preaching to the dead horse but its soso crazy how the normal amount of wanting to become a girl as a cis guy is just flat zero?? like guys just never want to do that ever. i cant imagine it i cant. does it not sound fun. does becoming a girl just not sound like a fun time at all. to cis guys. is that it. i dont think so it cant be. not yrue
basically a diary entry with some creative writing. things are changing fast and I took some time to reflect on things today which I wanna do more often.
tws: blood, mention of domestic violence. nothing too explicit
I walked to the edge of the pier and breathed in the cold, fresh air. Something inside of me seemed to crackle. I listened to the waves for a while, emptying my mind except for the wisps of power that stirred. I stoked the embers with each breath, concentrating on the image that slowly began to fill in. I drew from everything I could remember. Childhood walks, looking for cats in the streets outside of the middle school. A first New Years kiss. Arguments. Traded blows. Vows. The shape of me began to form... it started small and bright and warm, and then it became smaller and dim. More memories flew through my mind, and I watched as the edges of my shape grow thick. Something would smash against it, denting it inwards, and the walls grew thicker in response. The sound of an ambulance came and went. When it went, I could barely see myself underneath the shell.
It’s there that I stopped. I held that image in my mind and opened my eyes. A door had appeared in front of me, a modern-looking red. Numbers floated to the right of it - 306.
I shook, knowing full well what was on the other side of that door. The magic wouldn’t last for long, so I steeled myself. The keys to my old apartment at the Square appeared in my hands. I pressed the fob to the reader under the handle. A familiar beep chirped. I hesitated for a moment, and then pushed the door open.
The shape of me had their back to the door. I didn’t know if they heard me come in, and if I spoke, I didn’t know if they’d be able to hear or see me, either. Their shoulders were hunched. In their right hand was a rag that they had just wrung dry over the bowl that was on the ground near their feet, the water in it dyed a light shade of red. The blood on the walls and floors and furniture was still mostly untouched.
I looked small indeed. The ghost of that rag lingered in my hands, and I could feel its dampness myself. I knew how dark that bowl of water got.
“… it gets better,” I whisper.
No response. I smiled weakly, honestly relieved. It was just as well. I didn’t think I knew what to say, anyway. How many years would it would take for a future me to know how to comfort the me in this moment? Certainly not three. But this spell was not for them. It was for me.
I circled the scene, letting the feelings of hopelessness try to worm their way back into me. I raised my guard and my breath, then came to a stop behind my shape. I extended a hand, placing it on the back of their neck.
A bitter cold rushed towards me. I fought.
To the heaviness - I accept you.
To the tears - flow free.
To the struggles yet to come - you’ll give it everything you have and more.
To the self, somewhere in there - how beautiful you really are.
Finally, to that shell, those layers of protection that guarded my heart for years upon years- I don’t need you anymore.
The memory shattered as my energies exhausted, and I collapsed onto my knees and sobbed.
———— ———
I’m thinking a lot about that shell today. In a sense, I’ve done a really great job climbing out of it - becoming more expressive, finding so much more joy in life, being willing to take chances and love myself and love the people around me. But there are other moments… when I’m trying to express myself but I can’t find the words… when I’m trying to live in the joy of a moment and I find myself feeling haunted… when a shadow begins to question everything that I’ve built since harder times… moments that I realize that it still follows me like a phantom. It’s encoded itself into my neurons. It changes how I experience joy and how I communicate.
And of course it’s still there! I lived for over a decade with that shell, and I needed it! Even if I don’t need it anymore, it will linger. It will take time to unlearn. I wish I could cast a spell or go to a therapy session and shed it for good, but things just don’t work that way. But at least the intent is there. At least I’m working on it. And at least, beyond all doubts, in my heart I know that what I’m going through now and the path I’m set on is right.
The me now is small and bright and warm anew, like a little tattoo of the sun on a wrist.
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