u/venusnocturnaa

Soy una mujer trans y llevo 4 años en hormonas, tengo cisspasing(nadie nota que soy trans) si es que le pongo esfuerzo😅, hay dias donde me da lo mismo y no me arreglo.

Por suerte nunca he tenido ningún problema tanto en chile como en australia donde viví dos años, cuando debo usar un baño público aveces me da miedo, pero siempre me obligó a entrar.

Sin embargo aveces si noto miradas, quizas me veo muy bien, quizas me veo muy mal, quizas se dan cuenta? Intento no pensar mucho en eso por que me da disforia.

Como reaccionan ustedes cuando ven a una mujer trans en el baño de mujeres?

Her and I, fifteen years ago.

I met her when I was fifteen years old on esoteric forums. She was fifteen too. Back then, I was somewhat known in that world, and we started talking almost immediately. Before long, we realized we lived over 700 kilometers apart — an impossible distance for two teenagers, yet we still fell into a long-distance relationship.

The feelings grew frighteningly fast. Within just a few weeks, we were already saying “I love you.” She was my first relationship; I was not hers.

Near where she lived, there was a friend of mine — seven years older than her, already an adult. I asked him to please look after her for me.

Three months later, she broke up with me.

I eventually learned that during her birthday, my friend had confessed his feelings to her, and she accepted him. My heart shattered into a thousand pieces. I cried, I insulted people, I completely lost myself for a while. Still, considering it was my first heartbreak, I think I survived the grief relatively well.

But only two weeks later, she came back.

She told me she missed me, that things were not the same with him, that she still loved me. And I fell for it again. We decided to get back together, but I demanded she end things with him first.

She hesitated because she “didn’t want to hurt him.” I remember thinking: But you hurt me without hesitation.

In the end, he broke up with her himself a few days later. Apparently, he was terrified of me. What angered me most was not even the relationship itself, but the fact that he ended it instead of her.

Not long after, we started making plans to finally meet in person. Then I found out she had slept with him while they were together.

That broke something inside me.

But I stayed anyway.

Eventually, she ran away from home just to see me. No one ever found out. We spent a day and a night together, and for me, it felt magical. After that, we saw each other many more times.

Until one year later, she left me again.

This time, I did not survive the grief well.

She kept messaging me every other day. My body would literally shake whenever I saw her name appear on my screen. I begged her to stop talking to me because it was destroying me. She would answer that if I truly loved her, I wouldn’t want her gone.

Looking back now, I realize how manipulative that was.

Still, she continued reaching out whenever she needed help with esoteric matters. Were there other people she could have asked? Absolutely. But she always came back to me.

Years passed, and the truth is, I never fully forgot her. I never processed the breakup properly. Every now and then, she would return to my mind like an old wound reopening.

Then, years later, I discovered she had been logging into my Facebook account to read my private conversations.

That… destroyed me in a completely different way.

I felt humiliated beyond words. Those conversations were deeply personal, intimate pieces of my life. Of course I should have changed my password after the breakup. I know that now.

Fifteen years passed.

Things eventually improved. I built a life. I entered a wonderful relationship that has now lasted four years. But then I started writing a book — a story that kept replaying in my head over and over again. I loosely based one of the characters on her, and suddenly, something inside me reopened.

I started looking at her photos.

Then I went further.

I found out she was in a relationship. I learned her partner’s identity, where he worked, details about their lives. I realized I had slowly begun reconstructing her entire existence from a distance.

That was the moment I understood something was deeply wrong.

I did not want to destroy the beautiful relationship I have now because of a ghost from fifteen years ago.

So I went to therapy.

And therapy truly helped.

For the first time, I allowed myself to feel anger. I finally saw how much damage she had caused me, how deeply she hurt me, how much of myself I had buried under nostalgia and idealization.

I am writing this now so I can remember it once again.

Not the fantasy.

The truth.

I met her when I was fifteen years old on esoteric forums. She was fifteen too. Back then, I was somewhat known in that world, and we started talking almost immediately. Before long, we realized we lived over 700 kilometers apart — an impossible distance for two teenagers, yet we still fell into a long-distance relationship.

The feelings grew frighteningly fast. Within just a few weeks, we were already saying “I love you.” She was my first relationship; I was not hers.

Near where she lived, there was a friend of mine — seven years older than her, already an adult. I asked him to please look after her for me.

Three months later, she broke up with me.

I eventually learned that during her birthday, my friend had confessed his feelings to her, and she accepted him. My heart shattered into a thousand pieces. I cried, I insulted people, I completely lost myself for a while. Still, considering it was my first heartbreak, I think I survived the grief relatively well.

But only two weeks later, she came back.

She told me she missed me, that things were not the same with him, that she still loved me. And I fell for it again. We decided to get back together, but I demanded she end things with him first.

She hesitated because she “didn’t want to hurt him.” I remember thinking: But you hurt me without hesitation.

In the end, he broke up with her himself a few days later. Apparently, he was terrified of me. What angered me most was not even the relationship itself, but the fact that he ended it instead of her.

Not long after, we started making plans to finally meet in person. Then I found out she had slept with him while they were together.

That broke something inside me.

But I stayed anyway.

Eventually, she ran away from home just to see me. No one ever found out. We spent a day and a night together, and for me, it felt magical. After that, we saw each other many more times.

Until one year later, she left me again.

This time, I did not survive the grief well.

She kept messaging me every other day. My body would literally shake whenever I saw her name appear on my screen. I begged her to stop talking to me because it was destroying me. She would answer that if I truly loved her, I wouldn’t want her gone.

Looking back now, I realize how manipulative that was.

Still, she continued reaching out whenever she needed help with esoteric matters. Were there other people she could have asked? Absolutely. But she always came back to me.

Years passed, and the truth is, I never fully forgot her. I never processed the breakup properly. Every now and then, she would return to my mind like an old wound reopening.

Then, years later, I discovered she had been logging into my Facebook account to read my private conversations.

That… destroyed me in a completely different way.

I felt humiliated beyond words. Those conversations were deeply personal, intimate pieces of my life. Of course I should have changed my password after the breakup. I know that now.

Fifteen years passed.

Things eventually improved. I built a life. I entered a wonderful relationship that has now lasted four years. But then I started writing a book — a story that kept replaying in my head over and over again. I loosely based one of the characters on her, and suddenly, something inside me reopened.

I started looking at her photos.

Then I went further.

I found out she was in a relationship. I learned her partner’s identity, where he worked, details about their lives. I realized I had slowly begun reconstructing her entire existence from a distance.

That was the moment I understood something was deeply wrong.

I did not want to destroy the beautiful relationship I have now because of a ghost from fifteen years ago.

So I went to therapy.

And therapy truly helped.

For the first time, I allowed myself to feel anger. I finally saw how much damage she had caused me, how deeply she hurt me, how much of myself I had buried under nostalgia and idealization.

I am writing this now so I can remember it once again.

Not the fantasy.

The truth.