Man, I feel like a… well like a man actually.

If you haven’t read the first post I did about this then you can read that here: https://waggcomedy.wordpress.com/2012/10/26/man-i-feel-like-a-woman-every-day-of-my-life/

Alternatively, you can just not read that and I can save you some time by telling you that I’m trans and, at the time I wrote that post, I was in so much denial.

Last summer I dislocated my knee and spent a lot of time alone in the house. My friends came to visit me and offered me loads of support via messages but something wasn’t right. I realised that I had depression and that I had had it for a long time. (You can read more about that here: https://waggcomedy.wordpress.com/?s=Depression+nearly+&submit=Search

I have always thought about being trans. I mean I repressed it a lot but it had always played on my mind; in the middle of the night when I was wide awake. My therapist helped me to talk about what I described as “the biggest can of worms ever”. 

It is the biggest can of worms ever. It has shocked me and it is the most difficult thing to come to terms with.

People often talk about friends and family having to go through a grieving process but I’m grieving too. I plan to do a post on that at some point, but I’ll just say now that this isn’t an easy thing for me to get my head around.

I question it. Of course I do. But I’m a man. I’m a man who likes Tegan and Sara and that’s ok. I mean I was an honorary lesbian for 24 years. I am a straight man who likes a “lesbian” band. That feels weird. I guess I’m going to have to explain why to people but I doubt explaining my music tastes will be the hardest thing to do. 

I hope you all likes blogs about being trans because this blog is about to be full of transness! 

Oh hi WordPress!

I bet you’ve forgotten that I existed and I couldn’t blame you!

I was horrifically sick for a week and went away for a week (more on that soon) but apart from that there are no excuses!

I have lots of posts already written just waiting to be published so expect a bit more content from me soon!

Here’s the thing.

Here’s the thing.

I want to hold you.

Maybe not even in a sexual way.

I want to hold you so much right now.

I want to take away that fear that I hear in your voice. I want to stomp back in time like Godzilla and right the fucking awful wrongdoings in your life.

I want to hit her so fucking hard that her teeth fall out. I want her to feel the fear and pain and shame that you’ve felt most of your life.

I want to make you smile. That water spilling out of the corner of your mouth kinda smile. I want to take a picture of it and frame it and look at it every time I doubt myself.

I want to be the person you message at 5:18am bleary-eyed. I want to be the person you message at 11:32pm drunk. I want to be the person you message when you’re happy and when you’re sad and when you’re inbetween.

I want to be the one who changes your mind and softens you. Don’t put up such a wall. I don’t want you to be Trump, I want you to be anything but.

I want to be the person you’re proud of. I will find ways to make you proud.

I want you to want to hold me. To love me. That’s the thing.

Different.

“You’re different now.”, she said to me last night in a dream. She’s right. I’m on the brink of a breakdown and a self fulfilling prophecy. 

She epitomises everything I look for in a woman and yet I know those things aren’t compatible with me.

I’m all banter and good news face to face and I’m bitterness and sexual objectification online. 

My therapist told me that I don’t like certain things about other people because I don’t like those things about myself.

In which case, she’s a fucking flirt and I have no idea where I stand. Ergo, I’m a fucking flirt and she’s in the fucking dark about my feelings.

Being blunt hasn’t helped so I doubt being sensitive will. Instead I’ll just send her a mixed signal message and get angry when she doesn’t bite.

She.

She is not the one. But she is a one and, as Germaine from RBW said, that’s all I need right now.

She’s not enough and yet could be deemed to be too much.

She teases me and rejects me and confuses me on a daily basis. She tells me she’s scared and I get that. But fuck it, I’m scared too.

She is everything I love and hate and she mirrors so much of me that it’s scary.

She is nowhere near where I am. And I fear she never will be.

2017. A year of great change.

Happy new year everyone! This isn’t my first post of 2017 and it’s rather late on the whole “new year” front but it’s here!

2016 was interesting, I’d say it was the most life changing year so far (more on that in another blog post).

Today is blue Monday and I feel strangely positive about it. Rather aptly, I have a session with my therapist later and I’m excited to tell her what’s happening in my life.

I don’t fall into the trap of thinking that my life will be revolutionised in the new year; I am annoyingly realistic. I doubt I’ll lose 5 stone, meet the love of my life or take more photos but that doesn’t mean that change won’t happen. It’s happening now, I already feel much better than I did this time last year.

I can’t even remember this time last year really – without even noticing it, I think the depression has descended. 

That’s how I like to picture depression; like a black cloud. Towards the end of last year I learned how to move out from under the black cloud and how to make the black cloud less detrimental.

16 days into January and I feel changes are afoot. 2017 will be good, it’ll be a year to remember.

Dear DTB 

Dear DTB,

This is tough. This is like well done steak kinda tough. I mean I like my steak well done but I still want to be able to get my teeth into it. I can’t get my teeth into this.

People say that it’s a burden or emotionally abusive to say that a person is instrumental to their happiness. Unfortunately, despite its connotations, you are instrumental to my happiness.

I can only really gather the courage to write this because I don’t think you’ll ever read it. If you were to discover this I hope you wouldn’t realise that it’s for you. If you were to realise that, you’d be angry. “Why couldn’t you just talk to me?!”, would be your response.

I can’t talk to you though. Not now. You’re a teenage boy in a cave right now; agitated and isolated and you love it. 

I’m asking you to be someone that you can’t be, at least not yet. I’m not there yet either, my therapist calls it “fake it until you make it”. I’m faking it so much that I don’t think you know that I’m terrified like you.

You think I’m strong which is why you talk to me the way you do. I’m not strong, I’m barely getting by.

I wonder where we’ll be in ten years. Will we find this funny? Or will we still be bitter? 

I think we’ll find it funny. We’ll be different people by then. I’ll still be stubborn and you’ll still be grumpy but we’ll be a bit softer.

Years of “good living” and hindsight will have made us softer. 

I cannot wait until we’re softer. I cannot wait until life is how we imagine it to be. We’ll be the envy of people on Instagram (if it still exists) and we’ll be smug. We will be allowed to be smug because of all the shit we will have to endured to get to that point.

This is the shit and I’m sorry that right now even my name annoys you. Guess what, yours doesn’t make me best pleased either.

But when I think about my life at 33 you’re there. You are instrumental to my happiness and that irritates me so much. I’m stronger with you, and that bothers me. We’re better people when we’re together. We’re softer. We’re faking it less and making our dreams a reality.

This, right now, is shit. You’re being shit and I’m being shit. At least we’re consistent.

In 10 years time you will no longer be known at DTB; isn’t that a refreshing thought?

So I’ll let you be a teenage boy in a cave as long as you let me be a middle aged woman having a midlife crisis whilst going through the menopause. This is making us softer. The steak is no longer as hard to chew.