Cherubino boy
I've been realizing, in part, why this is. Among my friends and family is a diverse range of personalities. Many of these include colorful individuals who thrive on saucy humor; are creative; are temperamental, with deep feelings and passions; are stubborn; are verbose and expressive; are strong-willed and insightful.
However, I often feel like few of my intimates are really very similar to me. It's not just a question of being understood; some of my closer family and friends seem to understand me well enough, and I, them. More often, I think it's a question of not having many people near me who share a lot of my interests, values, and goals. One would imagine that this would not be the case. But it is, for some reason.
I share traits in common with my circle of people, but there are a lot of differences, too. I have met very, very few people of whom I can truly say "S/he is a lot like me." I'm sure this is true of the others in my life; I don't mean to single myself as being very especially unique or at odds.
I do tend to be at odds, though, I feel. Even my brother and I like to discuss a lot of the same things, and he is probably one of few people in my life I can say is really close to me, there are a wealth of topics, interests, and personal affairs that I feel I cannot discuss with him. Well, less that I cannot, but more that we do not happen to share that interest or problem, and thus just tend not to bring it up. This is no fault of his, and assuredly true in his case, as well.
I accept, and anticipate, that there should always be some lack of overlap; some disparity of feeling and experience, as we are all inevitably unique creatures. However, I find myself wishing quite frequently, usually in the silence of my heart, that I knew someone who was more like me; who would want to talk about some of those things I wish to share with someone, but cannot. Someone who cry over the same things I cry over, have many of the same views and morals I have, and better understand my somewhat unusual position in society. Someone who read many of the same books; had similar musical tastes to me; so on in this fashion.
(I'm not saying I want a clone; I would hope this theoretical person would also broaden my horizons, have his or her own special interests, and teach me a few things.)
I think the matter may more aptly come down to some special areas I have in mind, areas in which I feel more alone than normal, or more in need than normal. I just wish I didn't feel quite so odd compared to other people.
I have always been squeamish when it comes to interacting with strangers, fellow students or co-workers, or other members of society as a whole. I always feel so out of place, and very vulnerable, as if I were standing out. I become very aware of my own ugliness, my own weirdness. I feel at self-conscious and yet frayed at the edges, like I might lose whatever grasp I have on myself if I stay outside too long. I feel at once both too distinct and not distinct enough.
Sure, part of this has to do with having gender dysphoria - much of our social identity is formed by our gender. Since I am in something of an ill-defined place in that regard, I am left with either a social label that doesn't make sense (or that I just hate in general), or with nowhere to stand at all.
We shape our own identity, but the little secret is that part of identity is decided by others. As we move through the currents of life, it is as though we are being gifted with parts, components, layers, faces, images, qualities - and we absorbed these into ourselves as we may. Every entity such as we are has multiple facets to our identity; some of these facets are reflections of how we perceive others perceiving us. Gender, age, race, tone of voice, diction, choice of activities, manner of dress, apparent personality traits - all of these influence we are, as a whole. Some of these we can control directly, some we cannot.
I feel mismatched; incongruent, like I am either missing some layers, or have the wrong ones. I am forged of many unlike elements, which still boil and brew together in quicksilver and in chaos. I feel like I'm constantly in disguise; like the way people tend to view is me is grossly different from the person I see inside myself, the person I am trying to be, the person I want to be. I feel an impostor, merely acting a part even when I am trying very hard to be sincere.
I often have the experience in which it is as though I am possessed by an alien spirit who commandeers my voice, my movements, my expressions, and uses them to its own ends. When I speak, I wonder if it is myself speaking. When I glance in the mirror, I wonder who I am seeing.
Typically, I stay in my private environment, the world I construct for myself. I usually take it a step further; I have a very rich and complex fantasy life, a world within me, and I feel that I am more at home there than I am in the outside world. It is the place I feel sane. It is the place I feel myself. It is the place I feel understood. It is place where I feel like I understand things, where I'm not being controlled or distorted or confused.
When I am depressed, I can usually tell by the fact that I am spending more time in reverie than normal.
For a long time, I figured that this was the way life would be for me. But I'm trying to change that. I really am. It's difficult, but I feel like I've made a lot of progress. I am "out" more, making efforts to get to know my co-workers, and trying to relax about the fact that they will most probably never get to know me. I am trying to teach myself to want that, to be okay with being outside. For literal years I rarely even so much as left my own house, let alone my internal space. But I don't want to live that way anymore. It's just as bad.
I've learned I don't have to choose; the two worlds can make friends. I can bring them together in some ways, so that I do not feel desperate to retreat so often. I bring a little of my real self with me when I go out into the noise and the confusion. Maybe eventually I will figure out how to bring it all out. Slowly, very slowly, I'm building a bridge. Eventually, somebody will be able to cross it.
That thought is immediately relieving, exciting, and frightening. But ultimately, it is how I will become free. Free of my prison made of one-way glass, through which I can see outward, but no other can penentrate to the interior. In some ways it is safer this way, as a prison often is. But it's not better.
I'm not sure at what point, along the way, that I decided that I wanted to be free. I think there is some strong, wise, hidden part of me that brought it about, made it clear. I'm very glad that it did; because though I am afraid, as always, I feel I know myself better now than I ever have. And the pain seems to have less power over me than it once had.
Nothing remains locked forever.
There are more like yourself out there, those who cannot speak to others. I am one, and I feel alone and scared some days. I know the feeling, and I understand it. I feel for you.
-BD
Hugs
Love,
Cecilia/Kevin
If you ever need to talk, I, and many more people, are here to talk about whatever you want.