A Confession..and A Story..I find myself in this place, in the middle of nowhere on the World Wide Web..to spill out my thoughts for no one.
I read somewhere that talking helps when you are feeling stressed, depressed and so on. I am always told, was always told, it does..but does it? I talk, though rarely, I do! I can't talk about what I want to, I just fill the air with empty words and hope that no one notices just how empty they really are.
I am really throwing whoever is reading this into the fray with no context and no reason to continue on, for that, I apologize. I am not sure how to format this, I confess, I am not sure about a lot of things, I hope you don't hold it against me.
There really are so many that are just like me, I fear I will be lost in the pack.. Although this is pointless unless I actually put something here worthwhile and maybe being lost in the pack is not so bad after all.
I have been the "outsider" for all my life. Let's start there. In school, elementary to start, I really only had one or two friends and they have long since stopped returning my calls.
In college, much the same, except now I have none. I don't pity myself for this because I do not go out of my way to find people and I am quite abrasive, I suppose. Not the best with conversations, but then again, I never was. I want to be left alone with my books, yeah, I am "that person" in the corner with his nose in a book.
THIS is where the problem lies. His nose, his..his...HIS. I don't want that pronoun attached to me any longer, like a leech sucking me dry. Every time I hear it in reference to me, my eyes well up with tears. I have to be quick to hide them, no one can know why they are there except for you, dear anonymous people [ I truly do apologize for the dramatics, they are genuine, I assure you].
When I was younger and played "imagination," I always wanted to play the female, curious, because I don't find men or women attractive. I have lost the desire to be anything, do anything, love anyone. That leech has really done it this time and I fear I am almost out of blood to give.
To put it another way, I am that broken down car that nobody wants to fix up, it is too expensive and the necessary means are lacking. You may want to fix it but you can't. The pieces lay in a trail, scattered like debris and I fear that I will never be able to pick them back up and put them in their respectful places ever again.
I suppress my true emotions, my true self, and put on a smile just for you people on the streets, so you leave me alone, I don't want your help..
I am frustrated, I am angry, I am sad, though to call it depressed may be taking it too far. I guess to best describe it I could steal a metaphor from Petrarch, or was it Spenser.."I burn but am of ice," in effect.
I feel as if I am a prisoner in my own body, to be cliche. Not only a prisoner, but one on Death Row. It is only a matter of time before my sentence comes to fruition. There is no hope for parole, no bail has been set. I am lying, the bail would be, dare I say here, a surgery to free the prisoner. The prisoner cannot afford the price tag though, she is still a lowly student stuck without a steady job. I have changed the pronoun you see, because that is what it should be.
Let's take a step to the side for a moment and discuss my religious life, if that's ok..
I am Christian and I was told that God would talk to me, if I talk to him. I can't have a one way conversation God, sorry, you have to talk back. He doesn't want to, he just sits and stares and stares and watches. I beg him, I really do, to change me into who I should be. He shakes his head and "tuts", waggling his finger back and forth like a disapproving parent and tells me,"I can't do that silly girl, I mean, boy! I am perfect, to change you would mean I had made a mistake and I don't make mistakes. Go on and wallow in your misery, I'll be here for you to talk whenever you wish. Smile and wave goodbye to your dreams and your hopes like a good child."
My whole family is Christian and they tell me they'd accept me if I turned out to be a homosexual, but I'm not. I am ashamed of being the girl trapped inside. Changing to look like who I really am. That tiny glimmer has kept my blood pumping this long, right into that leech's gluttonous mouth. The glimmer, the spark, that tries so hard to ignite the fire that I know is there is alway snuffed by the heavy ashes that I sprinkle on it. I tell myself even if I were to be freed, everyone I know would look at me askew, as if there was something wrong with me. I would most certainly be happy, that much is true. My mother always said I was her little girl, even though I am a male..She was right. My grandparents always say and have said I look feminine, with my pointy features and large green eyes. That must have led to you into thinking of some kind of alien, didn't it?..Sorry for that.
So yes, here's the big reveal, the confession you came here for. To be blunt, I am "one of those." A she trapped in a he. A woman trapped in a man. There you have it. I abhor myself, I am ashamed of myself, I loathe every inch of this prison I am in.
I really hate to put you through this, whoever "you" are. I had to get it out of me, if but for a few moments. I haven't had peace in years, real peace, without the dread fear that the guards would come and throw me back in that awful prison. I have escaped for these brief moments..I hear them coming now and I will be shut away again..