lacrimosa

Nice start of evening going to event for queer women, felt all accepted and OK except for my horrible deep voice. Was OK.

Then randomly sir:ed, I think, by the person selling me fast food. This in full femme presentation. Are my features and voice so awfully masculinized that random strangers can only parse me as some drag queen or something is that it?

Went home. Realized I would weep. Doing so, with support of moon and rain and a fairy child grown strong. Cannot really stop. Feeling, quite simply, sad. Crying because I am sad and despairing, right this minute. Later, I won’t feel that, it will be OK. I will cope and deal and grow stronger.

Right now wondering what the fuck I can even do, wanting to cut away all the despicable horrible flesh that makes me look and sound like something which is not even a person, like some corpse, like some dead thing. Wondering what I can do, not finding clear solution. Hoping my medication will work its wonders over years and years of alternate sexual differentiation. Remembering this pain and sorrow so I really will put in the 10K hours needed to master a voice that lets people hear me as me.

Remembering and habitualizing to ask, “sorry, what did you just say?” by reflex, causing trouble. Not for my sake, the harm will already be done. But a teachable moment for the sake of others.

Still feeling it. I suppose this is good, this is me finally not being an emotionless husk who could just choose not to feel, this is me feeling without having to decide to feel. This is new growth, this is life. Growth hurts. Healing hurts.