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Something's been on my mind as I get more and more followers lately. I've had to block some sissy porn accounts because they've been retweeting photos of me. I say some, because I have a complicated past with sissy accounts.
My first instinct has been to block sissy accounts, both out of fear that they might retweet my images and also out of shame.
You see, I fell deep into sissification on my own transition journey. It's something I don't like to think, or talk about. But I think I should.
You see, I fell deep into sissification on my own transition journey. It's something I don't like to think, or talk about. But I think I should.
I've spoken before about not having the language for being transgender growing up. That those pre-internet days, growing up in a small town, allowed me none of the knowledge to navigate who I was and what I was feeling.
Instead shows like Jerry Springer and Sally Jesse taught me that being trans was a joke and an abomination. Men tricking people by looking like women. I internalized that all my life.
Like many, I would cross-dress in secret, occasionally for other people. I was a fetish for them, and to a certain extent for myself, because it was the only way that society had taught me I could explore who I really was.
I would go through the same steps every time. Get dressed, feel good, feel shame for feeling good and swear I'd never do it again. But I would. Over and over and over again.
Because underneath the fetishization of it all I was getting gasps of air. I was feeling good because that girl was allowed out of her cell...even if just for a short while each time. But I'd unceremoniously lock her away as soon as I could.
This cruelness toward myself took it's toll in a thousand tiny ways but utterly destroyed my sense of self worth. Despite being successful in my career and family I craved positive feedback about my looks, my body, my skills to make men happy.
When I combined my cross-dressing with being sissified by men, I found the positive feedback I needed. I was made to feel worthless for who I was, but praised for how well I did it.
This chapter of my life broke me down, isolated me from my family, and swirled me into depression. I was an addict looking for a fix that would surely kill me, or at least set fire to my life. And then one day, everything changed.
I bought a cable-knit sweater.
I bought a cable-knit sweater.
I put it on along with some comfortable jeans. I liked how it looked, but it felt different. I did my makeup...a little more tasteful than usual. I put on my wig, the real one I'd recently bought. Not a party one.
And I saw myself for the first time in an instant.
And I saw myself for the first time in an instant.
It is one of the few moment in my life that literally took my breath away. It was my first moment of true gender euphoria. I laughed out loud. I danced around the room. I started to cry And then I freaked the fuck out.
I was at rock bottom then. I think I'd broken myself down so far that I'd left the cage open for her to come out. It wasn't me at the time who bought those clothes and put them on. It was her, craving that freedom. I recognized it, and fled from it.
But I'd let the proverbial genie out of the bottle. Once I'd accepted what was happening I was powerless to put her back. Because she wasn't someone else. She was me. Always was. And she was sick of being locked away, and being made small by the men that mocked her through me.
I wish society had more acceptable ways for me to have come to this conclusion without turning myself into a plaything for men. Things are changing now, and giving me hope for future trans kids. But I still see people who walk that same road I did. And they follow me.
And I know how hard a road it is to walk. And maybe not everyone doing it is actually trans. But if they want to follow me, and it helps them understand themselves even just a little, I'm going to let them. (As long as they don't repost me as a fetish).
I am not a fetish. I am a woman. And I finally love who I am. 
