I thought I had a handle on things this past week.
I was wrong.
Sitting here I realize there are things about my mind I simply don’t understand.
I know at this point living life full time as myself isn’t an option I can turn on or off at a whim, it is a matter of life and death. Yet I have something deep inside which insists I could in fact continue living the lie which has broken me more than once, nearly killed me and has left me an emotional wreck. A lie which has stolen more from me than I could ever hope to understand let alone explain.
Why do I wake each day and tell myself I can survive a little longer without transitioning?
This isn’t what I was going to post but as usual I began to overthink things…
There are many things I have to work on besides being trans. What I know, deep down is it won’t matter one bit if I woke up tomorrow as a biological woman, these things will continue to cause me serious issues.
I hope you won’t mind if I share some of them here, maybe putting them into words will help me put things into perspective…
Even beyond my spotty memory, I know deep down my mother made sure I understood how little she thought of me, of how much I complicated her life and how unhappy she was to be reminded daily of the man she felt made a fool of her. I can’t point to too many instances in which she made this clear, though there were several, I do know she conveyed her feelings with a look or tone of voice.
One thing is sure, I had no doubt I was worthless in her eyes. That anything which made her unhappy was somehow my fault simply by existing. If anything went wrong, I must have had something to do with it. I think this was reinforced by my aunt and later by one of my cousins, not yo mention her friends who I am sure she spoke to at length about how much of a troublesome burden I was…
Speaking to my therapist I realized how much this affected me, still affects me to this day.
I still feel as if I am the source for any unhappiness those around me may experience. I am sure if anything goes wrong, it is my fault… as if the emotions of everyone is my responsibility. Far too many times I find myself thinking their lives would be so much better if I wasn’t here… or if I had never been born in the first place…
It isn’t sensible, it isn’t even understandable much of the time, but I cannot shake the feeling it my own selfishness which has lead to so much. If I had been thinking of those around me, instead of my own desires, how many things would I have not done? How much would have been left unsaid? How many people would have never have been hurt?
My therapist believes everyone has an inherent worth and maybe she’s right… for everyone except me of course, because no matter how logical, I am certain I am worthless and undeserving of redemption.
The note was draped casually on my husband’s pillow but I was the first to see it.