oh god…

look man. it's my website. i'll do a fucking blog if i want to!

I didn't intend to use this site as a blog, it just kind of happens sometimes. I get introspective enough to get my thoughts out on some kind of documentable thing. And since I have the space, you get to be my "victim."

So what's the idea here? Well I think it can be a place for anything, really. Talking about the creative process, life, the scribbles of a failed stand up career? Like...anything. I guess right now, though, I want to get a little personal.

are you sure the only you is you?

Something happened fairly recently that was kind of sad. I had a very innocuous moment with a friend that made me sort of realize that we had drifted apart quite a bit. The unfortunate nature of it is that I don't think it's a rift that can be bridged until they get a little bit more comfortable with who I am, if they ever do.

It may be of no surprise to you that I am a trans woman. I came out as a trans woman when I was 33, close to a year and a half ago as of the time of this writing. That went how I expected in many ways. I lost a number of people who couldn't accept it. I continued and strengthened many bonds I had. I began to feel fulfilled in myself as a woman. Something unique that happened though, I tried my best to capture in a social media post today:

I braced myself for a lot of loss when I started transitioning, but I don’t think I was fully prepared for the the gradual dimming of once incredible friendships. Especially ones that still felt strong. It’s a prolonged hurt that, to me, feels way worse than the people that instantly sever you.

What I meant by that is that there was a category of person that, when I came out, was very excited and happy for me...but you could mark that as the moment where the distance began. I know it's not malicious. It's a very unique brand of processing, I think. Someone gets so attached to the idea of the you they've always known that they don't know what to do with the you that you actually are. I understand that, but at the same time it's so incredibly painful.

I said jokingly to someone in the replies of that social media post that I'd almost rather they just call me a slur and move on. I can handle ripping a bandaid off. Slowly peeling it away hurts so much more for so much more longer. The extra pile on top of it is that I don't know what I'm going to see when the bandaid is finally off: a former friend or a reaffirmed strength.

where my ladies at?

I am really lucky that I have a handful of great girl friends in my corner, but it has to be stated that the vast majority of the friends that I've experienced this with have been my cis female friends. And that's a really unique brand of gut punch. I spent so much of my life repressing and not being who I am, so I missed a lot of those formative pieces of girlhood. When I came out, my deepest hope was solidarity (which, again, I have gotten in pieces). I just wanted to be a peer. Instead, I walk away feeling like a freak.

And come on. I'm not a freak. I'm fucking hot. Duh.

That's just the best way to explain the feeling. It's this really strange invalidation that I can't really blame on anyone in particular. Until that sensation processes itself out, I just have to deal. Lucky me, right?

And I'll be ok. In the end, it all works out the way it's supposed to. I have to believe that. I choose to believe that.

Anyway, that's it. Go away!

listening to: