Oracles

I guess the remembrance aspect is what I'm stuck on. How can other people remember an aspect of myself that has never existed, and how in doing so can they relate said stories without it feeling somehow superficial. Is it a point that I should, suspend my disbelieve, so to speak on?

This whole idea of a wake, is a bit trying for me. It makes sense to me, but at the same time, these people who are there to try and help me move through the grieving process can't possible know what that aspect is or who or how it would have been different. How do I reconcile that while trying to take it for what it is, am I in any better a position to say that any one story would have been different or any other given way? Does any story necessarily have to be as I say it is? I don't think so.

If I'm going to try and get through this, then it's going to take a willingness on my part to believe in what that life could have been. Perhaps the stories are just as real as any other, who am I to say that anything would or wouldn't have happened had I not been born trans. They are more just stories of a different dimension, and that doesn't invalidate them. In this dimension, I'm disfigured in comparison, from who I was in what In that existence. I've been cursed with said knowledge of that existence and of the potentiality that existed in not being disfigured.

My original hope was to get to a point where being trans didn't matter. But, I feel, lately, that it will always matter. I'll always be underprivileged and devalued for my trans status, even post surgery. It's coming to terms with the acceptance of that, and the anger, frustration, depression, and sadness that comes from knowing that through no action of your own, you've been branded with a disfigurement. (note, that I'm using that as a term to indicate a physical deformation from an original, not to exaggerate the supposed lack of attraction).

Which, raises the question, do other minorities feel the same anger of their lack f privilege and hardships, or is it something unique to the trans spectrum do to the proximity of being cisgender? My inkling is that the anger is more due to the reasoning, if there was a reason, or a way to identify how it happened, it may at least make sense. Children of racial minorities have no real genetic chance of being non-minorities. There is yet to be any strong genetic reasoning for trans people, thus it feels like a random curse to be afflicted with, and prompts a response of unjustification and outrage.

There is no rhyme or reason and thus it doesn't make sense. If there's no reason, then why should I have to suffer? There in lies the issue. One cannot look beyond a reason one doesn't understand.

While I can try to rationalize how an elephant got into my house, I'll never know really. So now then I have to adjust and mourn and process without ever really knowing how or why. There is no closure in a process that has no purpose or beginning. So, then, how does one find closure in being a random victim to a curse.

That in, is the purpose of the whole event. I guess the real question is how will this go. How do you provide closure for being cursed, and let go of what was that life, the other dimensions, or the realm of possibilities that had existed.

Routines, Habits, & Wounds.

I'm not sure how things are going. My mood is still abnormal, though enjoyable. I find myself loosing some of my cynicism towards my family, but I know my feelings towards them haven't changed. Though it is really only a change towards my mother, to whom things have always been touch and go at best. While things may tolerably pleasant now, I know it never stays that way. I think things will end up better for me, and everyone else once I can get up north.

My ex has also relocated back to Texas. This isn't news as I knew she was going to be returning in January, however I'm not quite sure I feel about it yet. My first instincts are to withdraw and be defensive. I think there is a part of me that is still hurt over what happened. Granted we talked things through and apologies and all that, but something still feels off about everything. Perhaps there is still some closure I'm seeking however I'm not sure what that might be as of yet. It isn't pressing anyway, just something festering in me somewhere...Maybe once it completely rots over I can find out where I need to...amputate.

Morbid, but it works.

Frailty

I've been crying a lot more it seems. Well, at least more regularly. I've been reminiscing  about my childhood, watching old cartoons from when I was a kid, and just remembering a lot of things with a new perspective. Just before I tried to go to bed I kept thinking about all the things I'm denied by birth. I'll never know what it is like to grow up female. I'll never experience a girls locker room, I'll never get to gossip with other girls over trivial bullshit. I know it is petty, and that most girls won't say any of these things are really hallmarks of their life, but they shouldn't have been hallmarks in mine as well.

This speaks to the larger, longing to which I've come to succumb to. That of the normal, cisgender female. While, I'm pretty sure just about every trans girl ever to have been has longed for this, I find it is the smaller details and memories that I miss out on that bother me more than the physical aspects of my body these days. Not that my body is particularly appealing to me still, but at least that is progressing. There is no way I can gain those memories and experiences.

I find it strange that during these lows I still get suicidal notions. Being out of my depression it is obviously less of an actuality, but the fantasy is still there. Maybe I should stop watching the wonder years, though I find I get similar themes in other shows from my childhood, things I don't remember feeling when I watched them at the time, but that I know where there...hidden, deep inside. I'm glad I can remember those emotions, but I can't bear them full on. The intensity of them scared me when I first pushed into those emotional memories and I'm hesitant to test how strong those currents run, lest they take me with them.

I'm not sure this is something I can face. There are few things I'm scared to deal with in my life, confronting my father on his emotional neglect, facing the explicit limitations of being trans,  and apparently the depth of how much I've hidden away from myself over the past 12 years of hiding. I knew I was good at faking normality, escapism, but I didn't think I'd actually been so good as to hide it from myself. Sometimes I find it amazing that I'm alive at all.