I wish someone would cut off my head

On my mattress on the floor

So I won’t feel anything anymore

I wish you’d killed me when you tried

Yes, I do wish I had died

I wish you had finished the job

So I wouldn’t be a worthless slob

I wish someone would take me out

Gain some right-wing hero’s clout

Protect the women and the kids

Everyone would be glad you did

I wish smoking killed me faster

Tired of being a walking disaster

A failed woman, a wannabe man

I belong in a garbage can

I wish I was someone else

Or had the nerve to kill myself

A waste of life, a human void

My death would leave folks overjoyed

I wish I was talented

Just kidding! I wish I was dead

Make things right, the way they should be

A better world, one without me

I used the “Right Now” feature, where you essentially put out an alert that you’re looking to hook up, after coming home from work. Grindr recently made changes so that folks can post nudes when looking for right now. I tried to post a faceless photo of my torso and it was rejected. This happens to me frequently, as I have not had top surgery and have “female presenting breasts/nipples.” That being said, I have seen cisgender men with large breasts post photos with no issues. It’s frankly infuriating! This is the sort of thing that fuels my dysphoria and invalidates my male identity. It reinforces the idea that I am not a “real” man and that my body is something I should hide.

I also tried to add a photo of my furry belly on my profile and it was rejected after days of waiting. There were no genitals or breasts visible. Just a hairy belly. Still denied. In some ways, it’s probably good. It keeps me safe from chasers and folks trying to use people’s nude photos for things like revenge porn or extortion. But in other ways, it’s bad. It’s othering. It marginalizes me further as a trans man and just frustrates me.

I’ve had some absolutely awful experiences on Grindr with transphobes. Once, I got a message from someone telling me to “stick to bi guys because hardcore gay guys except certain anatomy,” and this person had the audacity to try to fuck me after that. I blocked them of course, but the exchange stuck with me.

I have less luck with meeting people on less sexually focused apps like Hinge, Tinder, and Bumble. It’s annoying to feel like Grindr is my only option for meeting people. Especially being Black, I’m often hypersexualized. While I am quite a sexual person, I have a heart and mind. I enjoy getting to know a person a little bit before getting silly and sweaty. I need to feel safe. I don’t feel safe with people who assume I’m going to give them oral sex for hours or that I’m a submissive because I am a bottom. Or men who just want to see my nudes to jerk off without returning the favor.

Will I keep using the app? Probably. Sniffies is too much for me, I do not like Scruff’s interface, and I was bullied off of Lex (the WORST queer social media app in my opinion) because people incorrectly assumed I was a cis gay man. Again, I’m a human man with physical needs. I’m going to use an app for connections as that’s sort of the way or our world nowadays. I just hope that I continue my gender journey that the apps catch up to the way the world actually works. I want to see more diversity, openness, and inclusion. A guy can dream, right?

The more I see and read from trans people online, the less trans I feel. This is the same as how I feel when I encounter trans people in real life. I start to doubt myself.

My experiences since starting to transition have been mostly negative. That’s not the fault of trans people or of testosterone. Everyone tells me it’s just part of “the journey.” Of course, these people are white, thin, and have been on HRT for over a decade. They’re not in the awkward part of their transition with no end or relief in sight. They’re finished, happy, perfect.

It’ll be three years in June since I started testosterone and I have barely changed at all. If anything, I feel less secure in my transness since starting HRT than ever before. My face is soft, round and feminine. My voice hasn’t dropped even a little bit. Any body hair I may have grown is hidden under hoodies because my chest is so huge.

I’ve had to hide MORE since transitioning. I’ve had to force myself to take up less space because no one believes I the right to be there. How am I supposed to believe anything other than what everyone says about me? How am I supposed to believe in myself when I can’t tell who I am anymore? How am I supposed to feel trans joy when I’m not really trans? How do I know if I am even trans?

I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I take my HRT and I feel less trans. I feel more dysphoric. All I see when I look at myself is a huge brown blob with cartoon tits. I literally feel like I am nothing but a walking set of breasts.

I’ve asked the question and read the answer: NO, dysphoria doesn't ever go away. So why should I keep trying? If I’m never going to feel better, feel at home in my body, feel like a human being, then what’s the point? What do I have to do to earn transness and trans happiness?

I will start a new job on Monday. I’m nervous. Things have been so bad that I have no reason to believe they wont continue to be that way.

My cat’s anxiety continues to get worse no matter what I do. She keeps pulling out her fur. We’ve tried a cone, we’ve tried medication, we’ve tried designated snuggle hours. I cannot leave her side for a second without her pulling out her fur. It’s not sustainable and my frustration has hit an all time high.

Now for the changes. This space has always been where I write when I am dysregulated, depressed, and feeling dysphoric. Despite therapy and HRT, my dysphoria continues to get worse. I just hate my body. Living in it, dressing it, feeding it, being perceived in it, I hate it all.

This is now my dedicated space to write about it. I’m sharing this so those of you who subscribe financially can make a more informed decision about where your money goes. I feel guilty that anyone would give my money or read what I have to say. I’m really not treating this like anyone will read it because I suspect most people will not. That’s fine. I’ve been trying to write what I think other people want me to write for years and ended up just quitting because it’s an impossible standard. I don’t know what people want from me. I can never know. I can’t read minds.

Anyway, from here on out I’ll be writing about my experiences with dysphoria as I try to transition genders. Stay, leave, read it, don’t. Just an update.

That’s all. Thanks for reading.

I’m so tired of being told that I’m dysregulated. No shit. AI is killing the environment, ICE is killing civilians, and our government is killing innocent people all over the globe. How does anyone have a regulated nervous system right now?

Am I completely alone? Am I going through psychosis? Seriously, am I just insane? I feel like I’m losing my mind more and more every day with no reprieve. I can’t get more than four hours of sleep at a time but I can’t get out of bed. I’m always hungry but food disgusts me. Every part of me, mind, body, and soul, feels unbearably heavy.

I wish I could do more. I work third shift on the weekends so I miss every single protest because I have to try to get sleep. I can’t make friends or meet new people because of my schedule. My friends only want me to fix their problems or entertain them, I can’t admit how burnt out I am because then they’ll leave me for not being useful to them.

My problems are mostly inconveniences, not real problems. I’m poor, disabled, and chronically ill. I’m burnt out and overworked in an unrewarding and pointless job. I’m touch and love-starved. I’m fighting hopelessness while watching people get murdered every day. I’m restless but so tired that I can’t muster the energy to do anything but escape via music, movies, and/or tv.

I’m aware that no one does anything alone but when everyone is isolated and burnt out, who helps one another? How can we band together if everyone is barely surviving? I’m sick of not having any answers besides “remain vigilant,” or “stay optimistic.” I’m so angry about having no way to express my feelings. I’m just so tired. I need a break. I need time off from work to do nothing but rest. Not to travel, see my family, invite people over, none of that. I need to sleep more than four hours at a time. I need to cook, clean my apartment, figure out therapy again, and find a way to connect with others. Work and burn out hold me back from living any kind of worthwhile life.

I know everyone is tired of my whining and solipsism. I swear I am trying to be better. I’m trying to figure out how my struggles are connected to others. I know I’m not the only one who feels this way, or I hope not. I just don’t know what to do. I don’t have any kind of insight or experience worth sharing. I don’t have advice. I just have anger, sadness, and frustration. I don’t know what to do with them. People say “make art,” like it’s easy. Like I can just reach inside myself and pull out a masterpiece. In order to do that, I’d have to have something inside me to offer, which I don’t.

Yes, I’m dysregulated. No, I’m not looking for sympathy. I want things to change. To drastically, dramatically change. Not just for myself, but for humanity. I’m running out of reasons to keep trying. I’m so fucking tired.

7 Things I Like About My Body on HRT

Things I Like About My Trans Body

In no particular order:

1.) Body Hair

-I got teased by basically everyone in my life for being hairy pre-transition. My parents used to offer me laser hair removal as a teenager. I had an ex who made me feel weird about my chest hair so I used to shave it off even though I liked it because it made me unattractive to others. Now, I’m still unattractive to most people but I like my body hair and that’s what matters.

2.) Bottom Growth

-you’re just going to have to trust me on this one. I am lucky not to struggle with bottom dysphoria. I don’t want or feel like I need bottom surgery. I’m happy with my giant clit/micropenis. It’s hot even if I’m the only one who thinks so.

3.) Weight Redistribution

-I’m getting chunky and it feels mostly good. I’m definitely never going to be a super fit guy because I hate the gym and working out but I’m happy to be a little chubby cub.

4.) Gained Muscle

-I used to really struggle with chronic pain but now that I can out on muscle without even trying, I barely struggle with it anymore. My thighs are hot. My ass is fatter. It’s all wasted on being alone but oh well!

5.) Belly/Waist expansion

-I had a classic hourglass figure for most of my life. It caused me a lot of distress, especially because all the cis women in my life would constantly tell me to be grateful for having the ideal cis woman body type. But I’m not a cis woman, I don’t think. Having a bigger waist has made me feel a little better about being forced into having a body.

6.) Jawline

-Having a more defined jawline makes me feel handsome. It’s that simple.

7.) Mustache

-When I was 15, some random ass man commented “someone tell this bitch to shave her mustache,” on one of my MySpace pictures. The comment stuck with me for a really long time but what’s funny is that I’ve always wanted a mustache. My dad had one when I was a kid that I remember admiring and personally, I just think it’s a good look.

When I worked at Zanzibar’s Coffee in Des Moines, we celebrated “Fake Mustache Friday,” when staff would wear fake mustaches on the first Friday of every month. I looked forward to it every Friday. A few male customers even stopped to tell me that they thought I “actually looked really good with a mustache,” which was very gender affirming and validating because of course I do.

I finally grew my own mustache after starting HRT and even though it’s not that great, I really love it. I shaved once when I was dysphoric and sad and it was such a bad feeling. I literally NEED to have a mustache and thanks to HRT, I finally have one.

“Have a nice day, miss!”

He didn’t even bother correcting the cashier. It hardly mattered. No one saw him for who he was. Everyone who looked at him saw a butch woman, not a trans man. Not that there’s anything wrong with butch women, he had a lot of admiration for them, he just wasn’t one.

“Hey, do you remember me?”

His blood ran cold. The man who groped him during his first week in the city, hand full of his ass cheek, who while doing so asked him if he was a boy or a girl, was following him down the street. He was too afraid to say anything so he pulled up his hood and quickened his pace.

It was finally cold outside and he could wear enough clothes to hide his figure, not that it worked out in his favor. The curves of his wide hips and silhouette of his low-hanging breasts made it impossible for him to pass as male. He was a joke and everyone was laughing at him.

“Hey! I’m talking to you! Do you remember me?” The man had hurried his pace to get closer to him. His aggressive body language and speedy gait had not warded the predator off.

“Can I have a cigarette, my friend?” The man grabbed his wrist to get his attention and before he could stop himself, he swung his fist as hard as he could. When he pulled his hand away, there were drops of blood on his fingers.

“What did you do that for?” The man asked, covering his nose with his hand.

“Because you won’t leave me alone. Stop following me or next time, I’ll kick you in the dick so hard that people start asking you if you’re a boy or a girl. See how you like it.”

Someone else had to have said that. It certainly could not have been him. He was always so afraid. Had his anger finally served a purpose besides eating him alive?

“What are you talking about? You’re crazy!”

Of course he didn’t remember. That just made him angrier. This man had stalked and haunted him for years and he had no idea how much pain and frustration he’d caused. He was going to understand after this.

Still filled with rage, he spat at him. “Leave me alone. Don’t bother me again.”

He was so activated that he didn’t realize he’d gotten home until the door was locked behind him and he’d thrown himself onto his bed. His cat jumped up and licked his cheek. He reached out a shaking hand to stroke her head. She was also so gentle when he needed her.

Anger enveloped him like a weighted blanket. He had always been so afraid that anger would cost him his life, but today, it seemed as though it had saved him.

He never wanted to be an angry or violent man. He hated the idea of hurting others. He often took on the guilt of catastrophic events beyond his control, wishing he could experience the pain that the innocents endured on their behalf. But somehow, in spite of how he’d lost his temper, he felt free.

After snuggling with his cat for a few more minutes, letting the softness of her fur soothe his inner turmoil, he kissed her head and left for the bathroom. He plugged the tub, ran the water, and stripped himself of his clothes. He turned off the lights in order to quiet the harsh voice of his gender dysphoria. He needed to wash his anger and pain away.

As he lowered himself into the tub, the sudsy water soothed his tense muscles. The anger and fear slowly subsided and he felt an eerie sense of calm. Had that really just happened? He had been a coward for so long, what had changed? Had he finally had enough? Did it matter?

He lathered some body wash onto his loofah and began to scrub his weary flesh. He studied the hair on his chest and stomach. From the right angle, his breasts looked like pecs. He wished they always looked like that. He wished he looked the way he felt, or more accurately, the way he wanted to feel.

After twenty minutes, his skin was pruning and he was tired. He needed to sleep off the altercation. His cat was still sitting on the bed, waiting to curl up beside him and be his little spoon. He was more than happy to hold her. She was so precious to him. She loved his body, always wanting to be as close to him as possible. She didn’t care what he looked like, she just knew he loved her and loved him right back. He wondered if he’d ever find a human who would feel that way about him.

Naked, literally and figuratively, he pulled back to covers from his bed, patted the pillow next to him, and snuggled up close to his cat. She settled in close to his chest, purring and kneading on the comforter as he stroked her coat. He buried his face into her fur, huffing her sweet scent. He was safe, even if it was just for now. He’d stood up for himself and this moment of peace was his reward.

Would the man follow him again? He couldn’t be sure. He was too tired to worry about that. He propped himself up on his elbow and whispered to his cat.

“Thank you for loving me, sweet baby,” and kissed her on top of her sweet head. She purred even louder and snuggled up closer to him. She loved him so much he could hardly stand it sometimes. He was grateful. He was home. He was safe.

I don’t know how to dress like a man and actually pull it off. I look so young and all of my clothes fit my feminine body shape so poorly that I look like a 12 year old wannabe skater boy. I feel like a little kid playing dress up. It feels horrible. But I don’t know what I want to wear or how I want to look. I honestly don’t want to think about it at all. I just want to get dressed and not feel horrible. I want to put on clothes and not worry that I’m going to be perceived as a woman. It never works. My chest is too big. My hips are too wide. I look and feel ridiculous.

I wish I didn’t care so much. I wish I could just put on a shirt and not feel like a monster or a liar. I wish my chest was flat. I wish my hips were more narrow. I wish I was a real boy.

I take my testosterone shot and shave my head and face every week. I wear men’s deodorant and use men’s body wash. I wear men’s clothes. I still look like a woman to everyone I come across. People only see what they want to see and people don’t want to see me for who I really am because it doesn’t fit their image of what a man is supposed to be or look like. I don’t fit my image of what a man is supposed to be or look like. I’m so frustrated and disappointed in myself. I should know how to do this. Why can’t I do this?

I have seen the man who groped me and asked me if I was a boy or girl during my first week in the city twice in the last week and a half. He lives in my neighborhood. He follows me around sometimes, asking me if I remember him. As if I could forget something so dehumanizing. It reminds me of when I was walking to a fund raising event for a local coffee shop and a houseless man followed me, asking me again if I was a man or a woman because I have a breasts.

I don’t have many male friends. I used to but always felt weird around them. And bored. Cisgender men are very boring to me. Physically attractive but boring. I don’t like traditionally male hobbies or pastimes like sports or video games.

My female friends see me as a former girl and feel comfortable around me because of this. They don’t think of me as a real man. They think I’m special because I lived as a girl and woman for so long. It’s insulting and isolating.

I don’t really have any close transmasculine friends who live near me. I’m afraid of being rejected by other trans people because I’m not far enough along in my transition. I struggle enough to accept myself as being “trans enough,” I don’t need more judgement and ridicule from people that are further along their transitions and better at being trans than I am.

I don’t think I will ever figure out who I am or how to be that person. I worry that  I’m doomed to be looking for myself forever. I’m afraid that I’m going to die alone in a body that I hate and that makes me unattractive and unlovable to anyone besides chasers and creeps.

I’m tired of being viewed as an experiment or sex toy by men. It doesn’t matter if they’re gay or bi or queer or if they’re cis or trans, I don’t fit into either category with the way my body is now. I’m just a novelty as of right now. I wonder if I will ever be anything besides a fun distraction or experience to others.

I don’t know what the answer is. I should probably try to get a top surgery consultation but it’s going to take so long and be so expensive. It may not even alleviate my gender dysphoria. It might be completely pointless to even try. It most likely won’t change the way people see me or the way I see myself.

I’m so lonely. I just want to be held by someone who doesn’t view me as a sex object or freak of nature. I want to be appreciated and loved for who I am but I don’t think it’s possible right now. I have so much more to change about myself before I can earn the love and acceptance of others but it all feels out of my reach.

I have a crush on a trans guy I met recently. I’m most likely not going to do anything about it. The last time I had a crush on a trans person, I self-sabotaged and fumbled it to badly that I just don’t see myself ever being able to date or get close to another trans man. I’m so embarrassed by how far behind I am and by how not fully trans I am. I don’t think another trans man would even consider me a fellow man with the way I look now. I don’t feel like deserve other trans friends because I’m not good enough at being trans.

I’m so worried that these fears will never go away or that they are true. I don’t know how to believe in myself. I don’t know how to be who I’m supposed to be. I don’t know how to be who I want to be or who that even is. I don’t really want to be anyone.

I can’t stop thinking about lyrics to the song Not Strong Enough by Boygenius:

“I don’t know why I am the way I am/not strong enough go to be your man/I lied, I am just lowering your expectations”

I want to be strong enough. I wonder if I ever will be.

He had no sympathy for victims of school shootings, their families, or communities. He openly mocked their trauma and grief.

He had no sympathy for Black people, instead blaming us for, while simultaneously denying, the systemic racism that strangles us daily.

He had no sympathy for trans people, spouting nothing but vitriol and ignorant lies, pushing an agenda to further threaten our lives.

He had no sympathy for rape and sexual assault survivors, calling for the forced births of children conceived by horrific assault, referring to it as “God’s will,” including his own 10 year old daughter in a grotesque hypothetical scenario.

He had no sympathy for the martyrs of Palestine, many of them being children, believing they deserved to die to further the West’s racist, genocidal regime.

He had no sympathy for immigrants, preaching racist rhetoric that ICE had the right to destroy lives and families of innocent people, believing that a human being could be “illegal.”

He was killed in the same manner of so many people, literal children, that he mocked, gaslight, and belittled.

He got exactly what he deserved.

No sympathy for fascists.

Now, I’m 33, a trauma survivor, I live with OCD and C-PTSD, and I’m gay and trans. I can’t afford top surgery, I work overnight, and I’m isolated from society. I’ve been rendered completely useless. I have nothing to give and it’s starting to piss people off.

I’m not allowed to be depressed or angry or frustrated. I have to be good all the time. I have to be fun and funny and light-hearted all the time or I am rejected.

I was rejected today by a friend for fixating on being unattractive as a trans person. They’re cis and their ex is trans so naturally, I just reminded them of their ex, and they’re pissed. But I listened to them bitch about fucking their boss and getting screwed over for months. I never complained. I was just trying to be a friend. But I don’t get that same curtesy because I’m not a friend, I’m an object and a distraction. But if I remind someone of whatever they’re mad about, I’m the problem.

Let’s get something clear: I am transitioning to be myself but I know that doing this is making me unattractive to most people. I think I am allowed to mourn this. I think I am allowed to be angry and upset that as a gay trans man, I’m essentially invisible at best, and fetishized or stigmatized at worst. I’m going through puberty. I am obsessed with people seeing me for who I am and yeah, I want to be desired and wanted. I know it’s pathetic, but it’s how I feel.

I haven’t had sex in months, and as someone going through puberty, it’s extremely frustrating. I’m considering hiring a sex worker because I don’t think I will ever organically be able to have sex with someone again. I’m not desirable unless there’s something to get out of me and I guess sex is not enough anymore. I have no issue with sex workers. I support their wishes and demands and want nothing but safety, respect, and whatever else sex workers are asking for. I suppose if I were to hire a sex worker, I would be aligned with my values. I just am struggling with the stigma and shame of having to hire a sex worker because I am so unattractive. It feels bad. I feel pathetic.

Honestly, I am pathetic. Only pathetic people obsess about shit like this. Especially when the world is so fucked up. Chicago is filled with ICE agents tearing people and families apart. The global genocides of Gaza, The Congo, Sudan, and many others continue despite cries for mercy from around the world. I pay attention to these things. They disturb and anger me. But I feel powerless. I can’t even get someone to want to touch me, how could I get the people in power to stop hurting people, hurting children? I have nothing and I am nothing.

I just finished reading Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Feinberg. It was extremely triggering and difficult to read, but it has a lot of merit and heart. It’s just a very real portrayal of being trans and queer in the latter half of the 20th century. It made me sad and wonder when I became so jaded and cynical and hopeless. There’s a quote in the book that really resonated with me:

“I just to want to change the world. Now I just want to survive it.”

I’ve felt like this for two years. I keep thinking sex or companionship will make me feel better, like I matter, but it won’t. Nothing will because I don’t. Trans women matter. Dying children matter. Houseless people matter. I’m nothing, I don’t matter, and I should be focusing more of my energy on helping the people do matter instead of obsessing about why I’m not good enough.

I used to be brave. I used to confront abusers, protest in the streets, I was even a street medic in the summer of 2020. Now, I sleep all day and sit at my job doing nothing all night. I’m afraid to go to the movies after dark, and when people approach me (regardless of intent) I harden myself and reject them before they can reject me. I used to be able to flirt with bartenders and baristas, now I just worry I’m annoying them. I’m not brave or strong anymore. I am weak and useless and people are mad.

I’m so angry about this. Because when I seem happy again, these people will want me back, which only proves my belief that I have to be perfect and happy to have value or be worthy of friendship is true. And because I am weak and pathetic, I will welcome them with open arms. I am a coward. I deserve the gulag but it won’t come for me because that would be too easy. I am doomed to wander this earth completely alone, untouched, and insane.

I don’t want to be like this. Neurotic and obsessive and lonely but it seems this is my fate. I appreciate you reading this if you did. I’m not looking for reassurance, support, or anything else. I don’t deserve it. I just want to be different. I hope I can figure out how. I’m so tired of trying to be good enough.

I am a trans late bloomer. I have a large amount of shame about it. I feel like I should have known I was trans sooner, even though I had little to no knowledge of trans people or the trans experience until I was probably a young teenager. I think on some level, I knew I was different. I knew I was not a little girl, or at the very least, never felt like one. I was obsessed for many years about how to look and act like the perfect little girl. So obsessed that I relentlessly studied books, magazines, blogs, movies, music, and TV shows about the all-American girl experience, determined to be the best girl I could be, because I thought I had to be.

In doing so, I lost sight of who I truly was and it’s taken me many years to try to find who that is. Unfortunately, since starting HRT two years ago, it often feels like I’m further away from who I am than I have ever been. It’s frustrating and confusing and I often find myself worked up about whether or not I’m being my authentic self or if my authentic self even exists.

I want someone to help me figure out how to be the things I think I am. I feel as though I can’t claim them until I understand them. I feel like a liar myself trans because I haven’t had surgery and don’t pass. I feel like a fraud for calling myself a man for a million reasons, but the biggest is that I fear no one believes that I am a man. I struggle to call myself a gay man because I don’t often attract men (cis or trans) who are attracted to men.

I want someone to help me figure out how to be myself but I feel as though it’s impossible for me to exist as that person in this world of rigid rules and brutal binaries. It’s not like I haven’t been trying, I’ve just been consistently failing. Or, I guess, maybe my real self is just not someone people want to be around. That’s always been (and continues to be) my biggest fear about coming out and transitioning: that I was more acceptable, preferable, and just better before I came out and began transitioning.

I waited until adulthood to transition for a reason. Actually, there were many reasons. Firstly, my parents would never have allowed it. They had enough trouble accepting me as an adult with agency over my own body and choices and I lived a very sheltered and controlled childhood. In fact, I called my dad to talk on Sunday, and I heard my mom use “she/her” pronouns to refer to me. That hasn’t been right for at least five years.

Then there’s this example, I hated my name growing up. I always got asked why I was a girl with a boy’s name. I desperately wanted to change it so people would stop bothering me. I remember begging my parents to let me go by something else (I don’t remember the actual name,) and my dad looked me in the eye and told me, “I named you Connor Erin*. I will call you that no matter if you grow up and legally change your name to something else. You will always be the person I named you.”

*Connor Erin is my legal name and has been since my birth. It is a very silly story. I will not be telling it here, but most people who have met me post-transition are shocked to learn that Connor is not my chosen name.*

I knew at a very young age that I was not safe to be my authentic self in my own home or with my own family. I still don’t feel as though I am safe to be my authentic self around my family, immediate or extended. I have never felt close or connected to them. I have always felt incredibly judged by them. I definitely don’t live up their standards.

At Christmas two years ago, I went home for the first time in years. My youngest living paternal uncle has dementia and lives in an assisted living facility, and I went with my mom and younger brother to visit him and my extended family. I was scared. I want to say I was anxious, but that isn’t an accurate description of how terrified I was. My uncle didn't recognize me. Not just because of the dementia, but because I had started testosterone. He began to antagonize me for being a “weed pusher,” instead of a career writer (I was working as a budtender in a dispensary at the time.) My whole extended family then jumped in to criticize me for not “writing about [my] life to help people like [me],” meaning trans people. As if me, someone who’s been on HRT for only two years, hasn't had the top surgery I want yet, and only passes as a man about 40% of the time, could give any trans people advice on how to do anything. I ended up leaving the banquet hall in tears and cried by myself in a hallway for about 20 minutes. I haven't gone back for Christmas since and frankly, don’t want to, but my fear of disappointing my parents gnaws at the back of my consciousness a little every day.

In my family’s defense, this was probably their way of expressing their belief in my ability to write and publish something meaningful. This just proves how little my family actually knows me, because if they knew me even a little bit, they’d know I’m pretty much only an expert at failure. Since starting HRT, I ended my first queer long term relationship, got fired from my first full time job in four years, and have had multiple friendships come to an end over some of my behaviors stemming my from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and pubescent angst. I have no authority to help trans people, unless they want or need help making their lives more difficult.

Another reason I waited until adulthood to transition is because I am extremely emotionally sensitive. This is something I have been shamed and judged for my whole life. I was constantly being told as a “little girl” that I was “too sensitive,” how on earth was I going to survive being that sensitive and trying to get everyone to believe that I was actually a boy? That was ever going to happen. Even though it’s a deeply misogynistic cultural belief that men crying (or expressing any emotional vulnerability, really,) is weak because it’s a feminine thing to do, it is an extremely prevalent and damaging cultural belief with a lot of social weight.

There’s an episode in the second season of FX’s television comedy-drama Atlanta called “Fake FUBU".” It’s a flashback to protagonist Earn’s childhood. It opens with him shopping at Marshall’s with his mother and picking out a yellow FUBU jersey that he convinces her to buy for him. He wears it to school the next day, only to discover that another Black male classmate, Devin, has on what at first appears to be the same FUBU jersey. Eventually, an argument breaks out about who has the titular “fake FUBU” jersey, and without getting into too much detail, a desperate Earn gets his cousin Alfred to convince everyone that his jersey is real. Devin is so harshly bullied as a result, it is revealed to the class the next day that he has ended his life due to his parent’s divorcing and recent harassment at school. Earn is guilt-ridden, Alfred appears remorseless.

I watched this episode of Atlanta with my friend Mohamed about two years ago. As the credits began to roll, I turned to look at him and asked, “why did you want to watch this episode?” He had specifically suggested this episode with great enthusiasm but when it was over, we were both stunned.

“I don’t know,” he offered, and really didn’t seem to. He was as profoundly effected by the episode as I had been though. His facial expression was haunted and his body language was solemn. I was wiping tears from my eyes. I pointed up at the credits rolling on the screen.

“This is why I would never have come out as a kid. All that toxic masculinity at such a young age. I would have never survived.”

I still believe that’s true. I would not have survived. I’ve struggled with suicidal ideation since I entered puberty at 9. I think if I had tried and been bullied and denied who I am, not just at home but also at school and by my peers, that I would have attempted. We can never know for sure, because that isn’t what happened, I chose to repress my true self until my late-twenties because at the time, I believed it would keep me safe, and at times, I think it did.

Speaking of my twenties, while I’m fully aware that one’s twenties are the beginning of their adult years and the end of childhood, but my twenties were the first time I was on my own and able to make my own choices and forge my own experiences with less fear of judgement from my peers, punishment from my parents, and anxiety about generally disappointing everyone. It was the first time I got to experience autonomy and it was intoxicating. Unfortunately, I also experienced a physically and psychologically traumatizing event when I was 19 that led me to develop PTSD, for which I used partying and hook-up culture to distract myself from the symptoms of.

All that aside, I was a virgin until I was 20 years old. Or, by virgin, I mean I hadn’t had vaginal sexual intercourse before I was 20 years old due to my fear of God and my parents. I had a boyfriend in high school, he was kind to me and a very good first boyfriend, but I never felt that I was desirable until college. Suddenly, guys wanted to kiss me, take me on dates, and even have sex with me! This was something that made me feel powerful at a time where I felt that trauma had weakened me.

Hyper-sexuality is a common trauma response. It makes sense that it would be the major coping mechanism for me while dealing with a violent trauma at such a turbulent period in a person’s life (early college.) I have a little less shame surrounding this part of my trauma history at this time. Naturally, because somewhere buried deep inside of myself I knew I was Not A Girl, the sense of power I originally felt from my newfound sexuality dissipated and I began to feel detached from, and at times disgusted with, the sex I was having. While at first I felt like a femme fatale, it soon became clear that the only person my sexy, vampy persona was killing was me.

I didn’t stop trying to be Girl Connor for years after that. I was being treated so much differently than I ever had before. I had a lot of friends, people thought I was beautiful and stylish and cool (the latter being a first that, like most novelties, did not last long.) Maybe I really was a girl, I just hadn't been given the chance to do it My Way. This was not true. I was not a girl. I was just so deep in the role I’d been playing for years and was finally getting the praise I so badly desired that I would do anything to keep getting that kind of validation. Anything besides being my true self.

I’m not sure what was my breaking point. Part of it was attempting to come out to my then-boyfriend, who completely dismissed me. Another part of it was being so disgusted with the entitled behavior I experienced from cishet men that expressed attraction to me. They all seemed to only care about how I looked, how I would feel, smell, and taste, or what I could do for their sexual pleasure. I was attracted to men, but straight men were losing my favor every day.

After breaking up with that former boyfriend and quitting my barista gig at an abusive workplace, I ended up working for a gay man at a local restaurant for a brief time. He was athletic, strong, and handsome and I had a major crush on him. I remember confessing my crush to my friend while out at the local gay bar and him responding by asking me if I’d “have sex with a gay man?” I remember my answer clear as day: “If a gay man would have sex with me, yeah.”

I’d been identifying as non-binary for a few years by this point, making my understanding of my sexuality even more confusing. I’m ashamed to admit it, but the gender binary, however problematic it may be, was how I was taught to understand gender and sexuality, and unlearning that at 28 was difficult. I felt out of touch and stupid compared to other queer and trans people my age. I often still do. This negative self-belief held me (and still occasionally holds me) back from potentially finding the community, friendships, and relationship(s) I so badly yearn for. It was only one part of what got in the way of my first queer relationship.

I got confused about sexuality. I thought if I hated and wasn't;t attracted to straight men and I wasn’t straight, then I must be a lesbian. I’d been attracted to girls before, or so I thought. But really, when I think back to it, I was attracted to femininity, something I knew I could never pull off and feel safe or comfortable in. I dated my next partner, who would at some point also identify as non-binary, for three and a half years. I cannot talk about our relationship in this essay, as it would veer too off topic, and I’m working on a separate piece about it. I just want to say that our relationship was painful, difficult, unhealthy, co-dependent, and led to me truly losing myself in the worst way imaginable (to me.)

I want to shift back to my anxieties as a gay trans man. I fear I will never be accepted into the gay community, whether or not I do finally get top surgery. My goal is not to look like a cisgender man, nor do I think that is an attainable goal for myself. I want to look like myself as a man, however HRT and top surgery allow that to look. I do not experience bottom dysphoria or want a penis, but I worry that because I do not enjoy anal sex that gay men will not want to sleep with me.

This is just internalized transphobia and the rampant transphobic rhetoric being spewed by our society and government worming its way into my consciousness, filling me with doubt like it’s intended to do. I am ashamed that I think about these things. As a friend recently pointed out to me when I was lamenting not being attractive to men, it’s giving Pick Me behavior. I’m not proud of it, and it’s not rational, but I’d like to take this moment to point out that I’m literally going through puberty, so I’m often not using my most rational thinking brain at all times. I’m also a complex trauma survivor, which certainly doesn’t help my brain process emotions and sensations in the most logical way.

There is more to my story, as there often is. But it is late, I am tired, and frankly, a little embarrassed. This piece could be more organized, polished, and needs to be edited multiple more times. I’m scared of being judged by my family, friends, foes (should they have nothing better to do than stalk my Substack, which would be very sad for them if true,) and most of all, strangers on the internet.

So what was the point of sharing all of this? I’m not sure. I doubt it will do what my extended family believes my work will do, which is “help people like me.” The transgender experience is not monolithic. My experience is mine and not like any one else’s. That alone makes my life very lonely. This was once something else that kept me from coming out and transitioning, the fear that I would be lonely forever if I were to live as my authentic self. I most likely will be, and I’m not thrilled about that, but I have to be myself, even if who I am is potentially ugly and undesirable to some people. It’s also possible that by sharing this part of myself, someone will find me interesting, a kindred spirit, or find validation for themselves from my reading stories. Mostly, I want to feel free. I’m not sure this will accomplish that, but hopefully it’s a start.

When I obliged and turned my head to say so, he apologized.

“Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am!”

I shook my head and shrugged,

“No, you were right the first time, but it’s okay.” I handed him a cigarette and offered him a light.

“Hey,” he told me, looking in my eyes, accepting my offering,

“You have the right to be who you want to be.”

I thanked him and walked towards Jackhammer

Full of gratitude because even though I don’t need it

It felt nice to get permission to be myself.

Hello all! I am writing to you on my phone at my desk at my overnight job, which is really when I have the most time to do much of anything. Work has become a major (if not the biggest) stressor in my life. My coworkers are amazing and supportive, but everything else is pretty challenging. Due to the nature of my work, I can’t disclose many details because that would be a HIPAA violation and though I’m deeply struggling at work, I’m not trying to get fired!

I work at a group home for mentally ill and traumatized teen boys/young men from the ages of 16-20 years old. Some days, it’s great. I feel fulfilled and enjoy spending time with the members of the program as I try to help them navigate life as mentally ill young people. However, lately it’s been rough. I experienced my first crisis incident and it was really hard on me, physically, mentally, and emotionally. I struggle with the hours (Weds-Sunday, 11pm - 9am,) getting enough sleep and social time, and being able to care for my stressed out cat.

In fact, she is picking up on my stress right now and it’s so bad that she’s been ripping out her fur to the point of having a bald spot, so I had to put her old cone from her tooth extraction on her to get her to stop this behavior. I also got her some pheromone diffusers and a stroller so we can go for walks as part of my self-care plan.

On Monday, March 31, it was Trans Day is Visibility, a “holiday” for which I have a lot of complicated feelings. Hyper-visibility has frankly done a lot of harm for the trans community, especially for trans women and femmes, so I‘m skeptical of the holiday. I also am dealing with my own issues of trans imposter syndrome, but my therapist has been helpful with that. Anyway, it was also my dear friend Allen’s birthday, and they took me to see Deftones with them, and it was so amazing. Chino Moreno is hotter now in his mid-fifties than he was in the 90s/2000s and he had so much energy and stamina on stage. I really had an amazing time with my transmasc bestie at the show.

The following day, I hung out in Andersonville with my friend Anito, and we walked around discussing grief, generational trauma, transness, queerness, how much it sucks to work, and what we’d be doing if we didn’t have to work. It was a really nice and refreshing hang, but unfortunately, between that long day of walking and talking and the Deftones show the night before, I was pretty beat by Wednesday, which is the start of my work week.

The rest of it all feels like a blur. Some difficult things have happened at work. I’ve been struggling to maintain a sense of hope or optimism lately. I feel angry, sad, or emotionally drained most of the time. Even after chatting with my friends and family, I feel the love but I also feel the need to sleep for as long as I possibly can.

I also went to the soft opening of my friend Morgan’s N/A bottle shop, Solar Intentions and it was such a nice little treat! Morgan has been working so hard for the last few years to get this space open and running, and I am so proud of her! If anyone in Chicago is looking for a fun place to hang out without the pressure to consume alcohol, Solar Intentions is the spot to check out! I’m am so excited to see what the future has in store for Morgan and the space she has created. I have nothing but the utmost belief that great things will come of it!

I did successfully go out to a kink-friendly club by myself for the first time over the past weekend. I had a few drinks, spaced them out with water and Gatorade, danced by myself, and had a nice time just kind of taking it all in. I really enjoyed watching men be openly affectionate and sexual with one another. There was a group of gay elders kissing and holding each other and it was so touching. I want to be able to do that when I am that age, should myself or the planet still be around.

I also watched a new miniseries, Dying For Sex, and it was truly inspiring. It made me cry big, fat, wet tears and let out wailing sobs, offering an emotional release I very clearly needed. It was centered around a woman who is told her cancer has come back, that it is terminal, and with her caseworker decides she wants to have an orgasm with another person before she dies, as she has never has before due to childhood sexual trauma. It explores friendship, love, sexual trauma and liberation, sex and disability, grief, and forgiveness.

It inspired me to start a poetry collection that I will discuss more when I have a clearer vision of what I want to make of it. But I have a list of subjects and a very basic outline of what will be included in the collection. I have already written one poem, surprisingly enough, it was about my break up with my ex almost two summers ago, which I am still emotionally processing. The poem offered my an huge source emotional relief and I feel good about it, like I don’t have any needlessly harsh criticisms or anything like that. I’m excited to keep up with the project.

Due to a a crisis incident at work, I’ve been struggling with my physical pain lately, and have been spending my down time rotating between ice packs and my heating pad in bed. Barbara Jean (my cat,) has been a fabulous little nurse though she is not happy about her cone or her antihistamines I have to give to her. She does seem happy to have me home and in bed with her.

I saw my PCP, my testosterone levels are good, but my bloodwork showed signs of light anemia, so the third thing on my self-care list is slowly working on cooling more iron-rich meals and prepping them for my work week, in order to fuel myself and help with the major fatigue I’ve been battling. My PCP also helped me get in touch with a new psychiatrist, which is going to be amazing because my current psychiatrist is not working out for me. I routinely wait hours after my scheduled appointment time to see him and his administrative staff is rude and unhelpful. I get that working in healthcare HAS to suck right now, but I also feel like people who work in healthcare (especially mental healthcare) should be a little more compassionate with their patients.

That’s it for now. Hoping to have more to share at a later date. Thanks for keeping up with me, I really appreciate all the support!

Don’t you dare

Try to re-enter my life

Because you see something you like

Already fooled me once

I won’t let you get me twice

Remember, you realized i’m a monster

Now we’ll never get another chance to play nice

Wish I could say it was good trying to be your friend

But a monster always knows how these things really end

Lucifer, too, was made in God’s image,
but was cast out of Heaven due to the wickedness within him
Am I also unworthy of a divine community built upon love and acceptance?
Is this darkness within me what has damned me to a lonely life of neuroticism and shame?

Can my mistakes, failures, and shortcomings be forgiven or am I doomed to ruminate on my cowardly, monstrous nature, drowning in thoughts as painful as the lakes of fire in Hell?
Self-absorbed and ashamed, even the Devil himself would find me useless, just I am here on Earth.
Is there any sense in having hope when I have always been a heathen?

Subscribe now

Highlights

☕ I read the most in the afternoon

💌 I subscribed to 7 new Substacks

📽️ I watched 4 minutes of video

❤️ I liked 5 posts

💬 I left 1 comment on posts

📜 I scrolled 111 meters in Notes

🕵️ I discovered 7 new posts via Notes

Top Substacks

Astro Poets by Astro Poets

poetry | astrology | mystery

Top post this summer: ♋ 💗 💗 ♋ 💗 ♋ Venus Enters Cancer ♋ | Read your LOVE horoscope 💗 ♋ 💗 ♋ 💗

How To Get Unstuck by Amy Shearn

Writing your way out of the restlessness

Top post this summer: What would you write if you were really honest with yourself?

Katie Crutchfield’s Substack by Katie Crutchfield

Top post this summer: six years

Share your own Summer Recap

You can see your own summer recap in the Substack app. I’d love to see what you’ve been reading.

Get my Recap

Hello,

I don’t have anything nice to say about myself or my life right now, but I feel guilty about not posting so here’s my summer reading list.

Anyway, this is what I’ve read this summer. The Fall Equinox is Sunday, so I am hoping to read at least one or two more books before then. I hope you all enjoyed your summer and that it was far less lonely than mine. I may do a list of movies I watched this summer next, as I found myself getting back into my childhood hobbies of reading and watching movies/tv this summer.

Thanks for reading, I sincerely appreciate it!

XOXO,

Connor

Subscribe

Long time, no writing. Here and generally. I’ve been primarily focused on my mental health recovery for the past month and honestly, it’s been kind of exhausting. I don’t have a ton of energy for much of anything besides basic self-care and the occasional IRL friend hang or FaceTime call. I’m still off of social media besides Facebook, which I find supremely boring, but am using to keep myself plugged in to local businesses and events. I’m still applying to jobs and after the last month, I’m starting to feel more confident in my ability to return to work.

As far as my mental health recovery goes, I worked very hard the last month trying to get into an Intensive Outpatient Program or and Dialectal Behavior Therapy group to work on managing my coping mechanisms, in addition to individual talk therapy. I applied and was accepted to a DBT group at the same provider as my individual therapist, but due to summer vacations, there were not enough people enrolled in the program, and it was postponed until September. I reached out to another program and went so far as to complete the intake process, but the facility is understaffed and not able to meet my needs at this time. In frustration, I reached out to my primary care physician, who directed me to a caseworker to help me navigate finding other programs in my network.

As summer is now more than half-way over, I've found that I will most likely have to wait to start a program until the fall. Given the work I’ve been doing with my therapist, on my own, and with my caseworker, I think waiting for a few months will be a well-earned break. My best friend, Lizzie, also purchased a DBT self-help workbook for me to utilize in the meantime, which my therapist thinks will be a sufficient introduction to the type of work I’ll be doing in a group or therapy program in the fall. It’s informative and I am finding it to be useful, but the work is tiring. I often find myself cancelling plans after completing my workbook sections because I’m tired like I typically am after a particularly intense therapy session.

I haven't had much creative drive recently, as I’ve been so focused on my mental health recovery and looking for work, but I’m not letting it get to me like I would have in the past. I can only do what I have the energy to do, and like the affirmation I wrote in my workbook says, “doing nothing is resting, which is doing something.” In fact, when mentioning to a friend how hard I was working on relaxing, they pointed out the irony of the statement. I’m feeling my chronic pain flare up in my neck like it does when I am stressed and overwhelmed and I’m having a hard time feeling physically comfortable most of the time.

I’m not sleeping very well, which is frustrating and adding to my stress. I struggle a lot with rumination and have been having flashbacks of times in my life I haven't thought about in a long time. It hasn’t been anything horribly distressing, but it does make me overthink about the past at times. I also recently had the most vivid, life-like nightmare that left me shaken for a few days. I plan to use the dream for the plot of a short story when I am feeling more creatively energetic because while haunting, the dream was also strangely fascinating. I’ve never remembered so much detail from a dream before. I’m excited to incorporate my dream into my writing as I usually write nonfiction, so writing a fiction short story will be a nice challenge for me.

I have more to say but am feeling quite fatigued from writing this all up. I’ll be sure to update this space more frequently when I am feeling more energetic. I hope everyone is beating the heat, staying vigilant despite the constant bombardment of distressing news, and appreciating the moments of peace and joy that enter your life.

XOXO,

Connor

Subscribe now

I hope everyone’s summer is going well, that the sun isn’t making anyone too uncomfortable, and that you’re all finding ways to keep yourself stimulated and sane. I wish I could say that’s how things are going for me, but alas, it seems my non-linear hero’s journey to self-discovery is continuing to keep me on my toes and (occasionally) out of my mind. Still, I continue on, however shaky my steps feel at times.

I’ve been really struggling with my moods and my communication. I have a really horrible relationship with social media for many reasons, but one of my biggest issues is how I will over-share my self-destructive and harmful beliefs to my Instagram under the assumption that no one will notice the change in my behavior or care, which is not only untrue, but largely unhelpful to me and my personal relationships. I am grateful to have friends who are patient with me and able to be frank with me while taking my C-PTSD into consideration as well. Thanks to a conversation I had during one of more recent self-hatred spirals with one of my closest friends, I’ve been able to reflect on my behavior, and have decided to delete my Instagram account (hopefully) for good.

This is kind of huge for me. Before Instagram became my most used social media platform, I was using Twitter (sorry to deadname it but I just refuse to participate in anything Elon Musk does) the same toxic way. This was a little more severe, I think, because it’s a text-based social media, so I would basically just post my stream of consciousness 24/7, good or bad, healthy or unhealthy, stable or not. Sometimes, I was great at Twitter. I can be funny, observant, and love to share my thoughts on the current pop-culture landscape. However, whenever I was feeling or behaving unwell, it just became a physical version of my negative inner-monologue. It freaked out my friends and often left me feeling embarrassed, like waking up the next day after a particularly riotous night of drinking and remembering what an ass I acted like.

I ended up leaving Twitter right before the 2020 Presidential election. I couldn’t take the constant propaganda from both the Republicans and the Democrats, as neither party cares about the American people, just our money, and because living in a “progressive” part of a red state made my feed basically just shit storm of mediocre neoliberal word salad and tons of social pressure to vote for “the lesser of two evils.” Honestly, I think it was more about the convenience of it all than being really serious about how the way I was using Twitter was unhealthy for me. It was an excuse to quit without having to really think about the real reason.

Once again, also during the year of Presidential election (with the same candidates running,) I have found myself logging off from a social media app that once held so much of my attention, contributed to my feelings of Impostor Syndrome, gender dysphoria, and profoundly effected my moods, behaviors, and self-esteem. I’ve been fighting this for months, if I’m being honest. I remember joking that 2024 may be the year I go offline for my mental health and here I am, actually giving it a shot. It’s only been since Monday (5 days) and I feel restless without it, I still find myself itching to check Instagram after turning off my morning alarm.

That alone is alarming and a startling wake up call (excuse the pun) that I needed to make a change. In my defense, after leaving Twitter, I relied on Instagram to get my news, locally, nationally, and globally, especially with multiple genocides being committed with aid and financial support from our country. As I’ve been seeing online, the Palestinian, Sudanese, and Congolese people are asking us to stay aware, to keep watching and sharing videos of their violent living conditions, and not to ignore it like we have ignored so many atrocities and war crimes before. I definitely used this plea as an excuse to stay online.

After all, I need to be informed, right? I need to do the bare minimum of staying attentive and hopeful, especially if that’s all that’s being asked of me. I do feel a tremendous amount of guilt for being able to just look away from the horror my country is helping to unleash on men, women, and children because it has more regard for the resources belonging to these people than the Black and brown people themselves. I would be lying if I said that being bombarded by constant violent images wasn’t distressing to me or effecting my own C-PTSD. I’m prone to night terrors because of my traumas, and while I was still on Instagram, I would often have nightmares about the bombings in Rafah and the West Bank. The images of malnourished children mourning their families in the streets did not leave my mind just because my eyes were closed or off my phone screen. I dream about this less now that I’m less online, but the suffering people of the world still come to me in my sleep.

A way my relationship to Instagram was negatively affecting my life was how it was also affecting my friendships and interpersonal relationships. Intellectually, I am aware that just because someone’s status is “online,” does not mean they are available to chat, or that they even want to. I’m also aware that people posting to their stories is not an invitation to start conversations, try to make plans, or anyone rubbing their social lives and personal achievements in my face. Unfortunately, when my brain goes into Online Mode, it’s like all the internet etiquette I acquired since the late 90’s was replaced by the sick need to see what everyone is up to.

First of all, this is Cop Behavior! Monitoring people based on what they post online? The police literally do this! I firmly believe that everyone needs to kill the cop in their head, because it’s our job to protect one another, not to watch and wait for one another to mess up. It’s not any of my business what people are doing with their free time, but because of our society’s treacherous emphasis on para-social relationships, I find myself thinking that maybe I do have the right to know what people are doing, where they are, and who their with. Usually, I’m just curious, but you know that old saying about curiosity and the cat, and I often killed my sense of self-worth by comparing myself to what my friends, favorite artists, and local baddies post on their feeds and stories. By doing this, I end up hurting my own feelings for pretty much no reason, other than habit. Therefore, it’s time to break it.

From now on, this will probably be the best place to get personal update from me. Or maybe Facebook, though I would like to leave that app by the end of this year as well. Meta knows enough about me. If you want to be able to reach me more directly, send me an email at connoreperkins@gmail.com, because I am not putting my personal phone number online. But you can email me for it, if you’d like!

Well, while this was meant to be just a little personal update, it turned into a little essay about my relationship to social media and how I’m trying to end it. Wish me luck, as I am hoping this helps me to stay focused on my real Hot Unemployed Boy Summer mission of getting to know, learning to care for, and appreciate myself for coming this far. I only have further to go, which somedays fills me with a deep sense of resentment and anger, but the hero’s journey must continue!

Thanks for reading and supporting me! I appreciate it so much.

XOXO,

Connor

I wanted to tell you the secret eating me alive
Pulling me apart, making me cry

More than that I just want you by my side

So I bury it deep and continue to lie

You see, you mean so much to me

More than you’d be willing to believe

When I look at you, filled with fear and glee

I wish I could be what you want me to be

I know you want me to be your girl

Your lovely little perfect pearl

Bound to the binary of this world

But I fought it by cutting off all of my curls

I just can’t be you girl

Happy Pride, everyone. Baby boy Connor, I’m doing my best for you, dude. One day at a time.

Subscribe now