Like decommissioned robots

After writing the previous post, I'm physically shaking. I feel somewhat dizzy and short of breath. Anxiety of some sort. 

This is obviously an incredibly difficult topic for me to write about. The physical reaction seems out of proportion though.. I've thought these thoughts before, talked to people about this before.. It's like there's something more here, some leap my conscious mind hasn't taken yet. I keep writing, and whenever I feel the anxiety getting worse, that means I'm on the right track.. I'm using my physical feelings and a sort of compas when navigating my emotional ones.

It feels like it's somehow connected to this post about admitting that I'm trans. Because I am trans. Loving it when someone sucks on a strap-on, is unsurmountable proof that I'm trans. Can I finally stop fighting myself? Can I finally believe it?

These strategies my mind made, to protect me from the truth for so many years... They didn't disappear when Pandora's box was opened. All the strategies are still there, and like decommissioned robots, they keep trying to do their job. Even though that job isn't needed anymore, even though they're superfluous by now. I need to thank my mind for trying to keep me safe for all those years. Maybe I couldn't realize I was trans before, because I just wasn't ready for that knowledge. I'm not sure it was the best thing for me, but I can't know that for sure. 

Thank you, brain, for working so hard to keep that awareness away from my waking mind. Thank you for trying to protect me. You can lay down that burden now. You can stop working so hard, so frantically. I'm trans. I won't get any less trans and time passes. This isn't a phase, this isn't fake, there's no need to try to protect me from the truth anymore. 

 

Loving it when Elle calls me "Sir", is proof that I'm trans. Loving dressing in men's clothing, loving the increase of hair on my belly, loving that I need to shave my fledgling mustache, is proof that I'm trans. Hating it whenever someone says "she" about me, or in other ways misgender me, is proof that I'm trans. Loving my deepening voice, is proof that I'm trans. Changing my name, is proof that I'm trans. Wanting to get my boobs removed, is proof that I'm trans. Feeling a kinship with other trans people, is proof that I'm trans. 

The fact that I feel like a non-binary man inside, is proof that I'm trans. The only proof I or anyone else should need. 

I'm trans. 

I'm trans. 

I. Am. Trans.

If I say it three times in a mirror, does a trans person appear? Appear for all to see, even me? 

I hope so. 

I've had enough of hiding.