I gotta cop to having some intense feelings this week. I know I need to concentrate on detransition stuff. I need to focus up.
I just feel so sad. I’m sad to have been right to be freaked out in the fall. I’m sad I can’t protect the female comics in this scene. I can barely protect myself.
I always wanted to be a protector. I think that’s how I started being a real goofy little kid, I started being goofy to defuse the fights my mom and sister were all too willing to escalate.
But I also wanted to be protected. I just wanted someone in that job.
It would be great if more people wanted to protect more people. I guess me wanting to have a protector is an immature urge. I guess I’m fundamentally responsible for my own safety.
Since the incident in the fall I’ve thought a lot more about the guy who went upstairs than the guy who laid down on me. The guy who went upstairs makes me feel worse about myself. Like, man. Like, you knew me for so many years. Like, shit. You just went right on upstairs.
I mean, maybe he thought I was feeling the dude who laid on me.
Ugh, it doesn’t matter, it was coming up on a year ago. I just feel sad. I feel sad at my own limitations.
I got an ask about when I identified as a trans gay guy. Lots of teenage girls wanting to be trans gay guys these days. I’ll write about it or make a video soon. (I’m waiting on a better mic before making another video.) I was in a kind of intense relationship when I was first transitioning with a transmasculine genderqueer person, and we were all about being gay dudes, and thinking about it in retrospect it makes me feel really sad. They were all about me transitioning, and it was an eroticized dynamic in our relationship, me changing my body and them “affirming” my masculinity.
But the thing was about 4 months after we broke up I sent them a really desperate email when I was really disassociating and suicidal, and a week later they wrote me back to say not to write them again. Around this same time the straight boy I had very confusingly fallen for in Cleveland, under the influence of testosterone and a lot of weed, made a joke on my instagram about me killing myself.
So I know it seems really interesting and backwards that a straight girl would try to build a life where she was a gay dude, but when I think about this stuff in my life I just think about the discovery of that fall, which was that these people I thought cared a lot about me would’ve been a-ok with me killing myself. Maybe that’s unfair. They must not have considered me seriously at risk for killing myself. But folks, I was VERY at risk for killing myself. I was thinking about it all the damn time. I must be really annoying when I’m suicidally depressed, because no one wanted anything to do with me. My roommates were straight laughing at me every time I wandered upstairs, because I guess a really stoned and sad looking trans guys is a really funny sight.
Sometimes when I think about that fall it’s like there’s another universe where another version of me is still in Berkeley, stoned and very, very sad, and realizing all these people she thought had her back did not, and I just want to scoop her out of there. Just scoop her up and be like, “Future you cares about you even though none of these people do!”
Both that guy and that genderqueer person had been intensely supportive of my transition. Right up to that point, when it got tough. Oh gosh. People. When I visited California this past spring I texted that genderqueer person I had been in love with, to see if they wanted to get together (what did I think I’d get out of that?), and they wrote back, “Are you ok?”
I guess now that I’m detransitioned I’m way more worrying than when I was constantly depersonalized and weeping and hiding away in a basement while I was trans. Whatever. I have had huge feelings for some dumbasses in my time. When I think about my dating history that’s actually what’s most interesting to me about it- not the orientation change, not all the genders occupied. Just that across all genders and orientations I hand my heart over to some real unaware self-involved people.
I thought me and that guy who went upstairs were on a date. What is up with my rose colored glasses? How am I so out of touch that I can think I’m on a date with a dude who’s conspiring to give another dude the chance to get me alone? Why did I think those people cared about me when they didn’t? How have I fallen for so many obvious scams in my time?
I’ll write soon about why I thought I could make a life as a gay trans guy. I just gotta forgive myself for being stupid. Desperation and stupidity can look a lot alike. I gotta forgive myself for being so desperate to be cared about. I gotta forgive myself for wanting to be someone new. I gotta forgive myself for wanting someone to find me special. Then maybe some day in the future I can forgive all those people who let me believe what I wanted to believe.