Down by the river where it’s safe

Yesterday was the day I was supposed to meet with a guy for a first-time outing that would either be a disaster or a successful disaster. I avoided both, as I was never contacted by said guy to guarantee he was still interested. Though I was hardly fazed by the turn of events, this led to some considerable, undesirable deep thinking.

Anyone who has read any of the more recent entries on this blog know I enjoy making light of my circumstances and have a vulgar mouth at times. Not this time. This time, it’s personal.

Even before I left to my destination to pick up sake, I had been lost in my own thoughts while somehow managing to be somewhat accomplished as the sun began to set. Even before I arrived at the asian market, I knew that I was being challenged by a possibility of life that I’ve been fighting tooth and nail to disregard as completely falsified. I needed that drive, and I needed the fresh brisk air. Even as I aimlessly strolled along the edge of the local riverside, the feelings I’ve been trying so hard to deny had reached a peak in my heart. I could have cried, easily.

I realized how afraid I am of dying alone and never loved in every way.

These thoughts somehow arose from the anticipation of experiencing a turning point in my life as a crossdresser – being singled out by a male for the first time – seeking to be true and heart-wrenchingly honest as I walk and talk as a female…is what I tried to convince myself of as I ignored the laughter and happy chatter from friends and lovers that night. I was not “dressed” that night, but the thoughts that I should be (and should have been earlier), continued to plague me. The thoughts of possibly being found out – it wouldn’t be difficult for anyone savvy – and then being seen as a trickster or disgustingly false were the only things that stayed with me. I could give two shits if the guy lost interest or just didn’t think to contact me. Underneath the surface of all those actions, my own insecurities and struggles, were what were transformed into fear, doubt, and likely the source of these morbid thoughts.

Not having much luck with romance otherwise and possibly finding no solace as my entire self because of lacking integrity – how ever a person would bullshit that qualification – is a troublesome thought. Comforting a girl friend of mine about her own relationship was probably another trigger. I don’t ask for much, and I give what I can. I work hard, remain open-minded, and deny that I require any manner of love and attention as long as I have my creative energy, a few trusted friends, & a job to keep me perfectly selfish.

For anyone who lives in this way, and for anyone who acknowledges that there is love in the world…we ALL want to connect with someone. Be touched by someone. Appreciated even though we fuck up. Desired not for our bodies, but for what we add to their existence.

I don’t want to die having never been denied of such pleasures. I fear that simply being me will be the equivalent of taking a gun and shooting myself in the foot, killing any progress or possibility of obtaining such pleasure. As if our being is inherently sabotaging the very necessities required to be a prime candidate for something real. On some level, I believe we all feel this. That there’s no point in making an effort because we have it in our heads that we are incompatible, undesirable, and just plain tired of being belittled. If we don’t try, we avoid pain. We would rather hurt ourselves than allow anyone the chance to hurt us again. And so, matters of the heart and our own desires wear away until there is nothing left but empty apathy.

So many seem to have escaped such a fate and live without a care in the world. Connected. Comforted.

And there are so many who can relate in the midst of their denial. Hurt. Scared.

Or maybe I’m just alone in all of this nonsense I’m spouting. Wouldn’t that be some shit.


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