Be warned: This entry will be filled with me venting my frustrations at the world and other things, as well as other angst.
Since realising my transness, I feel like I'm fighting to wake up in the morning and be happy. Like there are a million things out there that can crush me with the bat of an eyelash, and who do I think I am to try to exist. Figuring out the root of my insecurities served to magnify them to a ridiculous sense, to the point that I sometimes curl up on my bed in fear that if I leave my room I'll be recognised as a girl. The internal monologue goes like this: "If nobody sees me I can pretend I don't exist. If nobody acknowledges me I don't have to go pretend to be a girl. If I stay in here I'll be safe. I won't have to hide if I'm hiding already.".
Then there is the ever-present question of my body. I cannot really say that I hate my body completely. I have nothing against my hands. Or my feet, or legs, or shoulders. My breasts and vagina, however, feel like tumours and an open wound, respectively. Or, perhaps more accurately, like foreign bodies that attached themselves to me for no particular reason, don't really want to be there, I don't want them there, but there's nothing either of us can do about it. So I'm stuck. Occasionally blind revulsion at my physical femaleness keeps me from doing things I want to do, like goofing off with friends, because, inevitably, one of them will snap my bra, or whack me in the chest, or something. It's always there and there's not a damn thing I can do about it.
Third point. I have rendered myself more or less completely impotent. I can't deal with being physically turned on as a female, so I avoid it. Unfortunately, I still get horny, I still wish I could be physical, but I can't. It fucks with my head to an extent that ignoring it is easier. I imagine this is what erectile dysfunction feels like, but worse, because I never could get it up, because I don't have it. Which is frustrating.
Which brings me to the joys of thought. If I think too much about this, I start freaking out about the concept of surgery, paying for it, undergoing it, how my girlfriend would take it, and other such shit. I'm thinking too far ahead out of pure fear, in that I don't want to blunder into this blindly, and as a result I'm overcompensating and scaring myself about things too far ahead to affect me yet. I'm trying to relax, but it's damn hard. This results in much sobbing at ungodly hours of the night.
To top it all off, I feel completely alone. I realise I'm not the only one, and there are wonderful, supportive people in my life, but there's nobody who can be with my to dry my tears at night. There are people who would, but they're too far away. Admittedly, this 'too far' is generally at most 17 miles, but still. It feels like oceans and continents. So, I turn to information, my saviour, my lifeblood. Then I end up screwing with my own head by over-thinking things that aren't even relevant to a 14 year old. It makes me feel less alone, in a way, but no book ever put its arms around someone.
This whole mess has more or less crushed my sense of self worth. I can't be a decent girl, or even female. I can't be a "real man" because my biology is aligned against me. I realise that it doesn't take having a dick or not having tits to be a man, but it sure helps.
Okay, I'm done now. It helped to get it all out there.