It has been a long time. Transformation is like that, and while I wanted to document my own transformation as I navigated my new path…well, let’s say that putting my fingers to the keys seemed impossible.
How could I write about what I had no clue about? How could I write about the changing person before me when my mind was struggling to form the picture of myself in my mind, to what we saw in the mirror? It was like being on a train, heading to the very last stop on the track, but getting off at every single stop along the way.
Was this where I belonged? No, I don’t like it here. Back on the train. Wait, maybe I am meant back there, or maybe the next stop will be the best?
If you are as lost and confused as I am then at least I will have some company. But my misery does not prefer company, and well, I’m sad.
I’m sad because as I have slowly started to change over the last year, I find myself more and more afraid. Afraid that I will never know who I am. Never reach the penultimate destination for my identity. I have seen myself hurt, broken and beaten. Yet, there are days where I would take raining fists over the fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of who I will be. Fear of what I may become.
So, no I haven’t written. I have struggled. I have cycled in and out of depressions so fast that it just seems like one long depressive state. I struggle to meet my eye in the mirror. I hate what I see. Not the person I want to be. No…
Instead, I see what others call me. I see the misgendering and the wrong body. I see scars and torn up skin. I see fear and anxiety. I see internalized homophobia. I see internalized hatred and vitriol. It’s hard to say those three letters to myself. I know I’m in my own way. I know I’m stutter stepping in this journey…
But right now I hurt. I hurt because I think I know where I am going and I am utterly terrified. I’m afraid because I’ve been conditioned to fear happiness. Conditioned that self-assurety… self-love, can be punishable by death.
All I want to do is say those three letters to myself. I close my eyes and I see me. The me I want to be, and I can’t reach them. I can’t reach them because I’m afraid….so I stutter step.
I’ve been conditioned to hate what I naturally am, and all the cliche motivations and comforting mantras don’t mean a thing to me. Not when those three small words are what I need to say to re-teach myself to stand tall. To stand true.
But, today, I can’t say them.
Living Andy 