March 4, 2013


Who am I?

I am not in a good place. The last 48 hours have been filled with so many tears. I have never cried this much.

Can I conceal myself for evermore?
Pretend I’m not the man I was before?

Everything that I thought I was six months ago has been systematically stripped from me. I am no longer a husband; no longer a father; no longer a man. I will no longer grow old and gray with the woman I love, I will no longer be a grandpa to future grandchildren. I won’t be decorating a Christmas tree with my happy family together, won’t be waking up with them on Easter mornings.

I feel like I am losing everything. I am losing me.

And must my name until I die
Be no more than an alibi?
Must I lie?

I can’t tell anyone about it. Not anyone who knows me. At work I have to choke it all down, be the fat, happy bearded guy that doesn’t rock the boat and gets the job done. I need my job now; I need it more than ever. It’s literally the last shred of identity I have left.

I talked to my mother on the phone yesterday and lied through my teeth. “How’s everyone up there?” “Oh, fine. We’re fine. Same old, same old.” I can’t tell her about any of this. How could I? We’re still pretending we’re a married couple. I’m still pretending I’m me.

How can I ever face my fellow men?
How can I ever face myself again?

Everything I present is a lie at this point. And yet, what am I really? I am not a woman, probably will never be; all the hormones in the world won’t let me pass as a woman.I will be a tranny in a dress, if I keep pushing forward. I will be a miserable bachelor, if I don’t.

I will never date again, never be someone’s spouse. I love my wife, and she loves me, but we can’t be together anymore. No turning old and gray together. No silver anniversary. No renewing of vows when we’re sixty. I am going to die alone.

I hate this place. I know it’s not permanent, I know there’s got to be a way forward, I know there’s got to be somewhere I can plant my feet. But right now I am not at that place and I don’t know where it is and I HATE IT HERE.

Who am I?
I’m …

[All lyrics from Les Miserables, because I’m feeling pretty miserable.]

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