Just needing to vent
Incoming incoherent rambling and venting, so bear with me, and not knowing if there's a better place to post this, and I mean not to offend anyone in posting this.
I first became aware that I felt differently from my peers when I was around 10 years old.
It's been 30 years since.
I haven't tried transitioning - I'm not brave enough, and some part of me can't help but whisper how I'd never achieve the desired results, that my chance has passed me by.
I've not even spoken to another soul in the world about how I've felt this entire time.
For the most part of my life I believed that my dysphoria has been mild, or moderate at its worst. I could handle it most days, and for some blessed weeks it would almost vanish entirely - but it always comes back - and its so weird, this relationship I have with it. Given the chance to get rid of it, if it meant nothing else about me changed, I wouldn't as fucked up as that is. Some crazy part of me is almost thankful that I've got it, because it means that in some small way that I'm a part of this wonderful little community, and it does my heart and soul wonders to see how happy transitioning makes those who can, as if I can vicariously experience their joy.
I look on at the younger crowd these days and wish I'd had the courage to speak up for myself. I find myself jealous, that even despite the difficulties with the politics, the outright hatred, and other associated bullshit, that these younger people are finding the courage to speak up for themselves, and live the lives they were meant to, and I find myself wishing that I'd been born just a little later, that maybe I'd have found the courage to raise my voice alongside all the others these days.
I remained quiet, though, and it came with a cost. I've spent 30 years lying to both myself, to all my friends and family, my wife and I've pretended that I don't have the feelings or experiences that I do. It's like I've put on a masculine facade, and said, yep, this'll work just fine for the next several decades.
I have relegated myself to believing that the only life for me lays in being whom I was born as. I've contained my feelings for so long that it's breaking me apart from the inside - and it hurts. God does it hurt. It hurts more than I ever think I've consciously realized just endlessly piling up while I chose to look away from it. Lately it seems like I'm about to fall apart, but I can't. People are depending on me to remain stoic, for the time being at least, maybe later I can find the time to just fall to pieces and pick myself back up again.
I type this with shaking hands and tears down my face.
I thought myself strong enough to handle it. I thought that my dysphoria was more or less contained. I think i was wrong.
Fuck.