My heart simply won't let go doing it any other way, so it's back to what works for me. As harsh as it may be, it's what I must do to preserve who I am on the inside.
So confident, but you'll be surprised it took awhile, but I can finally recognize. I'm so much better off with someone else. . .
Normally I eat sitting at the computer desk because it’s just extremely unpleasant to eat at the coffee table where Nicholas and I typically used to eat every night. If I had another table, I would already pitch this one. One of the legs on it is broken anyway from where Nicholas got angry at me and kicked the leg right off the table. Anyway, for some reason I found myself sitting in Nicholas’s seat eating on his side of the table. Totally triggered and nearly in tears I felt the need to text him.
Valentines Day, a day supposed to be dedicated to love and romance. Both things that I was without this year but who cares. I sure don’t. I thought, however, for some crazy reason that I would have heard from my ex today, but I didn’t. This gave me mixed emotions. On one hand, it made me sad, on the other made me feel good, because I knew he was feeling strong enough not to reach out just like I was. It was extremely hard but I too managed not to contact him.
The ending of the dream is what hurts the most and has for many reasons. For as long as I can remember recognizing myself in a mirror, I have always looked at the reflection and asked myself, "who is this boy, guy, man, that I'm looking at"? The four years that I was with Nicholas I didn't do this. I felt validated for who I am. I thought he understood who I am. Now that he's gone I find myself looking in the mirror asking myself this again. It saddens me to hate the body god gave me. I've asked god a million times, why? It's even worse being enclosed in someone else's skin. No one will ever understand that feeling unless their transgender themselves.
Have you ever been in love so much that you could sense the sadness that your partner was feeling? When Nicholas reached out to me. . .