Make me real

In the last two weekends, I’ve crossdressed three times in a row among trusted friends in a closed environment, and once, for the first time, in public. You’d think the first time would be scariest, but today’s dressing in public (the 4th time) was, in fact, the most worrisome.

Last weekend was magical in so many ways and found that I was widely accepted by both people I knew, people I didn’t know as well, and the many people I had just met. It was welcomed not with judgement or incredulous response, but with acceptance and respect for the path I was now embracing. I really couldn’t have asked for a more memorable experience.

Coming out from that three-day marathon, however, left me feeling terribly disillusioned and frustrated. Imagine being 100% comfortable in your own skin and identity for the first time in a fun environment with friends for three days, only to be ripped back into reality & forced to fall back in line in an identity that is not fully yourself. Worse yet, you must deny the identity that is more “you” than the one you’ve settled for your entire life, no thanks to societal stigma.

I was angry and couldn’t stand to look at myself in the mirror. But, of course, being angry is a distraction. So, in order to not be distracted, I accept the skin and identity that allows me to work & function as a contributing member of society.

And then, I said “fuck society” and, for the first time, did my makeup in broad daylight at home, knowing that I would be going out later to the movies. No one but my best friend had a chance to really get a good look at me before we left, since I live with the two most unambitious males I’ve ever met. The outing went well, except I had to hide certain facts about myself in light of my friend’s cousin coming along who I had briefly met sans femme. I was quieter, but he seemed to be fairly accepting (or oblivious, which I’d prefer). As I said before, I was much more nervous and aware today; I had subtlety stuffed my bra.

Apparently, I’m really good at being “subtle” about my makeup and enhancements. I’m not the type to draw unwanted attention, though I doubt I draw anyone’s attention. Both weekends, I walked in the door dolled up with my mum’s b/f likely only noticing the wig and not my face. My casual style doesn’t change much when I’m dressing, so unless I’m wearing my semi-formal stuff, it’s easy to get away with it.

Honestly, I still have a lot of questions and concerns about myself and just how far my heart wants to go. Like…should I invest in breast forms or if my voice is okay. It’s not as scary or unnatural as I thought it might be, but it is the most depressing thing to come home and have to take it all off. All I want is to be real, honest, and comfortable [with myself]. While crossdressing, however, I have these moments where I no longer feel sincere. Like, I’m lying to myself and don’t genuinely want to put all this effort into being an approachable female. That alone is frustrating, but then having to be the person society demands that I be just makes it worse.

I’ve always said, I won’t do this unless I can really do it. Anything less than that won’t make it worth it. Thank goodness I have a female friend who is helping me a bit now, and a best friend who is very understanding of my feelings about this.

Sometimes, I wonder if I will ever feel completely satisfied, simply basking in my deepest gender desires and self-expressive artform.

Will I always be sharing this alone…?

I told a close friend of mine…Even if I don’t ever find someone who can love me for me, at least I have my duality. “She” will love me, and perhaps someone besides me, will love “her” back.

Life has taught me it’s safer to expect to be alone for the rest of one’s life than expect that love has any chance of reaching them. I’m stubborn.

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