Delving, down, down...
Down through the inverts and the perverts, the outsiders and the disgusting folk. Down through loathing and condemnation and mockery and derision and disgust. Down through my own disgust and desperation, to appear normal and to blend in. DOWN through pitiful attempts at collaboration- “I may be weird, but I am not as weird as that lot”- and justification- “It’s a medical condition!” Down, until at last we reach the Secondary Transsexual, a fruitful object for examination.
There is a certain tinge of self-pity, resentment and bitterness here, but bear with me.
No, on second thoughts, don’t. I started this intending to go on in the same vein, about how even some queers called me queer (in a bad way), radfem lesbians who say I am a man, etc, etc, an oppressor and beneficiary of male privilege-
Oops. Er, Wait. This really is depressive thinking. It is so easy to get into it. It feels so rational and calm to write about all the difficulties, the-
Spotting it is a good thing. I want to replace it.
It is a practice, then. Sit down, work it out, decide on it, accept it, think it. Even feel it, eventually, so that this gets easier.
I experience far more acceptance than rejection. The rejection does not harm me except insofar as it is my own. I have a right to my harmless proclivities. Self-acceptance increases self-perception. Generally, acceptance increases perception.
And- it is difficult. It is not something I can decide to do and just think I do. It is a habit I need to get into.
O God, I do not want to be this feminine, I really don’t, it feels like life would be so much easier if I were otherwise, and I wonder if it is personality disorder rather than innate, if I may escape it in some way- and I might be better rolling with it than resisting it. Cliché feminine, feminine in a bad way, so unfitting to my body and my ageing face- and if I sometimes glimpse beauty in it I see always this terrible weakness- how can I look after myself, when I am so alone?