So, I’m a Facebook user, like 90% of the world. For those who don’t know there’s an app called ‘On this day’ or something like that. The whole point of the app is to dredge up memories (good and bad) that consist of pictures and posts and it will tell you how many years ago it was posted. This app prompted this blog post.
So I’ll begin, this morning (after one of the few occasions where I actually got some sleep,) I checked Facebook, only to get presented with a jarring memory from 6 years ago today. Here’s the post:
“Has curled her hair (took sooooo long!) painted her nails, and is now buying a dress….. now what could possibly be wrong about that sentence? …. EVERYTHING!!! who thought I’d ever be more feminine…… 0.0”
So the first thing you might notice is that I was referring to myself as a female. At this time in my life I already knew I was Trans, however I was desperately trying to hide from being persecuted by family, friends, etc. (You know the drill.) However I was trying to also hide it from myself and punish myself for something that society had been deemed wrong, that had always been within me. So I planned to torture myself, by enforcing female engendered beliefs and stereotypes on myself. I bought a dress, got my hair done and destroyed all the clothes and possessions I liked that were masculine in any way.
It’s important to note that at this time I was surrounded by people who thought it was OK to laugh and abuse anyone who came under the rainbow banner. People who were close to me swore and proclaimed that they would put a 9mm in the heads of the gay people on T.V. I was being told I was “possessed by the devil” by church goers who played a harder game of political intrigue than seen in the courts of Orlais (Dragon Age, Google it.) or in Game of Thrones.
There’s only so many times you can be threatened with holy water, before you brake.
So after one afternoon of being chased out of a church, by a man in a glorified dress, (What? Vestments are basically dresses. Just look at the pattern.) I began to question my position on my self torture. So as I sat in an abandoned looking graveyard, waiting for my family, I devised a plan similar to shock treatment. I’d buy the most feminine dress known to the world (a Lolita dress that looks like a frilly doll,) get the shoes and the rest of the look and go out, walk around the streets and see if I was OK with being shoved into this mould.
Long story short, I did and it was like walking around in chains. Everyone stared, it was uncomfortable to say the least and by the end of it I wanted to rip open my veins, fill my stomach with strong alcohol and set myself on fire. I also made an arse out of myself in front of the man I’m now going to marry. So after admiring this beautiful creature for months and thinking he was too cool to talk to, our first conversation was when I looked like a Victorian doll.
I don’t think I could have been further from what I am and what I aim to be.
Frilly Victorian doll V hot elf guy who looks as good in leather as he does in a full suit.
I’ll let that settle for a while. Let your brain fully digest that image. I’ll go make some tea and leave you with the knowledge that my shock therapy worked. That dress was the catalyst for the bonfire that put me on the right path and now I don’t care if I’m ‘wrong’ or not, I’m me.