Struggling has become an understatement as of late.
On top of that, the first time I go to the movies by myself as a female, I get fucking carded for the first time as a female.
We all know what picture was on the ID. And I couldn’t muster the gall to look the bastard in the eyes and smile as if nothing was wrong…
That defiled me for the rest of my yesterday.
All I wanted was to have a day where I didn’t prepare for an outing like it’s a fucking performance. Just a day where I could be out and about, have a little time to enjoy simple pleasures that I haven’t done in a while, and see what the fuck happens as I’m being true to myself. I’ve never been carded before at the movies and have started carrying around cash whenever I’m out so I don’t have to deal with stupid people. So, when the guy asked me, I was shocked. Knowing what that would mean, I said with a nervous smile ‘are you really going to card me…?’ He affirmed straightforwardly and said ‘I should take it as a compliment.’ And I damn well should since I was wearing my brand new casual outfit, pink tennis shoes, and looked fairly cute for a shitty rainy day…
…but the fucking ID is a picture of a male.
The way he spoke, I instinctively felt as if he was purposely trying to sedate his own curiosity and out me. That was the only reason why I couldn’t just shrug it off and smile through it. I handed it to him timidly saying “that’s all I have…” I was fucking embarrassed beyond belief! I felt attacked, violated, and I was positively baffled that I somehow looked so damn convincing that I could be under 18 years of age to justify me being carded AT THE FUCKING MOVIES!
…Ignoring the minor detail of having to use the bathroom for about two-thirds of the film, 21 Jump Street was hilarious and there were enough surprise cameos that made me fangirl. Especially DaxFlame. Made me forget everything that had happened.
DDR is also much more difficult to do with “assets”, which I knew already but had to test for myself. I lost both games playing easier songs. Oh, and those pink tennis shoes were tight, but I really wanted to wear them since Mum had gone through the trouble of asking me if I wanted them. Hopefully, they will fill out on the sides, but they definitely kept my stride in check. A little girl got on the pad in between my games and started stomping around cutely. I’ve never been very good with children and most females would likely get all close to them and say how “adorable” they are. I could only muster a smile and a “hello” as the mother commented on her child’s attempts to play. Pretty sure I choked and said little to nothing out of fear.
When I got back into my car, I just sat there. For at least ten minutes. The rainy weather was not helping my mood, and I really felt like I had failed at just being me. I was depressed, even though I had succeeded in being on my own and doing things I enjoy in public. I drove slow.
The usual car was there, having taken my parking spot in front of the house. The one of my Mum’s boyfriend’s daughter and her boyfriend. I sat in my car again for even longer, knowing they would all be sitting in the living room when I walked in. I was frustrated, angry, felt defiled, and just didn’t give a shit anymore about what anyone had to say about how I looked and how I feel inside. Most of all, I was sick as fuck about how I was sitting in my car, wasting gas with the heat on, coming up with any fucking excuse I could think of to LIE about why I looked like a fucking GIRL with decent breasts.
I didn’t want to change out of my clothes. I didn’t want to feel like I had anything to hide. I didn’t want to take off my makeup to avoid questions. I didn’t want to do anything that would deny me of just being comfortable as me when I rarely have a chance to in my everyday life.
I was about to just say “fuck it”, walk in, and make my dinner. And if anyone asked anything, I’d just tell them I’m transgendered and be done with it.
But I didn’t. What stopped me? My Mum.
I’ve always told myself that if anyone in my family would be told the truth about my gender identity struggles first, it would be my Mum. She taught me her makeup technique once which allowed me to practice on my own in secret until I found something that was default. She gave me foundation and lent me some of her matte powder. She gave me eye shadow brushes. She went clothes shopping with me and helped me find sizes that made sense. All without knowing the real story. If I had done that, my Mum would be devastated probably even moreso than if I just told her myself.
The ending is painfully obvious.
However, all of this, on top of everything else that has been swirling around in my mind, I’ve begun to loathe myself. Despite all the proof and truth of my life as an awkward, empathetic, introverted male, I never enjoyed it. I never could fully accept it. Unless the male is a genuine friend, I only tolerate them and can’t stand being around them. I only could when someone actually loved me. The gaps in this blog’s history are those points where someone in my life accepted me…and then threw me away. I’ve known, here and there and moreso in college, that I was different. That something was off about me. And the more that something became apparent, the more afraid I became because I could never attain the identity that eventually became “Ren’Ai” – the foul-mouth, impulsive, carnal girl that no one would ever love or appreciate in society.
There was a piece of prose I wrote back in high school during my darkest, depressed years when I loathed my existence daily. The line I wrote and will never forget is:
“Myself is never enough.”
Even back then, when I wasn’t fully aware of my gender identity struggles, I somehow knew how my future would end up. All of my friends would get married, have their lovers, etc. etc. and I would be left wondering why the hell is this happening. Wondering how long can I continue to live lies and be hurt because I’m not, and don’t give a damn enough to be, enough of a man for a woman, may likely not be accepted by a man, and ruled out as unfit for romance because I am deeply conflicted in my gender.
That I have started sleeping with a stuffed animal again is proof that I haven’t been this consistently upset, frustrated, and irritated in a very long time…I’ve been fine for these few months since I’ve begun embracing myself. Now I don’t even know if I’m being honest with myself. This double life has begun ripping me in two…