In the months leading up to the holidays, I found myself shying away from social occasions, often preferring to just kind of lay low and spend the time by myself. "This can't be a good thing," I thought, and so I decided to be as accessible as possible in the time leading up to the end of the year. During this spate of party going and occasion hopping, I found myself not only getting sideways glances from those now "in the know" regarding my particular condition (which I actually can handle, btw), but I also got a litany of comments thrown in my direction. Some of these comments were:
"Dude, you are SO big! Do you ever walk into a place and feel self-conscious because you're so fuckin' big?"
Umm, no, but now I might... and shit, I thought I was losing weight. (Actually, I know I lost weight, but apparently I'm still just. that. fuckin'. big. Nice.)
"There he is... there's Mr. Big Strong Manly Man."
Eeesh.
"You look like a longshoreman."
Er...um... thanks?
"You have hair just like George Washington." (To the point where I was being called "George" for the rest of the night, even after I made my displeasure with this known and asked repeatedly for it to stop.)
Shit, and here I thought my hair was growing in okay and looked pretty decent that night... and I'm not THAT bald, am I??
And the list goes on for sure.
What makes all of this especially bad, is that not only did these comments come from people whom I consider "friends," but that after six years of physically going down this Path to Transition, I still can't escape things like this. Apparently this is just going to be the way it is, no matter what I'm trying to do. Apparently all the hard work, and thought, and tears I put in over the years has gotten me to a place where I'm still getting comments like this. Apparently everything I've been working my ass off for doesn't make a damn bit of fucking difference.
I keep thinking of a very old episode of The Simpsons where Bart, the chronically terrible student, has to pass a test or he's going to be left back or something. So he bears down, and he studies, and studies, and works his butt off... and he still fails the test. This then causes him to break down and start crying over the result of his test, which takes Mrs. Krabappel aback because since when does Bart Simpson care enough about his grades that a bad score causes him to burst into tears? It then comes out that he's so upset because this time he really tried. He put a massive amount of energy into it... and he still came up short.
Yeah, I know the feeling. It's one thing to fail when you're not really trying. It's quite another to pour your total self into it and still come up small. Based on everything that I heard over this past holiday season, all the hard work in the world ain't gonna get me to where I need to be. So really, what's the point?
Well, other than keep trying, there's not really another option. That being said, I have a feeling that 2011 is going to be a very cloistered year for me. At least when I'm home alone, I can live in the delusion that all my years of effort, hard work, oodles of spent money and everything else is actually leading me somewhere. When I step out into the world at large, all I seem to find is cold hard slap from reality after cold hard slap from reality. Alone, I can keep the hope (even if it is false hope) that all the energy I put into making my life right is actually getting me someplace good. Out in the world, among the majority of my friends, all I hear is the sound of that hope being tossed off a high cliff and being dashed to bits on the jagged rocks below.
Yep, it certainly seems like 2011 is going to be a year of solitude. Hey, at least I'll feel like everything I'm living my life for is actually progressing and, you know, has a point to it. If reality is never going to let me be happy, perhaps it's high time that I remove myself from that reality. Apparently that's the only way to get some peace with who I am without people telling me time after time how my views about myself are so utterly and hopelessly wrong.
Peace.
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