Happy Pride. To All.

It’s Pride Month, 2017 so here we go!

My name is Jeremy. I also go by Brandon , and I also like going by Sloane. My online names can be lordbatty or jacksonngalaxyy. I’m an up and coming Drag Princess by the name of River Styxx. I am going to be 26 years old, I am a female to male pretty boy transguy. I was on testosterone for almost 3 years before a tumor was found and we had to treat that first and foremost. I recently had top surgery (March 9th, 2017) and currently almost 3 months post op.

I want to be a writer. I also want to be a cat behaviorist. I LOVE COFFEE. I love the weather/tornadoes and I want to storm chase at least once in my life. I am fascinated by seahorses. I love going camping. I adore cats. I like to wear makeup sometimes. I talk too loudly sometimes. I am disabled in more ways than you could think up. sometimes I have trouble speaking my feelings. I have depression. I have anxiety. I have an eating disorder. I love anything between Ariana Grande to Krewella. I want to visit Italy some day.

But above everything else, I am Human. Just like everyone else. i have likes, dislikes, relationships, friends, dreams, aspirations, ups and downs.

I also have some of the best friends in the world. I’m friends with drag queens, drag kings, genderfluid people, trans people, gay, lesbian, bisexual, and every in between. They are my family. They are the people who mean the most to me in the whole world. And even though I’ve only known most of them for a year, it feels like I’ve known them for a lifetime. I’m always so … grateful for them. I’m always happy to see them. I’m always so amazed at the family I have created, formed, grown with, and have come to see as nothing but that. Family. My true family.

I also have a great boyfriend and a very personable cat. Both of which , I wouldn’t be here today without. We’ve been together for 4 ½ years and Dylan’s been in my life for 7 years. Between me and my boyfriend, we’ve been through a lot together. And no, not always good. It’s been several ups and downs. It’s also been several amazing days. We’ve had so much happen in the last 4 years and in that time, we’ve grown a lot together and as our own persons. It’s been amazing to see the growth we’ve both had and learning from mistakes, victories, and losses. I love him so much and never did I think I would have such a growing, lasting, long-term, fun, challenging relationship that I do have. And it’s been one of the most rewarding, realest, enriching loves I’ve ever come across in dating.

I’ve traveled around a lot with Dylan. We’ve hopped from plane to plane, car to car, home to home, never knowing where we’ll be or what we will be doing. But we’ve stuck together and he’s been an amazing support animal for me. We support each other, and he has been there for me when I didn’t have anyone or didn’t know what was going to happen or where to turn to.

If you’d have asked pre-transition me where I would be in the next 5 years I would have probably said ‘I don’t know’ or ‘Dead, probably.’ I didn’t know I could have a life outside of … what I grew up with. I didn’t know these wonderful people I now call my family existed. I didn’t know I could BE trans. I didn’t know there was someone out there waiting for me to date and love all of me. I didn’t know I could … BE ME. I didn’t know, and never in a million lifetimes here or now, did I think that in five years … I would still be here, even. never did I think I would find the friends I have today. Never did I think I would transition. never did I think I would even be doing DRAG.

So many bad things have happened in the  last just TWO years (ie. tumor/cancer, being off my shots, countless legal actions against me for being trans, removing my ex-relatives from my life completely was the most recent thing I did, being homeless and couch hopping for almost 2 years, more money/legal issues for being trans, etc), but sometimes I have to try and step back and look at all of the good things and try to hold onto those and think about it.

Good things like top surgery!, embracing my pretty boy nature and saying ‘fuck gender roles, I’m still a man. I can wear whatever the fuck I want and still be me’, stepping my foot into doing Drag and actually landing an official show, surrounding myself with the good people I do have and getting rid of those who just didn’t have a place in my life, cutting off toxic relationships (ie. the ex-relatives), having an ally within the family I can see and trust and talk to , finally landing an apartment with some of the friends I love, getting most of the legal actions taken care of for good, and so much more.

This Pride Month is so much more different for me, in a good way. I can celebrate out, loud, and proud. I can celebrate being me. I can celebrate being trans. I can celebrate my friends, my family, my boyfriend. I can celebrate my top surgery. I can celebrate … so much of me that I have come to see and know. I’ve grown a lot. I’ve seen a lot. I’ve learned a lot. And there’s so much more to that.

This Pride Month is so much better for me. And I am just so happy and grateful for not only my personal self-growth, but for my boyfriend’s, for my friends’ . . I’m grateful for the LGBTQ center as my home and the people who work there and go there.

This Pride Month, for me personally, is such a great one.

And remember if you can’t come out yet or live loud and proud or celebrate openly, that’s okay. Five years ago, I never even had a thought to Pride anything. Because I couldn’t. Five years goes a long way, and I’ve both lived and seen it. Don’t ever check it off. Don’t ever think you won’t get there. Because I certainly never did.

And now I have the biggest LGBTQ circle I’ve ever experienced in my almost 20+ years of life.

Don’t give up. Happy Pride to all. You mean the world to someone.

❤️💛💚💙💜

{{ photos under the cut }}

Continue reading “Happy Pride. To All.”

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The Marks We Make

Well this was supposed to be a totally different write-up but in light of, well, everything, it’s going to be somewhat the same. But then again, not completely so. I also want to apologize in advance for this one being shorter than my usual writings.

 

You own everything that happens to you. And you own everything that you say or do to a person and as a person yourself. Trying to cover it up or make excuses is shitty and toxic. It’s also abusive. It’s also gaslighting. But if you think you’re in the right and everyone else is against you or in the wrong or making you out to look bad, then you’re probably the problem. Especially if more than one person tends to agree with the other party or if more than one person sees the same issue repeating itself. That’s just common sense.

In any case, the whole ‘you are what you eat’ thing is true. And by that, I mean in the metaphorical sense of you are what you eat. You are what you put into your life and you are what you put out. You are how you treat one another. And you are how you see people around you and speak about them. I believe in all of these things and more. And it rings true in the case of a vast majority of my relatives. As I’ve stated several times.

But now the tides have gotten higher and the waters rougher. After expressing certain medical issues that have come up to people, it was met with such blandness and topic swapping that I couldn’t think fast enough to react properly. A few days later it came to my attention that certain members of the family were now spitting out that they were an only child and there were no siblings or no other children in the family. That the so-called-couldn’t-do-it-any-other-time party was plastered over my birthday on purpose. And when asked about it, nobody could look others in the eye, much less come up with an excuse. At this point, I’ve become faced with the decision much sooner than I had planned on for taking matters into my own hands. I won’t go into further detail since, by June, you’ll all be able to see for yourself. But things are changing, and I’m going to make damned sure that it’s for the better. At least, for me.

Yet . . . in the middle of all that and my frustrations and willingness to finally do what I have to do, I know what’s going to become of it on the other side. While I don’t have to engage in it or hear it directly, I know all too well what will happen and what will be painted in my image from them. And that brings me back to the ‘you are what you eat’ thing. You cannot say one thing, and mean ten others. You cannot say that I am family in the same breathe you claim that you only have one child. It doesn’t work that way. And if people think I’m not going to hear about it, well then they’re wrong. And if they think I’m not going to react, they’re wrong about that, too. And I don’t have to react positively, no no no. There’s no chance in hell I could ever react positively to this slandering. I am allowed to respond negatively, with as much politeness as I can stand with all the salt and let-me-make-this-as-clear-as-possible that I can throw in. Receipts, my friends, are your ticket to anything these days it seems.

You make what you break. And you make your own marks. Nobody can make you react, behave, or say what you do. You make your own decisions based on everyday life. You make your own choices based on personal beliefs whether religious or not. Nobody is holding a gun to your head when you make your life’s choices.

You are what you eat.

Oh . . . and one more thing?

Once again, I’m faced with the harsh blow to the head of trying to find a place to live. On top of the cancer, the slightly-secret-project-thing I’m writing, legal issues facing discrimination from my insurances based on my gender and name, and about twenty other things as usual.

But all of that?

Well, that’s for another writing.

What Break?

And here I thought my reign of terror from 2016 was over. How wrong I was.

On April 20th, 2017 I found out that I had a mass (aka: tumor for all purposes) after getting an MRI done and finding out that a particular level in my blood work was 172. Normal was 10-14. Now I am off testosterone until further notice and on a pill that makes me nothing but weak, sick to my stomach, and unable to cope appropriately. I can barely eat a full meal, I’m always tired, traveling two days ago was hell, I can’t do any normal household chores without having problems, I can’t really do anything. And that fucking sucks more than anything. Because I always am on the move and I’m always finishing up projects, chores, writing, taking care of my cats, and everything else in between. Now I can barely pick up a coffee cup without feeling like I’m going to pass out or vomit.

The thing about cancer is . . . yeah, it sneaks up on you. You never thought it would be you. And after the first few days, you laugh it off. You just shrug at all your friends and your boyfriend and are like ‘yeah it happened I’ll be fine. We’ll get it figured out when we go back in June for a blood test again.’ But then everything gets to be too much for you. Everything starts to blur together. And being off T makes it worse. You’re more agitated, angry, frustrated, upset, and irritable. I think that’s worse. Because I look and act a bitch, when really I’m not trying to be. I don’t mean to be annoyed with everything I see or hear or think. I don’t mean to snap. I don’t mean to slam things. I don’t mean to be this way. But everything is so terribly out of balance and out of whack right now. I can’t function properly.

Everything is heightened and anchored down all at once. It’s a horrible feeling, it’s a shitty place to be. You don’t want everyone else to feel just as bad as you do, so you’re trying to fake your emotions but fuck it’s hard. Add all of this medical stuff on top of everything else I’m dealing with. I feel like a ticking bomb. I’m going to explode at some point.

Yeah, that’s right. There’s like 10 other things piled on top of this whole tumor situation. Medicaid shutting me out because of “gender mismatch” that i know have to try and get the birth certificate and letters done while out of state. Isn’t that just so fucking great? After having top surgery and everything, too. The legal system still wants to fuck with me. So now I have to deal with that too? How is that fair? Not to mention trying to get back home in time for a bullshit disability hearing . . . that I shouldn’t even have to do. Again. When the legal and healthcare system doesn’t believe you’re really disabled. So you have to go to court. On top of the 5 other things you’re dealing with.

Also fuck my “family”. They don’t exist anymore. I have no “family” by blood. They’ve erased me completely. Having planted my “sister’s” graduation party on my birthday on purpose. Telling everyone my “sister” is their only child and she says she’s the only child herself. It’s disgusting. It’s sickening. They’re all fucked up. They don’t know what “family” is. They have a very distorted and skewed version of that word. I know who my true family is. I know who loves me for me and will be there for me and has been in the last two years. When your child (or rather, not anymore) tells you they have a tumor or cancer, your fucking answer as a mother shouldn’t be so bland, blaming and “K”. That’s revolting.

So tack that on to the list. Thank fuck I have a wonderful therapist that I’m working with to move forward from their disgusting , toxic , and unhealthy life. I think that was the straw breaker I needed to push away from them for good.

I just wish I could get breaks. I’m already sick 24/7 all the time and can barely do the minimum. Now it’s worse. With medical stacked on top of personal, stacked on top of legal. It’s like I’m looking at a pile of manila folders that just keep getting more paperwork added to them when I’ve barely finished the first two papers. More just keeps on coming.

It’s not a far cry to say that what I’m feeling is normal, but I wish I couldn’t. Because I know it bothers everyone around me. And I know it annoys people when I message them 50 times a day or post stupid shit on Facebook or just generally act like a fucking dick. I wish I could stop it, like a flip of the switch. Instead the switch stays down and things just keep feeling and getting worse.

I honestly wish I didn’t have to take my meds. I wouldn’t if I had the choice. Because I hate the way it makes me feel and I hate how it doesn’t let me do a fucking thing. But I want to get back on my T. I don’t even care about anything else. It could kill me for all I care. That’s how far I’ve sunken. But again, that’s normal. That’s what cancer feels like. That’s what it sounds like. And that’s what it feels like. I didn’t think I could reach lower than rock bottom with my depression alone. Boy was I fucking wrong.

I’m grateful for my family. For Alex, for Dev, for Bobby, for Beta, for Sarah, for Rhi, and for literally everyone else at the Q whom I love and have been there for me more than anyone else in the last two years. But I feel like . . . I’m always too much. There’s always something with me and I’ve only known a handful of these people for a year (come June) and in that year alone so much up and down has happened. So much of the same shit. So many problems. So many annoyances. And this always happens. And then I always lose everyone. Because I’m too much to handle. I love everyone so much, but I’m afraid I’m going to be too much for them.

I won’t lie. I wish I could just throw away the meds and say “oops oh well guess I’ll get worse who cares?” but I can’t. Because I know that’s bad. I know we have to fix this. I know I’ll never get better or be able to get back on T if I don’t. And I know that pisses people off when I say that and say I don’t care and would rather just . . . be gone. But I want people to understand that it’s going to be my normal way of thinking right now.

There’s so much going on. I’m overwhelmed. And the fact that I have to keep up with shit while I’m out of state is so stressful. I don’t WANT to sit here and make 40 phone calls a day to figure out all this legal bull. It’s draining. And I can’t focus for more than five minutes on what’s going on and I can’t handle more manila folders stacking up. But I can’t wait until June to get anything done.

I just . . . . more than anything want people to understand why I’m feeling so fucked up and low. I know I can’t make them, but I want them to try at least. Or see what I’m saying and be like “Oh! That makes sense. I’m sorry.”
I just want to shut my brain off. For at least a day. But I can’t even have that. The only peace of mind I get is when I’m sleeping. You don’t think when you’re sleeping. You don’t see all your folders.

That is, not until you come back to the office the next day. And then you look at your stack of folders that just keeps growing.

Then you think to yourself: “Is it really worth it?”

The Egg Or The Cross?

I grew up not believing in the Easter Bunny. I grew up not believing in Santa. I grew up not believing in any of the things kids then and now to this day grow up having. That was just how it was.

Easter was about Jesus. Christmas was about Jesus. October 31st was “Satan’s Birthday” and I wasn’t allowed to participate in Halloween (my first Halloween was literally at 21). These are things I grew up ‘believing’ for lack of a better term. Not a holiday went by in my household that wasn’t about Jesus or the so-called Christian faith.

Easter growing up was always church first, then come home and do your gifts, dinner at whoever’s house, and that was it. You dressed up twenty times more than usual if that was even humanly possible, and you sat through the same exact Easter Sunday lesson as last year’s. And the year before that and the year before that and the year . . .

Every year, I think that holidays will be easier. I have a wonderful boyfriend with a family who does like me, amazing friends that I have made in the last year that have become my family, and so on. I don’t have the perfect life, but it’s good enough for me, no matter how badly I want to turn around and run. It doesn’t matter how big or small the holiday is. Each year when holidays come around, I hope that it’ll get just a little bit easier each time. Suffice to say that it has been, most years, but there’s still always that little . . . flicker. It’s like a light switch in the back of my brain. Sometimes it goes up. Sometimes it stays down. Sometimes it rapidly changes throughout the day.

Halloween used to be the worst. It’s my favorite holiday now because I am 100% gothy punk rock. Halloween is just my absolute aesthetic and I love everything about it. Up until I got with my boyfriend, I loved it subtly. After being with him for so long and seeing just how not-fucking-horrible Halloween was, I’m proud enough to say how much it’s become a favorite. But each year as it comes around, there’s still issues with my light switch. It’s gotten better as time went on but. It’s hard to keep it facing down most times.

Easter and Christmas are by no means any different. Seeing as how both of these holidays are centered around Jesus and Christianity. Of any branch. But the branch I grew up with and in is just . . . . so toxic. It’s so bad that it’s going to take me probably the rest of my life or at the very least ten to twenty years to repair. I may have a working light switch on one side of my brain, but on the other it’s totally smashed to pieces. You know that video of Chris Pratt goofing up on the set of Parks & Rec where he throws the briefcase over a desk and at a light? Then it smashes and everything turns off? That’s the other side of my brain when it comes to Their “religion” and certain holidays.

This Easter is no different with that. However, it is different in setting and it’s a setting I could not be happier with. My current roommates are all out with their families. And while at first I had that tiny, burning pang of jealousy in my chest, (because heck, they actually have parents and relatives who fucking love them and give a shit about them. ) it soon went away when I realized what a better Easter I would have with just me and my boyfriend. Me, him, my cat Dylan, and my one roommate’s kitties. Sure, I could sit here and wonder all day about Them and Their plans and Their dinner. But it’s not going to help me at all. And it’s not going to fix the one light switch or turn off or on the other.

By all means, I do not mean to judge harshly on those who do celebrate Easter with a religion. But you have to understand my way about it, too. I was holed up in the house as a child because of it. I went to church every single frickin’ Sunday morning, evening and Wednesday nights. I was told what to do. What not to do. Who I talked to was either wrong or right. Only certain holidays were allowed. Santa, the Easter Bunny, all those childhood things were just not things I grew up with. I never went out on Halloween, but instead sat in a dark house with the TVs on low and do not answer the doors or make a sound. Make sure it seems like we aren’t home. Either that, or we (again) went to church for the “alternative” to Halloween (aka: Harvest Parties). I did not have the childhood everyone else did, both being a child of religious upbringing (toxic, mind you), and being hospitalized almost every week.

If you celebrate Easter with faith, then by all means. That’s perfectly okay!!! But don’t forget that there are people out here who are adults now who may have not had the joys of Easter, Christmas, Halloween, Valentine’s Day, etc in their childhoods. And if you celebrate Easter or Christmas with a religion AND the cute fantasy tales, then my god! That’s so cool! Because in my life, it was one or the other. I would hear constantly in services that “Yeah the Easter Bunny (or) Santa is fun for the kids and all that but it’s not about that! It’s about Jesus/God. That’s what it really is.” It was like . . . like you weren’t allowed to have fun with the amazing fantasy fun idea of the holidays that come around. You had to pick.

The egg or the cross?

The nativity or the reindeer?

The dark house or the church harvest parties?

Maybe I didn’t have a terrible childhood/upbringing. But it sure as fuck has been damaging. The more I think back on it and the older I get. The more disdain I get for being transgender and an active LGBTQ community member. The more hurt I get, the more mouth I hear . . . the more it comes around from not only my own head, but from experiencing and hearing it from people around me who still are around Them. It’s more than enough to say the upbringing was toxic and mentally abusive, if not also emotionally. And not just for the sake of holidays/religion. In so many more ways than one.

But for holidays especially, for me, it’s a project. I’m grateful enough to be away from That and have my boyfriend here this year in a house that I feel safe and 100% loved in. Where I don’t have to question what I’m going to be called today. Where I know what my pronouns are and I will hear them. Where I know people truly do care for me, about me, and love me for every single piece of me. No matter how I dress, how I speak, what I talk about, where I go, and so on.

It’s going to take me a while to sift through all the drama and heartache from Them. Holidays, especially. Most days I wish I could keep the light switch facing down, or attempt to tape up the busted Chris Pratt one. But I know it’s going to take time and I’m grateful for having a wonderful therapist so far.

As you celebrate this Easter Sunday, please remember. It’s okay for others to feel and be hurt. It’s okay if they don’t want to go to dinner for whatever reason. It’s okay if they don’t feel safe. It’s okay if they completely hate the idea of Easter altogether. Whatever their reasons, please do respect and love them. It may not be what you think, and you may just need to talk about it or seek alternatives. Remember some of us who had a toxic religious upbringing who may either despise certain holidays, or chose to go about it in a different way in order to feel relief.

That being said, I hope that everyone has a safe and happy Easter. Whether you believe in the Easter Bunny, in Jesus and his resurrection, or maybe even both, I hope that you have a day filled with good food, fun, and surrounded by people who love and care about you.

The egg or the cross?

Neither. I chose love.

 

Don’t Be Scared. It’s Normal.

I made a post on here a few weeks ago, announcing my top surgery day and how I felt surrounding it. It’s been almost a little over two weeks since said surgery day has happened and there’s still a lot of feeling around the whole thing.

Let me start off by saying that I read an article last night browsing on my Facebook from FTM Magazine that touched a bit on post surgery depression. Before surgery, I was experiencing pre surgery depression and anxiety. Of which were completely normal after speaking with a few brothers and friends about how I felt. I figured as much, honestly. Secondly let me state that the article in question (which I will link below this write-up) was totally accurate. It was a total  nail hit on the head , I won’t lie. It completely explained why I have been feeling so exhausted and bleh. I have also been super irritable feeling towards everyone (ie. housemates, friends, the cats, my boyfriend and so on . . .) and everything as of late. The constant on and off sleeping (it is 3:30am as I began writing this. I went to bed at 9PM and only slept up until about midnight.) Plus being under house arrest for the latter of the two weeks after March 9th makes a person want to yank their hair out. I’m not much for being a homebody most of the time. I like to go out and have my walks and socializing.

The thing with major surgery is that it takes a lot of of you, and I should know from experience. It is a huge tolling experience for a quite a while. Your body has to have time to heal from trauma, and with that comes a lot of other physical and also mental exhaustion. Add on the stress of life and things going on with me personally right now, pain medications, and not being able to sleep properly or comfortably. Well, you get my drift. It makes for a wonderful Misery Soup.

I’m happy I got my surgery, do not get me wrong. It’s something I worked very hard to get and took a lot of struggle for me to get here. I’m so glad it happened. I’m so glad for the people who helped me get here. I’m so happy with my loving support the day it came. True be it that I can’t show a lot of emotion right now for it what with between exhaustion, pain pills every six hours, and lots of stress and little to no sleep, I am very happy and thrilled to have gotten to this point in my journey of life.

When you read the article, it explained how this person felt the day before, of, and after their top surgery. All of which were 100% valid and 100% accurate with me as well. People came to me asking me if I was excited or I must be vibrating with happiness and honestly? I wasn’t. And that sounds so shitty to say, but it was a normal feeling. A lot of transfolks who come to with their surgery, even hours before it happens (like the article stated) feel the same exact way. I wasn’t alone and suddenly I didn’t feel like such a bad person for not exuberating pure rainbows and sparkles for this big event in my life. I almost felt like a hypocrite. After all the fight and tears and struggle, I should have been nothing but a shining example of excitement. But I wasn’t. Not until the IV went into my arm did I feel some small semblance of happiness and excitement along with anxiety and nerves. I’ve had 33 surgeries throughout my 25 years of life. And they all felt the same. Top surgery was no exception.

I know that after another two to three weeks of annoyance, I’ll start really feeling good. It’ll sink in more and more every time I look at myself and each time I see more healing throughout the rest of this year. But for right now, it’s okay. I can feel these things. I can feel nothing, in fact. I can be annoyed with the process and life. I can feel a little agitated and stir crazy. I can sleep for five hours, stay up the rest of the day and repeat the cycle for the time being. I can take my meds, I can cry, I can be irritable, I can just be for now. I try not to be, honestly, however. I don’t want to be in a bad mood, but it’s understandable I should hope. In 25 years having 33 surgeries and being in and out of hospitals and bad health problems, I know for a fact this is okay. It’s totally normal. Your body doesn’t know how to handle or process extreme trauma and life changes that comes with surgery and medical ordeals. It’s a lot to handle and process. It’s a lot for your body to rejuvenate.

So if you’re a transgender identifying person looking to get their surgery and are worried or scared about the post or even pre surgery depression/anxiety: it’s okay. It’s totally normal, it’s completely valid, and you are not a bad person for thinking or feeling the way that you are. Take it from someone who knows from several experiences with surgery and most recently, yes, with top surgery. Take it from several of other transfolks who had their surgery and went through the same thing.

It’s 100% normal. It’s 100% okay. And I’m proud of you for being you.

 

Article: https://ftmmagazine.com/post-op-depression/

It’s Gonna Be Bad Tonight

Tomorrow I will be having top surgery. This is a common procedure for most trans identifying persons and sometimes even some non binary people. And while I’m super excited and can’t wait to see what all of my years of struggle will finally unfold for me, it’s also . . . terrifying. There’s a lot of mixed emotions going on and no, I don’t mean bad. And I don’t say that because I’m going to ‘regret it.’ Anything big like that, you’re going to get a fuck ton of emotions coming at you. This is especially evident for me with my whole . . . lack of familial support and all.

I have fought for a long time in being who I am. And it took me even longer to get just shy of 22 hours away from surgery. The most major surgery I could ever hope to get in my freedom and in being myself. And it’s okay to have all of these feelings. It’s okay to feel like you’re on a roller coaster. That doesn’t mean you’re wanting to back out. It doesn’t mean you think you’re going to regret it. Anyone would feel this much range of emotions after fighting for so long and having the hard road I’ve been on. Especially if you also don’t have any immediate family support. I don’t know everyone’s story, but that doesn’t matter. Even if you do have the support, feeling those range of emotions is totally normal. And I just have to remind myself of this. And that it’s okay.

I’m excited. I’m beyond excited. But I’m also very stressed out and nervous. I mean, who isn’t with surgery? But with this big of a change, it’s ten fold. But I know once it’s all over and done and I’ve come that far across the line, I’ll feel better. Not immediately, no, but I will feel better.

I wish I had more support coming with me. I wish I had what I used to. I’m never going to stop saying that. I’ll eventually stop thinking that, sure. But nothing is going to change the fact that it’s not going to happen. I’m very grateful for my boyfriend coming tomorrow, yes, along with one other additional support. But it’s not the same as anyone else. Not the same as Them. And it never will be. And people understand that. The biggest point in my life and my transitioning and the people who should care about me the most no matter what will not be around. And that’s . . . that’s foreign to me. And even though I know everyone else is more of a family to me than They ever will be now, it’s still tough. I’m lucky to have them all. I love them all. They’ve all done more for me than I could ever hope in the last few years and the last year to be more recent. It’s just different. It’s . . . it’s upsetting. I won’t lie.

Today’s my last day with boobs. It is my last full day wearing a binder. And honestly, I’ve never been more relieved, scared, nervous, and excited in my life. Knowing the face of America today terrifies me as my surgery approaches. Knowing that if I’m ever around Them, taking my shirt off is going to be a whole new warhead path. Knowing that I could be at any moment in any kind of danger is nerve wrecking. Feeling how They are talking about or approaching tomorrow is sickening. There’s so much going on around me and in my head that it’s causing a flood of emotions. And again, that’s okay. I can’t celebrate as much as I’d have loved to. With people I thought maybe I would have made progress with. But I can celebrate with those who truly love , care , and accept me. I’m not a side show. I’m not something to pray about. I’m not a passing ‘fad’. I’m not changing my mind. I’ve come this far. I’m never going back.

I am who I am. And I have fought blood, sweat, tears, tooth, nail, legal systems, friends, people abroad, doctors, pharmacies, insurances, myself even, and hopping from living space to living space just to keep my sanity and stay away from Them permanently. I put my foot down a long time ago. It’s not coming up now.

Tomorrow is going to be the biggest day of my life. It’s going to be the most important day of my transitioning journey. And today is going to be one hell of a rollercoaster.

And that’s more than okay.

It’s Okay, I’m Not Mad

On the contrary, I am quite the opposite. I’m proud of you and happy for you. I’m so excited that you’ve accomplished so much. And I can’t wait to see where it all takes you.

No, I’m not mad. Mad is what I would have felt maybe last year, or the year before. Mad is what I would have allowed myself to feel maybe even mere months ago. And it’s okay. It’s okay to not be mad. Because I’m not.

What I am, it is not the same as mad. It’s a fine line in between mad and sad. It’s this weird limbo effect that you can’t explain. Hell, you don’t even know if there’s a word for it, but there probably is. It’s a murky, numb feeling. It’s a feeling that makes you look at the world and look at your hands and think ‘Why?’ ‘What did I do wrong?’ ‘What could I have done differently?’ ‘Would I be happier if I did things another way?’ ‘Would I be okay?’ ‘Would things be better?’

No. No, no, no I’m not mad. Not even a little bit. I’m frustrated. I’m bitter. I’m sad. And I’m hurt. But don’t misjudge my words before. I am also proud, glad, and wish you well.

But I also know the price of what has happened. I know what the joys are. And I know what the befallen is. I know in my heart that being proud of one while resenting and demeaning the other is the path you’ve so very obviously chosen. It’s a line well crossed onto the farthest side from me. It’s a picture painted that you’re getting everything you wanted now, but none of it was the person you so truly believed would have. It’s a celebration on the behalf of those who worked so hard and became your picture of perfection and glory. And on the other, it’s a loss and a despising glance for the one you see as ruining their very existence and living in the black pit of wrongness.

No. I am not mad. I wish you well and I hope that you get everything you’ve ever wanted and I truly hope that you are everything they wanted. I hope you succeed above all else and I hope that you get to experience wonderful things in this life. I also hope that you thrive, you live, and you breathe what’s all around you. Don’t close your mind off like them. Be open, be accepting, be loving, and be ready. The world is not as black and white as you know it to be. And the world doesn’t revolve around one singular race or orientation. Open your heart, and you’ll find yourself among the best of the best. I hope that day comes for you.

So celebrate in your successes, and say how proud you are. I know I am, but I know what the far reached of your minds are also thinking. What a difference between the two and what a huge failure one over the other has become. How you wish my life was infinitely more different than that of what is happening now. How you wish that I would have turned around and ran backwards. How I should have just . . . stopped living. Stopped breathing. Stop being me. It’s a loss and it’s a failure you can’t seem to let go. But it’s okay. I’m not mad.

I like it here. And I like it here a lot. It’s not always easy, but it’s the best and happiest I have felt or been in a very long time. I have experiences I never thought possible. I have friends who love me and understand my best and worst. I have a wonderful boyfriend, amazing chances, and even more still yet to come. I love it here. And I wish you could, too.

So no. I’m not mad. Not even a little bit. The hatred and hurt in my heart and chest have become too much to carry anymore. It becomes sadness, it becomes a numbing distance throb. It becomes longing and wishful thinking. It just becomes heavy until something pulls my mind away from it all. So don’t worry.

Because no, I’m not mad.

I am just balanced. I am collected. I am rational.

And those, oh all of those. They are all simply just the opposite.