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!
I hear a lot of people telling their tiny humans to “say thank you to the bus driver!” and they normally do. Whether it’s a quick thanks, a shy thanks or a bold, almost shouting thanks I always appreciate it.
We could all say thank you more.
Here are my current thank yous:
Thank you to everyone who has stood by me recently. Notable thanks to close friends (that drunkenly ring me to tell me they love me), my mum, a couple of colleagues and my therapist.
Thank you to every single person who works in any emergency service. Paramedics. PCSOs. Fire fighters. Coast guards. Mountain rescuers. Police officers. Don’t listen to what “The Sun” says. Have your cup of coffee in a public place; you deserve it. Every single day you leave your house not knowing what the day will bring or whether you’ll even return home.
Thank you to doctors and nurses and physiotherapists and porters and cleaners and receptionists in hospitals all over the world. The world simply would not exist without you.
Thank you to my goddaughter who reminds me that happiness can be found at the top deck of a bus or at the bottom of a tub of poster paint.
Thank you to the musicians who have managed to say all the things I can’t say and better.
Thank you to my favourite poet who has changed my life beyond comprehension.
In it, I confronted one of my biggest fears about one of my favourite people.
It was a mixture of painful truth and awful potential.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I think dreams are our way of safely exploring things that we cannot process while we are awake. And my theory has never been more prevalent than now.
I don’t struggle with difficult conversations but I struggle to figure out the emotion surrounding them. I can get how I feel out there but then I can’t handle what happens next.
My therapist has told me that sometimes when the fantasy becomes a reality a terrible realisation sets in. All of a sudden, you have what you want and, even if it’s exactly how you had imagined it would be, it’s a shock.
I am in shock and last night I dealt with that in dream form and today I’m dealing with the idea that I might finally have the opportunity to be happy.
This week I’ve felt that sting a lot. (Not that water infection kinda sting, thank goodness!) I’ve felt that sting of hurt when someone has said something that I find offensive.
A colleague told me that the only way I could have kids would be adoption (not true) and a friend undermined a situation which, for me, was very real and very serious but for her was little more than a passing phase.
And so I feel stung.
How does one deal with feeling stung?
A year ago I would have been bitter and angry but, as anger is a secondary emotion, I want to allow myself to feel hurt.
And boy do I hurt.
I’m not very good at being hurt. I hate being vulnerable and I associated being hurt with being vulnerable. I struggle to, rationally, admit that something has upset me.
Right now, I’d take a wasp sting over this emotional sting that is happening inside me.
“You need to be your authentic you”, my therapist told me.
I thought, rather naively, that she meant that I needed to be honest. I can do honesty; I’m pretty much always honest to others.
I’m very rarely honest to myself.
Honesty is weird because I expect it from other people and I give it to other people but I rarely give it to myself.
For some reason being honest to myself is scary. It’s confronting those 3am thoughts and it’s listening to that little voice that wants those suppressed feelings to be neutralised. It’s looking at that face in the mirror and making sure there isn’t any disharmony.
I see so much fucking disharmony.
That’s the annoying thing about being authentic; it isn’t just about honesty. It’s about harmony.
For me, I try to guess how people perceive me but then I don’t always show people who I am. This leads to crossed wires, unrealistic expectations and pain.
In order to be authentic everything needs to be real. How I feel needs to match what I tell others about how I feel. Being transparent is hard. It leaves me vulnerable.