So he wrote back, unfazed, saying that we should go out sometime, and that I'm hot.
Naturally, I'm assuming he doesn't know what FTM means, etc etc....
I was almost tempted to write back, saying what FTM is, so he has no false ideas about me.
But then I wondered. Am TRYING to set myself up to fail? Honestly?
I don't know.
And for the girl who asked, here's a brief outline of sex change operations for FTMs.
Mistaken Identity. But thats everyday life.
I added a gay boy on myspace who will be going to my new school down in FL next year.
And he sent me a message, flirting, asking if I was gay, suggesting we hang out sometime, etc etc.
And then I didn't want him to have any preconcieved notions about me.
So I messaged him back, saying hey, yeah, I am going to CBHS next year, hanging out would be cool.
And here I sit. Two weeks after he moved across the country.
Sitting in his clothes, breathing in his cologne.
Listening to Bright Eyes because I am far too melancholy to listen to his favourite Madonna cd.
I wanted to be him
I wanted to be with him.
And I was so overwhelmed by the emotions I felt towards him, I couldn't even tell him I was a FTM.
He would have accepted me. I used to joke and call him my gay guru. He accepted everyone, loved everyone.
I want to move from here
Not so I can leave you
but so being
will not be something I am discovering
but something I am
with no path to question it
or mistakes for you to question me
to be somewhere that my fears
by a tangle of knots
I twisted myself
the secrets at bay
I watched him from behind
and couldn't help but wonder
if he would kiss me in the
the way you used to
as though you felt
and hid from it as i did
because it was better for us
to pretend we were happy
and in love
than ever question those
you could feel in my gaze
and you held me as i slept
you loved me
but because you feared i
would flee if you did not
I actually just want attention right now.
Lame, I know.
I'm just really depressed and happy and content but aggravated.
I'm a kaleidoscope of emotions.
And all of my cds are at my friends house.
And I want to listen to Oasis and veg.
you scream those names
as though you possess the
what i could not
perhaps the force
of your hate
will deconstruct every
I have ever built
I will not cry over your outbursts
I will not even protest
I never deserved this pain
but I'll take it
just one more day
in vain hopes
when you answer
So yesterday I took what I feel was a big step towards passing as a male. I cut my hair off, as seen in my avatar. Let it be known that I already frequent the men's section at Hollister. However, my family has no idea that not only am I their son/nephew/grandson, rather than Julia, their daughter/neice/granddaughter/sister, i'm a GAY man! . So when I arrived home with....very little hair, all hell broke loose. My grandmother cried, my mother called me a "fat old dyke", and it was made clear that I was not permitted to make any more decisions anymore because I am "irresponsible". Worst of all, they are insisting I dress in very feminine clothes when I leave the house, so I will not be mistaken for a boy. but that was my intent! . I've been reduced to carrying a large purse to take a change of clothes. If I hear one more homophobic or genderphobic taunt thrown out by my gramma I'll snap. I've spent all day hiding in my room because I don't want to face them.
I knew I was different when I was 4. Oh preschool, what a lifechanging abundance of self discovery you are.
Since the time I punched David Bernstein in the face for calling me a girl, till the day I bawled myself to sleep when I got my first period. Breasts were a problem for me too. They're large! Cumbersome! They move! They serve me no purpose! Every step of puberty was another where I internally fought my very body. So I told myself what I thought I needed to hear. You're just too frumpy. If you were pretty, you'd be happy with how you look. So I dieted. I primped. I combed. I shaved. I waxed. I became the girl of every heterosexual boy's dreams. But it still wasn't right. I couldn't understand why I looked in the mirror and wanted to destroy the very cocoon I had built for myself. Deep down, I wanted to wear cargo shorts, mandals, muscle shirts, swim trunks. But this made no sense to me. I liked boys! I couldn't be a boy. Even the sound of my own name made me cringe. Julia. Naturally, my parents saddled me with a feminine name complete with ribbons and bows.