October 4, 2011

I Can’t Read Things About Being A Transsexual.

Today I was prepping for my class. I wanted to bring in another article to discuss, you know, to expand the discussion from what the book has. Standard stuff. I was looking for things at places I know that writes entertaining things, and I stumbled upon this column. I couldn’t pull myself away. I had to read. I read two articles before I was nearly in tears and I forced myself away. It was good stuff, but… but I just couldn’t handle it, even though I also couldn’t ignore it.

I want to read stuff like this. I want to know I am not alone, and more importantly, that there are other people out there, making it, and being successful. I want to be able to give people something more well-written than these stupid blog posts and say “Look, it’s like this. This is what’s going on.”

But it hurts me to read this sort of thing. It makes me want to cry almost immediately, even if something happy is being discussed. I almost feel like I’m punishing myself. I can’t handle it.

I’m no stranger to empathy. I try to be that kind of person. I try to understand people. But with this stuff… I know this pain too well. I know the situation too well. I’ve lived it, or am living it. Trying to feel what they feel, my own pain, my past, it mixes with it. It amplifies it. It overwhelms me. If something bad happens, I remember all the times something similar happened to me, and I just want to collapse and give up. When something good happens, I am just so overwhelmingly thankful that there is good in the world that I can’t express it. I can’t keep it inside me. Either way, I cry.

I have probably said this before, but I try to think back a few years ago, or even a few months ago, to how I felt. The person I was, the depression that ruled my life, it already seems like a dream, to be honest. It’s hard to believe I was ever that much of a mess. I don’t know if anyone else sees it in me. I may seem mostly the same. But there’s no mask anymore, and I’m not hiding my emotions. It feels so right, I can’t believe I used to always be hiding. I have already come so far. I am so fucking thankful.
But when I read these things, I do remember. I remember how terrible I felt. I remember how trapped I felt in my own life. I remember how pointless going on living seemed. It all rushes back to me, and it makes my current problems, like trying to get everyone on the same page with pronouns, feel even worse. They’ll never call me the right pronoun. They’ll never accept me. I’ll never be me, and I have been foolish to try. Just like that, I can’t escape these thoughts. These people I’m reading about are successful, but they aren’t like me. I’m too much of a tomboy. I’ll never pass. My parents will always think it’s okay to call me by my old name. Or even worse, these people have problems, and aren’t successful, and I will, of course, be just like them. I can’t win.

One of the articles I read talked about how little she talks anymore, and how she no longer sings because she’s worried her deeper singing voice will give her away. Suddenly, I’m worried. I sing all the time. Like, all the time. Am I giving myself away? Should I stop? I have a higher voice, but not that high. It probably is a problem. But the idea of not being able to get into music like that is extremely depressing. I have another thing to stress about, on top of everything else, now. When I click on another article, what else will I suddenly be worried about?

I read these articles looking for something to bring to class right before class, thinking my lesson plan was a little light. There was a moment there, about an hour before, that I felt so terrible, I didn’t know if I could teach. I didn’t know if I could really do it. Could I have the enthusiasm? The energy I needed? I felt like I couldn’t. I felt like I did when I used to skip every single one of my classes as an undergrad, and just curl up under blankets and hide. I went to class, of course. I taught fine. I am past the point in my life where I give in to thoughts like that. I just didn’t feel like I could. I really considered giving in, staying home, and feeling sorry for myself.

I just can’t do it. I can’t handle reading this stuff. Maybe I’m not strong enough. Maybe I’m still too much in the middle of it, and in a few years it won’t be a problem. Maybe I’ll never be strong enough, and I’ll always be scared. I don’t know. But I can’t do it, as much as I want to. I just can’t do it.

I have no doubts in you. I know you will be strong enough. :3

>.> sorry if this is stereo-typically cheerful.

Comment by Kale — October 4, 2011 @ 2:11 am

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