When it counts, I have always been able to keep it together. Even while teaching, even the weeks after Laura broke up with me when I was just starting and I was filled with terror, when I couldn't eat or sleep, I never missed a day, I never failed to do what needed to be done. I might not have done it particularly well, but it was not for lack of trying [at least, as far as I "try" at most anything]. In high school and undergrad, I did not miss days. I missed class to work the 2006 and 2008 elections, and I may have skipped one or two classes after all nighters.
Apparently, though, things no longer "count" because I am feel I am falling apart. That's melodramatic, naturally. But I find myself nervous to whole new extents around people I don't trust, recently. To wit, this morning I was helping my mom with volunteer work she does every December in connection with church and all of the new people there really got to me. Someone asked me to buy them donuts, and I was acutely aware that (1) I do what I'm told and (2) I hate being told to do things because that just gives me an opportunity to disappoint someone else. I weathered *that* storm, and went to my grandfather's to watch football. That was alright; he feels obligated to make more small talk now that I'm transitioned, probably because I make him nervous. But when my aunt, uncle, and great aunt unexpectedly arrived, I was terrified. I practically started crying on the way home. Not because they said anything [other than calling me "Dylan"], but because I am so convinced that I make them uncomfortable and feel compelled to leave lest I ruin more for them.
And I leave and part of me feels angry, coming up with various arguments and rationales for why what I'm doing is *not* something that should make others uncomfortable etc etc, but I know as soon as I am with any of them that I will go back to giving them every benefit of a doubt and being calm and quiet.
And I think the biggest change, really, is that I *feel* as if people are noticing me more. I can't evade like I used to, can't be invisible because my very presence asserts itself by virtue of who I am [or was]. And partly that's the spotlight effect, it's paranoia, but partly? Partly, it's true. They do talk. They are uneasy. Whereas in my teenage years my monstrousness was largely a figment of my abused imagination, now it is reflected in their eyes.
Of course, it's also because they sense *I'm* nervous, so they get nervous too. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy: I think they don't want to be around me so I get uncomfortable and visibly shaken and they get uncomfortable by my discomfort and and and. *But it's not just that*. Even if I could act and fake it like I used to, they *are* thinking and talking and judging and-
And I dash home. Leaving home, now, is so draining. This constant hypersensitivity. And I admire more and more those who transition without any kind of "break" [often because you can keep your job if you transition while you're on it, but it's more difficult to get hired anew; hence, one of the many reasons I haven't even bothered looking for employment]. And I worry, I wonder how I'll handle school. And working. And.... life. And I know that I do what needs to be done. I cram the fears and insecurities and anxieties somewhere inside me and I press forth. But right now? Right now, without that exigence, I'm not. I'm scared. I'm lonely. I'm angry. I'm tired. And I'm so many horrible things. Because I have the freedom to be this way.
Lucky me.
Apparently, though, things no longer "count" because I am feel I am falling apart. That's melodramatic, naturally. But I find myself nervous to whole new extents around people I don't trust, recently. To wit, this morning I was helping my mom with volunteer work she does every December in connection with church and all of the new people there really got to me. Someone asked me to buy them donuts, and I was acutely aware that (1) I do what I'm told and (2) I hate being told to do things because that just gives me an opportunity to disappoint someone else. I weathered *that* storm, and went to my grandfather's to watch football. That was alright; he feels obligated to make more small talk now that I'm transitioned, probably because I make him nervous. But when my aunt, uncle, and great aunt unexpectedly arrived, I was terrified. I practically started crying on the way home. Not because they said anything [other than calling me "Dylan"], but because I am so convinced that I make them uncomfortable and feel compelled to leave lest I ruin more for them.
And I leave and part of me feels angry, coming up with various arguments and rationales for why what I'm doing is *not* something that should make others uncomfortable etc etc, but I know as soon as I am with any of them that I will go back to giving them every benefit of a doubt and being calm and quiet.
And I think the biggest change, really, is that I *feel* as if people are noticing me more. I can't evade like I used to, can't be invisible because my very presence asserts itself by virtue of who I am [or was]. And partly that's the spotlight effect, it's paranoia, but partly? Partly, it's true. They do talk. They are uneasy. Whereas in my teenage years my monstrousness was largely a figment of my abused imagination, now it is reflected in their eyes.
Of course, it's also because they sense *I'm* nervous, so they get nervous too. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy: I think they don't want to be around me so I get uncomfortable and visibly shaken and they get uncomfortable by my discomfort and and and. *But it's not just that*. Even if I could act and fake it like I used to, they *are* thinking and talking and judging and-
And I dash home. Leaving home, now, is so draining. This constant hypersensitivity. And I admire more and more those who transition without any kind of "break" [often because you can keep your job if you transition while you're on it, but it's more difficult to get hired anew; hence, one of the many reasons I haven't even bothered looking for employment]. And I worry, I wonder how I'll handle school. And working. And.... life. And I know that I do what needs to be done. I cram the fears and insecurities and anxieties somewhere inside me and I press forth. But right now? Right now, without that exigence, I'm not. I'm scared. I'm lonely. I'm angry. I'm tired. And I'm so many horrible things. Because I have the freedom to be this way.
Lucky me.
oh Juliet, Coming to grips with the "I make them uncomfortable" is so difficult. I do not do it well yet either. The visibility feels strange, to finally exist. I guess the thing that helps me remember is that when it matters, when I wake up in the morning by myself- I feel comfortable. When I stop worrying about anybody else. I feel real. Its easy for that to fade when you sense the angst of the people you've always been so focused on pleasing.
You are what matters.
:) I'm thinking of you.
You're not alone in this.
-Reid