It has come to our attention that it may be necessary to address an escalating issue...

Part of the reason why this hasn't happened sooner is in trying to formulate these thoughts in a tweet-friendly form, it sounds pretty conceited.

This is going to be a long one. Buckle up.

"The road to cancellation is paved with good intentions."

- Dante, probably.

In an attempt to avoid sounding so lofty, disconnected and regal, a lady may have to suck it up, take a risk, and drop into the first person singular, specifically to take more ownership of this.

Some of you have discovered the terrible secret that I am...

*Cringes*

...not exactly cis.

And for the five of you who are still intently reading, with violin music playing in the background, I suspect you're already crying sympathetic estrogen tears into your pickle juice.

I did the best I could, honest.

But now that I've gone and ruined everyone else's life by choosing not to die of slow, unbearable agony, I'm still slowly reconciling with some of the memories and coping mechanisms of a life lived as a very unpassable cisgender pretender.

They knew. They fucking knew. But none of them had the decency to tell me directly.

Because here's the root of the problem: I'm dense as fuck.

Vyrthandi: exposed. Admitted moron.

Okay, so maybe they didn't rationally "know," but they did intuitively. It explains so much.

The father who tried to toughen me up. The children who knew better than to allow me into their play groups. The girls who ridiculed their peers who got paired off with me for class projects. 7th grade Swing Choir?

Sorry Lindsay. You poor thing, I still feel awful about that.

The boys who merely tolerated my third wheel status?

Sorry Chris. Sorry David.

Most of my life, I've been apologizing. Clearly, I did something wrong.

I'm quite ashamed to say that I was very aware from a young age just how unwanted I was in every possible context.

On top of the loneliness that caused, I was further isolated by the abuse at home. It probably wasn't that bad, I often tell myself, because denying and erasing my own experience is just something I've been taught to do.

But it was bad. And I really wanted to be happy. Or loved.

Any social connections with other children felt forced, unilaterally fulfilling at best, but typically just hollow.

My siblings were manipulative, and my sister always managed to somehow get me in trouble for shit I didn't do. Strategically redirecting that paternal time bomb.

Sorry Rachel. You probably were doing the best you could, too.

I could have found a shorter exit out of this life, but I just didn't have it in me, you know?

Tell me, what mother tells her 19-year-old that she's surprised they made it through childhood?

That hurts so much.

Sorry Mom. I now know from a failed marriage just how difficult financial abuse can be. It's not your fault.

So, what to do? Clearly nobody wanted me, but I needed to be happy, or they'd call child services. And that would just make things worse. (Probably?) Bad things.

I trained myself to see the good in the smallest actions directed toward me.

That toleration is now kindness.

Their sympathy is well a practiced gesture.

That stranger not mistreating me by default? How wonderfully charitable of them! This must be their good deed for the day!

This might work as a coping mechanism for a while, but it has pernicious ends.

You accept that nothing is real. Or genuine. And in my darker moments, it slowly shifted everything into a big fucking joke.

My own macabre harlequinade.

Sarcasm, be my sacred solace.

And at this point it is really important to stress that I didn't become a misanthropic piece of shit. I somehow managed to still believe that most people were smart, sincere and empathetic. The problem was me. I brought out the worst in good people.

My bad.

Notice how the first couple of tweets of this thread were basically a disclaimer? So typical.

Imagine what it must have been like if every single time I tried to talk to anybody, I would always lead with an apology.

I still can't help but feel sorry for them.

So, how did I function without being valued by others? I built up an inward sense of value. I found things I could do by myself that I would enjoy. I listened to music. I read, or other things I could do while not inflicting myself on others to approximate imitation happiness.

Fast forward. Past childhood & college. Past marriage & stay-at-home mom status. Past divorce. Past testing him for ASD, then the PT, his behavioral therapy, the IEP. All of it. Past "I'm sorry (again), but I'm a girl." Past 5 months of quarantine.

Now come to a screeching halt.

...
People think I'm cute?

Wait, go back. How'd we get here? Is my value as a human being totally predicated on my hormone levels? This isn't a bad thing, but,

(maybe you predicted this part)

That voice inside my head is always quick to interject: "...what if they're just being nice?"

Is it the makeup?

How do you know if a girl is flirting with you? I don't. I'm clueless. I only begin to suspect that she may be interested once she's inside me.

But even then, people can be emotionally distant after.

Just when I think I've figured things out?

Disposed. Cast off discourteously.

And it happens with incredible ease.

Here's the part where I think I sound conceited. I think I have perfect nipples and a great ass, but that's about it.

In my mind, its tens of thousands of dollars in medical bills to pay before I'll even approach "worthy of love."

When people say the nicest things, I really wish I could believe them, but I just can't reconcile these nascent experiences with the coping mechanisms I used to finally get to this point.

In my mind, I'm the only person who could ever like me.

So what's up with this admiration?

In my mind, I'm that little girl in kindergarten without a single friend.

When I start to get a flood of compliments, this fucked up part of my brain tells me that everyone must be overcompensating for how much I'm failing.

"It's just hug boxing. Don't you dare believe it."

And this goes into complete overdrive when I'm around other trans girls. So much of my pre-Covid, day-to-day experience is at odds with recent, virtual interactions.

So, what's the point? Why voice any of this? Why would I risk sounding like a conceited, narcissistic bitch?

I'd keep these feelings locked deep inside if I could. Die alone. But.

It appears my apologetic, self-effacing, incredulity, my utter density when it comes to understanding and responding appropriately to normal social cues is starting to seriously hurt the feelings of others.