Nicholas messaged me again this morning around eight-thirty. We chatted off and on till it was time for him to go to work around noon. He’s off tomorrow, and he and his friend Chawl are going to get their fishing license, so they can go fishing. Sharing a few pictures back and forth, and having great conversations, I’m still pleased with the way things are going this time around.
Like every other time when I wake up, the first thing I do is check my phone. Going through all the notifications, missed calls from my sister, missed messages from people on Facebook, and the miscellaneous notifications from everywhere else. Then, I got to one of the last ones to open, and I instantly got light-headed as soon as I read his name.
Every time I sit down to write, the first thing that pops into my head is my last relationship, so today I’m going to write Nicholas a letter. At first, I thought no, I can’t always be writing about a relationship that I want to go away, but then again, the whole reason I’m doing this journal is to get out all of my thoughts and feelings. Who knows, maybe my journal will become “Letters to a Man I used to Love”.
As my new life started taking shape, Nicholas would enter my world. He would turn out to be my first boyfriend as my authentic self, and I would be his first trans woman ever. Being each other's firsts, I believe made the dysphoria go away, because once we saw each other face to face I was totally okay with being intimate with him
I have to get out of this apartment, because I have flashbacks all the time. Just this evening, I saw him standing at the stove cooking me breakfast. This is something he did almost every Saturday in the beginning of our relationship, but not so much in the end. To deal with these haunting memories, as soon as the visual appears, I immediately think of something else to do, and concentrate on that.
Not one to hide from the truth, I know it's outta my hands, but I won't let you go there's no replacing the way you touched me, I still feel the rush. Sometimes it drowns me 'til I can't breathe, thinking it's only in our memories but, then I talk to you like I did then in conversations that will never end.
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.
