…because let’s not play games, we both know you’re out there.

Do you ever wonder why you almost never see me around anymore? Why it’s been this way for a couple of years now?

Do you ever wonder why it’s practically common knowledge that I “don’t go out” despite my partner being really social? Why I never show up for anything? Why I try to get jobs and apartments away from the social centers of town?

Will you put 2 and 2 together when I start going out again, and I appear quite different, and more confident?

You’ve known me a while, some of you quite a while, and maybe you do still manage to see me around. Do you ever think of how I used to be? Do you compare and contrast? Do you recall how femme I was? Do you remember my extreme vanity, my meticulous makeup, my outrageous and flamboyant outfits? Do you equate those things with being a woman? Do you remember my self-righteousness, my arrogance, how unfair and wounded I was? Do you think that means you really knew me? Do you remember the talks we’d have, the secrets I’d divulge, the late drunken nights? Do you think I shared everything? Do you remember my endless string of boyfriends, my sordid affairs? Do you remember those men I dated before my long-term current partner? They were hardly men, they were hardly grown. I was a teenager, and I was awful. They were awful too! We were awful together, we were learning, we were dysfunctional, we were dramatic. Do you remember how ridiculous they could be, they’d throw pennies at my window and cry, they’d show up at work and make a scene straight out of Say Anything? Do you remember how cruel I could be then, I would break up with them without explanation, I would ignore their calls, I would shut the lights off and laugh when they came knocking?

Did you know that there are things you can’t possibly remember, things you’ve never known?  Did you know I dated those boys for a reason? Did you know that they knew things about me that I hardly had words for? Did you know that the sex we had is something I’ll never describe to anyone because it’s no ones business, but that in our clumsy, clueless, searching ways, they would help me to affirm my gender? Did you know that 10, 12, 15 years ago I could cry to those boys, I could lay my head on their flat chests and tell them that I didn’t know what I wanted and didn’t know how to start, but that I watched their bodies and wanted to be like them? Did you know that those boys didn’t know about pronouns, didn’t know anything academic, didn’t know the difference between gender and sex, neither of us did, but that when I wore a leather jacket and greased my hair back and passed, they went with it? They called me “he”? They did it without us even talking about it?
(ETA: you might want to keep this in mind before you start in with some bullshit gossip speculation about my huband’s feelings about me & my body, by the way.)

Despite our falling outs, our break-ups, or the fact that our lives are now worlds apart & we are completely different people, I would rather try to hang out with any one of those beautiful boys above any “friend” who can’t accept that perhaps they haven’t had me all figured out all along, or any “friend” who insists that this must be a “new thing” or a “phase” simply because it’s more public and obvious now. If this describes you, please try to get a grip on what I am saying here. And if you can’t, then kindly shut the fuck up, and either get or stay the fuck out.

(ETA: I want to point out that EVERYONE’S GENDER ID IS VALID, even if they only figured it out yesterday, even if they’re still figuring it out, even if it’s fluid & ever-changing. I’m only emphasizing my own history here because it is important to me personally that people know IT EXISTS & that things are not always what they seem. )