Brutal Honesty

I’m laying in bed after a long day of work and losing time in a project. And I just finished crying. Yep. Crying. That’s right. I said it.

When I first started this blog, I wanted it to be an open and honest portrayal of my life. Even if the honesty is not so pleasant. So, here goes.

I’ve been reading the Steve Jobs bio. And I’m less than 40 pages from finishing it. I’d probably hammer it out tonight. But, the battery was down to 3%. So, the iPad is sitting next to the bed recharging as I type. I’m currently reading about how Jobs is trying to be there for his kids as his life is coming to an end. How he has a connection with his son. But, not so much with his two daughters. That part reminded me of my own father. My dad can be emotionally distant. But, at times has been closer to me than with my sister. And that’s hard for me. I wish he would be closer to her.

We all know how this book will end. Steve Jobs died less than a month ago. And hearing someone talk about fighting cancer and coming to terms with death is not a fun thing to read about. But, all this death talk in the book has me thinking about how much I think about death. I’m not proud of it. I don’t enjoy it. It’s not like I sit around enjoying how much I want to kill myself. I don’t want to end my life. But, yet I do.

I got an email from my former therapist two days ago. She had recently gotten word that I wasn’t doing well. She said that she couldn’t remember who told her. But, I suspected I knew. After trying to reassure her (i.e. lying), I started a Facebook chat conversation with the woman I suspected of saying something to her. I wasn’t mad. Not at all. But, I just wanted to know if it was her. She said it was. She said that she was concerned about me. And she apologized if she stepped over the line. I told her no apology was needed. After all, I worry about myself as well.

Tonight, on the way home, I stopped to buy a new pair of winter gloves and a few other things. I was quite proud of myself for browsing the women’s section of the store without even caring what other people thought. I even found a nice shirt that was on sale for $3.00. It started snowing while I was shopping. So, after arriving home cold and wet, I stepped into the bathroom to take a shower. I did something I shouldn’t have done. I tried on the shirt. While standing in front of the mirror. That never goes well. I know it was the right size. But, it’s my broad muscular shoulders that made me spiral down. I immediately took it off and stepped into the shower. I sat there, under the water with my eyes closed. Imagining a gun in my mouth. Trying to gather enough courage to pull the trigger.

There are people in this world, a few that I know personally, who don’t understand that I was born this way. I’ve had conversations with people who say outright that I must have been influenced by someone when I was a kid. Maybe they think I can be snapped out of it. A simple slap to the face, perhaps? Maybe I need more sex with women. Would sitting on a couch next Sunday with a beer in one hand while I eat a raw steak induce the right amount of testosterone to hit just the right parts of my brain to make it so I don’t want to have sex with men? Will going to church make me appreciate my penis more? Will Jesus help me man up?

I don’t get it. I really don’t. Do I have to put a bullet in my head to make people understand. Who would choose the life of a transgender person? It’s not something I would exactly say makes me get out of bed in the morning. I wouldn’t wish this on anybody. But, it’s a fact. Nobody is pushing me to do this. Nobody is persuading me. It’s just that the idea of transitioning is my last hope. It’s the last thing I can think of to keep me from shoving that muzzle down my throat.

I know what I feel inside. I know my feelings about who I am to be genuine. I’ve been this way my entire life.  I’m trying to reach a point of daily happiness. A place where I can just be me. A place where I’m not thinking of ways of offing myself. A place where I can learn to love both myself and someone else. A place where I have a home of my own and a career I’m proud of. Hell, even a cat. There are things I’m trying to do with my life now that social anxiety isn’t behind the wheel. I’m reading books I’ve never read. I’m exploring new foods. I’m meeting new people. I want to visit new places. I want to have new experiences. But, I don’t want to do these things as a man. I don’t want the world to perceive me as a man. I want people to know the real me.

Until that happens, I think I will continue to be frustrated. I will continue to have bouts of depression that make me hide from the world. But, as long as I cling to hope that this is all temporary, I will continue to fight these demons. So, please. If your one of those people who refuses to understand who I am. If you’re hesitant to believe what I’m telling you, please back off. It won’t end well.


About Frogtosser

A former sailor and pizza maker who is done hiding from the world and is now living life to it's fullest extent. I'm a single speed bicycle commuter who enjoys writing and photography. I'm a voracious reader. And a huge geek!
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2 Responses to Brutal Honesty

  1. LC says:

    I hope you are feeling better today. I have recently started following your blog and have to say I thoroughly enjoy it. What I want to say is welcome to the world of buying women’s clothes. Women’s body types are so different it is amazing any clothes ever fit. There is no consistency in the clothing. It doesn’t matter if two shirts are both labeled mediums they will probably be sized slightly different. Even different colors of the same size can be different. Different labels are also bad. Jeans are worse, I have to try on 2-3 sizes (and lengths) of each color before I can decide what works and even after that nothing truly fits.

    I don’t have the same story as you but am very self conscious of my weight because I have gained a lot with illness. I fluctuate through departments trying to find a size that fits and a lot of time just buy without trying them on only to return them. In my head I always make up stories about who I am buying for if a clerk asks a question I don’t want to answer. I’m looking for my sister (she’s smaller) or my mother (plus size or petite) even though it is for me. Although I know people really won’t say anything I still hear it in my head.

    As a former retail worker I know there are a lot of strange things that are asked in the men’s and women’s department. Both men and women shop in the other department for themselves or others. You buying a shirt in the women’s department probably wasn’t even noticed. You need to take that shirt back and get the larger size. Don’t worry what the label says or any clerk. If you are a talker you may tell them more than you want but just tell them it was the wrong size and leave it at that. I know sometimes I need to know I look good on the outside to feel good on the inside.

    A long reply but I want you to know although things are bad now, me a stranger cares enough about you to say your life is important to me.

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