want to come out just to come out. I will come out on my terms, my time, and it will be for me. If anything, I think tomorrow is closer than ever before.

you’ll know your gay when

you know you’re not straight.

How do I know I’m gay? When will the giant flashing ‘gay’ sign show its rainbow colors to me? I will feel suddenly gay, right? There must be a concrete time, feeling, sound, self awareness. How will I know I’m gay when all of me doesn’t want to be?

If your looking for a sign, there will be none. If you want a gay lightbulb to go off, there may be none. It’ll cross your mind occasionally, but every ounce of your brain will deny.

Once there are no more buzzfeed lgbt or coming out videos to watch, you desperately scour the corners of youtube for more until you have a sudden break through. But there will be none. Each video may shine light on feelings you’ve been suppressing, but soon, you begin to connect with the strangers behind the screen. Still you aren’t sure. Scouring the internet, looking at guys walk by but finding yourself looking at the girls, and suddenly realizing you didn’t like the prince in the the movie, you liked that he was with the princess.

You’ll never accept that your gay until you stop trying to find something to contradict your feelings. The sooner you accept your feelings, the way that you are, and the love you have inside, the sooner you can share that love and start living the life you want.

But, I wouldn’t know about the ‘After Gay’ life. I’ve only recently started accepting who I am. After I couldn’t find a sign saying, “YOU’RE GAY, OKAY,” or, “You’re a heterosexual, move along,” I started looking for acceptance in the world around me. If people I didn’t know could accept me, maybe those who do know me will still love me.

The problem with accepting you’re queerness is that, you worry about what others will think. After accepting yourself, being in the closet is about other people. The only reason is because, no matter what your situation is, your mind instantly goes to the worst possibly reaction. All of the homophobic slurs and phrases you’ve heard instantly seem like something your best friend would say.

I hate that I’m still in the closet because I don’t want other people to look at me differently. So what?! I will be happy and living my life, and in no way would it affect anyone else. I should not have to live inside my own head so that everyone else doesn’t have to process the change. I don’t want to burden anyone, but, the “burden” they would have is minimal to what I’ve experienced the past 8 years of suppressing my thoughts and feelings. Staying in the closet so you won’t lose friends is awful, but that’s a reason I’m still here. I wish I didn’t care enough so I can start being me.

I wish the closet only existed for the period of time where you accept yourself. But then again, I wish the closet never existed.

 

 

 

As a disclaimer, I know that everyone’s situation is different, and everyone’s coming out story is different. Some people have no trouble accepting themselves and others may not be in a safe position to come out. I’m mostly reflecting on my own experience and others that I’ve heard. When I say ‘you,’ Im mostly talking about me, not you the reader. Stay safe and love yourself! You are an amazing person no matter what!!

iv’e always loved the

rain.

Theres something magical. The concept is so simple: water falls from the sky. But the entire atmosphere changes.

Somehow the gloom and bitter air brings light to my lungs. The day no longer looms ahead. The sheets on my bed no longer weigh me down. I look forward to a day with rain. Possibly because I often feel the holes in my mind are occupied with grey clouds and soaked clothes. I can relate to the rain. Often I find theres nothing to relate to. I have found the rain is my friend.

Theres something magical about having to turn the lights on at 3pm because the charcoal sky diffuses the sun. Warm lighting behind the windows contrasts the soaked grounds on the other side. Blankets become necessary and are always paired with hot chocolate. Smells  from the kitchen become intoxicating. The home I love wraps its arms around my soul and overflows the gaps with warmth.

Traffic outside becomes more pleasant. The drivers no longer appear in my head as angry and running late. Instead, I imagine their afternoon plans no longer exist. Maybe they want to get lost in their favorite song, and feel the rain spatter on the windshield. Or, they’re driving the kids to a movie, allowing, just this once, homework to be abandoned. In the rain, I welcome the cars driving past my window.

All seems right in the world when the water trickling down the gutters carries me to sleep. I do not feel guilty succumbing to my mind’s black hole. Reality shifts when the first drops cling to my eyelashes. I can be anyone, anything. An altered reality gives me the wings to venture outside of my home and the comforting hug when the blankets suddenly cling to my skin.

The rain allows for layers of warmth, but also the water to sink a poorly built boat.

Welcome and Thank You

Hi,

I’ve spontaneously decided to start a blog. What qualifications do I have? Well, I’m a struggling college student, struggling with mental illness, the stress of school, the stress of life, the stress of being in the closest, and stress. So if being stressed and struggling constitutes a good blogger, then I’m perfect for the job.

Other than deciding to spew my internal thought process anonymously online and write instead of studying, I started this because I never feel like I can open up to anyone. The only people who know deep things about me are online. So where better to tell my deepest darkest secrets than the vast void we know as the internet? I’ve found the immense pressure building up from my insecurities caused by myself and the people I live with to be too much to keep on my own.

If anyone every reads any of my stories, struggles, or questions, I hope you get something out of them. I don’t want this to be a giant spew of negativity. I don’t want my dark or negative thoughts to stay negative. I want to learn something from them or spin them into something better. The negativity doesn’t need to stay negative. So to my imaginary audience, thank you, even though you don’t exist yet. Even if you never exist, thanks for helping me process my turmoil.