Folks, I actually wish I hadn’t said anything in that class about me being detransitioned. I hadn’t realized how much I’ve used leaving this autobiographical fact out of my daily life to be protected from my own emotions about it. I’ve had a really hard time getting myself to that class since. My anxiety about what my classmates think of me is pretty intense right now. They’re sweethearts by the way, no one has been weird. And yet! When I walk towards the classroom I literally catch myself saying, out loud, “Oh no.”
I feel really tired at the moment. I need a therapist to process this with. And to give me guidance on having a dissociative disorder. I absolutely am scared whatever therapist I find will be unable to accept that I’m not trans. What’s WEIRD is that I am way more scared of a female therapist in this regard. I think a male therapist would actually get it right away. Female therapists just seem so invested in the defender of trans people/ midwife of your “true self” role. Also since so many liberal ladies fetishized me while I was trans the thought of telling this all to a concerned therapist lady feels more dangerous. I know most of you readers are women. No, you don’t feel dangerous to me. I guess because I believe that you believe me when I say I was having trauma symptoms, and thus I pretty much trust those trauma symptoms aren’t sexily intriguing to you.
I’m so happy that when I’m on the yoga mat I can work on this stuff without having to manage another person’s narrative about me. I am so, so, so glad I’m doing yoga. I am SO GLAD I stopped going to those pole dancing classes. I was trying to make a good story happen there that wasn’t actually happening. Well, I do think the checking in with my sweaty palms thing was helpful. And I do think hanging off a pole while sexy music plays is a lot of fun. But the atmosphere of that studio I was going to had a lot of girl-hierarchy that felt like middle school and high school, and that was not fun to be around. Girl-hierarchy is pretty scary to me. The only thing scarier to me than being in a girl hierarchy is occupying the “trophy sex partner” role for the girls in that hierarchy. I think the reason why being cast in that role as a trans guy was so darkly horrifying was because I was running from all my sexual trauma with transition.You run from it, it will chase you.
Folks, I think I’m still fucked up from my time being trans. I think it’s less than ideal to be so scared of women. I know it’s less than ideal to have such anxious fallout just from sharing an experience in class.
And you know, bathroom stuff is all over my facebook. The macro-context I’m trying to get my head straight in is less than ideal. My micro-context is getting a lot better for my healing but let’s be real about how shitty it is to be going through this at this particular historical moment. Let’s just call that a trail-blazer problem, that will make me feel stronger about the whole thing.
Sometimes trans/queer people I know from California like an instagram post of mine and I’m like, “Wait, YOU still have a window into my life?!” Especially when they like a selfie I have this reflexive “Get the fuck away from me!” feeling. I blocked one of them recently, this trans guy who was an ok person, a fine person, nothing particularly offensive about him. But it’s like, ugh, I went through a bunch of shit and knowing you didn’t help at all, get the fuck out of here.
I turn 34 this week. I’m trying to feel ok about where I’m at in life. I’m trying not to blame myself for being behind. But yeah, I feel really behind. I feel like developmentally I’m where I should’ve been at 27. Which makes sense since that’s about when I started to really obsess about being trans.
At least Beyonce released “Lemonade” last weekend. That lady is a real blessing. I did a bunch of planking exercises to “Don’t Hurt Yourself,” and it was wonderful. POWER. My body is a powerful body! I am a powerful person! Even while the world whirls around me, I have a strong core and it gets stronger everyday. I don’t need the power-over bullshit, I don’t need everyone to agree with me, I don’t need life to be easy (especially since it’s obvious life has no plans of being easy). I just gotta keep being the bad motherfucker I have ample evidence I am.
(Sorry about using the word “motherfucker.” It’s from the song.)
When you play me, you play yourself. Try not to play yourself.
When you love me, you love yourself. Love God Herself.
God Herself does tend to give me a Beyonce album when She knows I particularly need it.
All I can do is keep doing yoga, keep listening to Beyonce, keep praying those rosaries, keep going to work, keep making it to class, keep off of facebook. Trust game strong as my abdominal muscles.