Do you ever start writing something just to write? Just to get the fucking words out of your skull. So even if they do nothing, even if they’re never read, sitting forgotten as dsfdnfgikd.doc somewhere for all eternity, they. are. not. in. your. head. any. more.
Yeah, that’s sort of where I’m at right now.
This wants to be another rage at this demon inside my head, rant-y blog post rather than a contemplated essay. I mean, either assumes that I will post it, though let’s be honest, I probably will. I am nothing if not a slut for punishment. (I leave it to you dear hypothetical reader what punishment I refer to. As I can and probably will construe the reception this eventually receives as a just punishment for something I’ve done)
Well aren’t I in a maudlin mood today?
Indeed I am, as tends to happen when one watches her country dissolve, handed over wholesale to billionaires and fucking man-children while they simultaneously conduct epistemicide against trans folk. Yeah, I’m in a fucking mood watching as two Democrat representatives from my fucking state, Hickenlooper and Bennet keep supporting trump appointees. I’m in a fucking mood seeing these weird seemingly organizer-less, directionless 50 states 50 protests things, wondering if I can risk going when I know what getting arrested will mean for me.
Simply put, I have spent the past 2 and some weeks having the worst experiences of my life, and realizing…. no one reached out to check on me specifically. I… don’t even just mean that, “whose cis family and friends even thought to check on them?” way, but… no one.
I have two nesting partners who could see what is happening to me. A long distance girlfriend and sister (in the tgril sense) and we didn’t really need to check in so much as just suffer together. That’s to say, I’m not exactly suffering alone. But there’s a difference between a discord call or chat and spending time with queer people experiencing the same fears in the same place and choosing to find joy instead. There’s a difference between the concern and care two platonic and cis/cis adjacent partners will provide and the care of a lover going through the same terror, letting both of you find happiness for a minute.
I’d like to say, “I wish I knew how I ended up like this,” but I know. My egg cracked before covid. I did my entire transition inside. Sure, I streamed it, slut for punishment remember? But there was a plague on! I mean, there still is, and I’m still masking when I do venture out, but that won’t matter for a minute.
I didn’t go out and socialize, my wife wasn’t ready for polyamory, but also wasn’t feeling as amorous anymore. (look I’m going to have several things to say about women in my life that could be construed as negative. Understand that I loved all of them then, and now. I am discussing past events and how they made me feel, but that those feelings are contained within the current context, I love them. I say this so I don’t have to constantly re-explain that negative experience with another human being lead to both of us getting better in the long term.)
It is a truth universally acknowledged (by trannies) that a newly hatched trans girl will be in need of some fucking affirmations.
When one’s gender progression involves becoming what they were denied for so long, the most common step is, unfortunately, to jump right into the shape society has shown them women ideally occupy. Rather than parsing out what shape works best for the individual girl.
Poetic words to say, trans girls generally dive head first into womanhood by associating their femininity with being desirable. Be honest, we all “know” the standards women are held to serve to objectify us, but those are still the ideas our society has driven us to internalize. When a new trans girl hatches, she’s not being given the chance to examine what her gender means to her, if she even has the context yet to parse it. Or a chance to examine and deprogram her biases. She’s being thrown head first into a world that hates her for existing. So we often grab hold of our immediate understanding of womanhood and fucking deal. And so most trans girls start out with those societal ideas of “being a woman”, which usually includes some toxic as hell beauty standards they feel expected to self-flagellate over. In a rather damned if you do, damned if you don’t arrangement too.
See, if we get positive reactions for it, well that’s self reinforcing. And if it didn’t? Well they do work for others, so we must not be doing it hard enough. I’d say it’s a bit easier for a trans lesbian like myself, but no, no it really isn’t.
Sure lesbian standards are way more forgiving and fun than het ones, but you know what every single new trans lesbian has running through her head? Don’t be predatory. don’t be predatory. don’t be predatory!
To horribly paraphrase a joke from Charles Stross; Do you know why it’s so hard to find lesbian sheep? Because when a ewe is feeling in the mood she instinctually stands perfectly still so a ram can bone her. Fields full of lesbian sheep just getting horny and doing nothing about it. Both straight and lesbian trans women performing around how they expect to be perceived in order to be desirable. Yeah, obviously this lessens as folks develop as people and learn to engage with gender on their own terms rather than society’s, but that takes time.
Admittedly, it also helps to have social circles so as to at least find the proverbial field of feral ewes. But as I said earlier, I’m rather lacking in that. See, I went to university in the same town I still live in, Denver. I adore it, but I have a niche degree in a field that rarely requires them, and which pays like shit. Most of the folks I knew in university have scattered to the winds and weren’t really even friends anyway. Most were just people using me for a specific goal or friends of friends.
So I found the few friends who were holding onto me for me, and accepted that was my circle when not online. But in that curious way of things, no one really included me in their social circle. I started dating the woman I’d marry, and in lesbian fashion, even if we were unaware at the time, moved in together quickly. We got along great where our interests meshed, and while I always, and often still do, felt like I was too much when sharing my passions, I loved hearing about hers. And that meant dancing. West cost swing dancing.
I still haven’t done it. I always wanted to, to ask to learn, to get to dance with her. But I never learned how to dance or really do anything with music and rhythm. Yeah, some part of me wanted to do it because it was something my wife was doing without me. Not in a jealousy way, rather it felt like something I should have been able to do. I didn’t want to infringe on her space, but rather, learn to do something because she loved it. But I was a coward, I didn’t ask for years. What if I was terrible? What if I really did have no rhythm like I’d joked for years? What if they’ll only let me learn to lead?
So I dodged another chance to meet people.
My wife advanced in her career while I pivoted to making internet content, and she had new coworkers. They even seemed really cool! I even met them and hung out and they even wanted to do it more! But that was it. I think I went to one Christmas party at her work. I don’t recall what happened, I recall being overstimulated and feeling like I hadn’t been introduced to anyone. I assume I did or said something shitty while trying to keep it together. I’ve never asked why I wasn’t told about any of the Christmas parties since until she was home from them.
Early in transition I didn’t want the answer, because I was pretty sure that it was embarrassment to be seen with me. Later, it was just because that wasn’t part of our relationship, I was a wife to be neither seen nor heard. (I stress again, these were my feelings at the time) Now, I mean covid is still a thing. But also, her work life and me have been separate for so long, its just sort of natural. Plus, I’m historically critical, and take no bullshit from, managers, and she’s had some idiotic ones.
But that’s just it, where do you go for social connection, when you agree that you’re unpleasant to be around? Well, first you try to stop that. Sticking point, what if the things that make you unpleasant are inextricable? Am I responsible for someone else being unhappy with how I convey information because I’m autistic? For a less active example, am I responsible if someone finds me unpleasant because I’m trans? Further, why is the problem so often that others find me unpleasant after I stand up for myself after being treated poorly?
You’d think this would be more about well off folks, but it’s usually the more left folks. They’ll catch part of an interaction between me and a service worker where I’m being ignored and infantilized so I stand up for myself, and suddenly someone else is yelling at me. All they saw was a person, even someone they know well, being angry to service worker and jumped into action. They never see the eye rolls or hear the snide comments made about me, just chide me when I can’t take it anymore.
I had literally 4 in-person friends, and while all were queer conscious, they were all cis, and mostly, het and two ended up leaving the state anyway. So I come out in 2019, in the first Trump administration, and before I’ve even accepted myself enough to get on hormones, fucking covid. But not just Covid, Biden’s idiotic response to it, basically hiding infection numbers and suppressing info instead of actually helping! A cluster fuck that’s directly responsible for a degradation in healthcare standards. Doctors used to just fucking wear masks in NICUs in 2019 as standard practice. But now? Now it would be virtue signaling to wear a mask, so better risk the lives of babies.
Yeah, I’m a great time at parties. The only one wearing a mask and not drinking or eating, silently reminding everyone that we have two plagues going right now. Probably why folks don’t invite me. Hell, the masking thing was also part of the whole reason I lost my last social circle, see A return of a sort for that context.
I keep ending up more alone every time I try to connect with others. I know part of it is whats wrong with me. If you always expect to be hurt by those you love, you come to move past it very quickly. Or even start to believe the pain is deserved. I can say from experience, its so much easier to move on from the pain, if you accept that you deserved it. Otherwise you have to accept that someone you love, in fact does not love you. Or worse, does love you, and hurt you this badly by accident.
I get hurt by someone , and my first instinct is always to find out what I did wrong and try to fix it. I’m nothing if not an obedient dog. I’ve been so effectively conditioned to never put myself first. And that’s the rub.
Because obviously, thats the answer. Be a little selfish sometimes, stand up for your self, ask for help. All the classics.
Now if every time you did ask for help from those few who offered? And their answers were; No. I can’t. Why are you asking me? I don’t feel comfortable doing that.
When you do stand up for yourself and tell a waitress, “No ma’am, you’re not listening to me. I asked what our full order was, I think there might have been a mix up with our food” It’s not, hey good job standing up for yourself, or hey maybe chill a bit, but go you. No, it’s why were you so rude? I didn’t hear her say anything that deserved that? What do you mean she was ignoring you? Why did you rope us in, you should have handled it alone and not made it OUR problem.
You do something selfish, tell a partner you need cuddles, or that you need to feel desired, admitting that you’re jealous of time another partner got and asking for a similar experience. You do what they told you to do, and no. Not feeling it tonight. Why don’t you already feel desired, are you saying I don’t love you enough? Well I tried to keep it balanced. And you can’t even be unhappy, because those are all, perfectly fine responses. Gods the thought of someone not saying no for any reason, but especially because they fucking pity me that much turns my stomach.
But that’s still my lived reality. Oh, I should make it clear, exact words are changed, but these are all examples of times I personally acted selfish, stood up for myself, or asked for help from/around people who’d told me to do those very things. Most of these have happened multiple times.
Long and short of it?
I need a fucking hug, and for a top to take out her frustrations on me, just let me go full pup/object, it’s only when this annoying ass human brain it running shit do I have to care about… fucking everything.
And community, I really need to find community.
If writing this ranting monstrosity has taught me anything, it’s that if I ever write memoirs, they’re going to be extremely depressing, maybe downright excruciating if you don’t enjoy the twisted void I have for a sense of humor. I accidentally wrote a good 3 chapters of personal development stuff. One was just on how my dad fucked up my relationship with holidays.
If you made it this far…why? Mom? Thanks for reading my stuff, uh sorry to bring disgrace on the family by being a huge subby bottom? I mean, I’m not, even if it is definitely my preferred option. Honestly I’m half tempted to leave this whole chunk in mostly to see if she is reading these and if I can get a rise out of her, or my sister (in the cis sense) Shit now I have to leave it in because that joke was equally terrible and completed the circle.
PS. Thank you for all the support over on Patreon and Kofi, as well as the goblins who tip through this site, also to Jules for being the best editor. Fun fact, I wrote the first draft of this a few days before that realization that I’ve been accidentally microdosing my estrogen. So I’m feeling properly sane for the first time since… like May?
